Becoming a Part-Time Empty Nester

"So you're a part-time empty nester now!" my friend Bridget joked on my youngest child's first day of kindergarten.

I laughed and told her I was surprised with how uneventful the transition was. When my son climbed on the bus on that first morning, I waved goodbye and skipped back into the house to work on my million mile long to-do list and didn't have any qualms about it. 

Everything seemed strangely fine. I seemed fine.

A few weeks later another friend asked how I was handling having all my babies in school, and when my eyes started leaking in the middle of my answer (weird!) I realized I wasn't as fine as I thought.

It's not that I don't love the morning quiet. Cleaning up the house in the morning and knowing it will stay that way for six hours is nothing short of amazing. And it isn't like my little boy has even left me yet: he still cuddles with me and laughs at my corny jokes after school like he did before. 

But still, I felt a profound loss I couldn't quite name. I finally figured it out weeks later, in line at the grocery store watching an exhausted young mom with a cart full of Gerber puffs playing peek-a-boo with her 9-month-old.

I'd been standing there staring off into space, but not her. She could fill every spare second — in fact, she had to fill every spare second — connecting with the little person who mattered most in the world. 

When you have little ones at your side all the time, you don't have to go looking for moments like that one in line at the grocery store, they find you. They're relentless at finding you. They find you in the middle of the night, they paw at you while you make dinner, they pound on the bathroom door shrieking until you let them in. It's overwhelming, because that's what motherhood is: too much of a good thing.

And for the first time in my career as a mom, I don't have access to those moments 24/7. It was once inconceivable to me that meaningful connection with my kids would require effort and planning. But here we are, squeezing it in between school and their various sports and activities.

When my kids were still little, I thought women who raved about their kids growing older were lying to themselves. They'd say how great it was not to mop up spilled milk at the dinner table and finally decorate the bottom third of the Christmas tree (with breakable ornaments, even!) and I'd think, So what? That's a sad consolation prize.

Now that I'm in their place, doing the same thing, I realize I was only half-right. Given the choice between a solo trip to the bathroom and the unconditional love and affection of a toddler, I'd choose the toddler every time. It's no contest.

But I don't get to make that choice, and it's not a contest anyway. Those older moms were just choosing to find the good in their current stage of life, whatever it was.

If I'm going to thrive in, and maybe even enjoy, my new life as a part-time empty nester, I'm going to need to celebrate the good things about where I am right now.

It doesn't come naturally to me, delighting in a life that isn't filled from sunup to sundown with hugs and kisses from a sticky 3-year-old. The joys, as well as the hard parts, of raising big kids are different.

Moms wrangling toddlers in Target, if I look a little too long or smile a little too hard when you pass by, please forgive me. I remember so fondly the place you're in right now and always will. But now it's time to move from living those days to smiling at photographs of them as the kids and I plan our next adventure together.

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The Hallmark of Christian Discipleship

On Sunday, I was asked to give a talk in church (in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, members of the congregation take turns giving sermons instead of a clergy member) and decided to post it here for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

One reason why I think our prophet President Nelson has insisted that we use the full name of our church — the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — instead of the nickname "Mormon" is that he wants us to be perfectly clear about our primary identity: first and foremost, we are disciples of Jesus Christ.

The Cost of Discipleship

The word 'disciple' comes from the same Latin root as the word 'discipline.' Think of a discipline as a subject area you might study in school, like psychology or engineering. 

In order to be a successful student of one of these disciplines, you know that there are certain formulas, concepts, and ways of thinking you're going to have to work hard to master.

Likewise, the word 'disciple' suggests practice, learning, self-control, and working toward a high and specific standard. The kind of discipleship we're called to is more than just belief, acceptance, or agreement. It's actively following Jesus Christ.

The Hallmark of a Disciple

I've taken college courses described as "rigorous," but no discipline I've ever studied is as exacting of the discipline of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The scriptures tell us we need to serve God "with all our heart, might, mind, and strength" (Doctrine and Covenants 4: 2, see also Luke 10: 27 and Deuteronomy 6:5.)

You can't get more rigorous than that.

Because discipleship is meant to fully encompass us, it can sometimes feel overwhelming. We want to follow the Savior's example, but that's a tall order for someone as imperfect as me (and I imagine, as imperfect as you, too.)

That's where the Holy Spirit comes in. It's how God helps each of us know what to do, at what time, and in what order so that we can become our best selves, one day at a time. 

Being able to recognize and act on those promptings is the hallmark of a disciple of Jesus Christ.

One Step Forward with Faith

Between the cold weather and COVID, this has felt like a never-ending winter. And maybe like some of you, I've struggled with feeling like a poorly-cast Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

The idea of shaking off this funk was so overwhelming that one day I just leveled with God in prayer: I needed Him to tell the one single thing I should do next, because I couldn't handle anything more complicated than that.

I finished my prayer and didn't feel anything in particular, so I thought about standing in front of God and visualizing what he'd say in response.

"Pray," came a thought into my mind. 

Still unsure whether that was an inspired answer or just the first church word my brain supplied, I knelt down to pray again. And as soon as my knees hit the floor, the lyrics of a Primary song teaching kids to pray popped into my head: "I begin by saying 'Dear Heavenly Father,' / I thank him for blessings He sends."

The answer to my prayer seemed so simple and yet so profound: I needed to focus on gratitude.

I can't guarantee that the answer to your Lockdown Blahs will be the same as mine, but I do know if I hadn't followed the first direction to pray then I wouldn't have received the second one. 

And some of the time (if not most of the time) that's what disciples need to do: take the next step in faith without knowing the whole way.

Using the Atonement of Jesus Christ

When I think about discipleship, I think about the New Testament account of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples.

At a basic level, this was a fantastic object lesson about the importance of serving others. In John 13: 15 Jesus teaches, "For I have given unto you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you."

But there's also a deeper meaning, one Christ said the twelve disciples wouldn't understand until later on (John 13: 7.) He hadn't suffered for our sins in Gethsemane yet nor had He been crucified and resurrected, but this foot-washing was foreshadowing those very events.

Peter initially refused to let the Savior wash his feet, quite naturally horrified it wasn't happening the other way around. But when Jesus said to him, "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," Peter responded, "Lord, not my feet only, but my hands and my head." (John 13: 8-9.)

Unless we accept Christ's atoning sacrifice into our lives to cleanse us, we simply cannot be His disciples. There is no other way. 

Peter may not have understood everything that was going on, but he knew enough to accept what Christ was offering with his whole might, mind, and strength. Because that's what a disciple is: someone who trusts God and makes full use of the Atonement to repent, partner with the Savior, and become better every day. 

Where Do You Think You Fall?

At the last General Conference, President Nelson gave a talk called "Let God Prevail." In it, he asked some questions that can help us gauge our current commitment to discipleship:

• Are you willing to let God prevail in your life?
• Are you willing to let God be the most important influence in your life?
• Will you allow His words, His commandments, and His covenants to influence what you do each day?
• Will you allow His voice to take priority over any other?
• Are you willing to let whatever He needs you to do take precedence over every other ambition?
• Are you willing to have your will swallowed up in His?

Being a disciple of Christ, as you can see from that list of questions, is a pretty rigorous discipline. It isn't easy and there's no shortcut or substitute for small and simple repeated acts of faith. 

But as President Nelson promises, "when [our] greatest desire is to let God prevail... so many decisions become easier. So many issues become non-issues." And the blessings of discipleship — namely, peace in this life and eternal life in the world to come — are well worth it.

If you liked this post, find "Topics You'll Find Here" (in the sidebar on computers and at the bottom of screen for mobile devices) and click on "latter day saint" to read more!

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36 Things to Be Proud Of

It's my 36th birthday today, and if I was going to tell a socially appropriate joke I would say I'm turning 24... for the 12th year in a row, haha!

Maybe acting embarrassed about your age is merely a way of being self-depricating, sort of like how someone compliments your shirt and you feel compelled to confess that it came from a clearance rack at Kmart.

But really, ladies. We should be proud of our age. We earned it.

In honor of my birthday, here are 36 things from my life that I'm proud of:

1. Teaching myself to knit. Knitting is hard, and more than once did I throw down my needles in despair and wail, "I'M TOO DUMB TO KNIT!" But I kept going and so far I've made 3 scarves, a hat, a shawl, socks, a pair of fingerless gloves, some tree ornaments, and an entire man-sized sweater that I completed in secret for Phillip one Christmas. Too dumb to knit, indeed.

2. Raising six kids who love each other. I can't take all the credit, but I like to think the fact that my kids are each other's best friends has at least something to do with the way Phillip and I parented them.

3. Building a blog. When I decided to start a blog three years ago I had no idea what that would entail. I've poured hundreds of hours not just into writing, but into designing my site, learning HTML, networking with other bloggers, and promoting with social media.

4. Learning how to cook. My culinary skills when I became an adult all involved turning on the microwave. I could barely make Kraft mac and cheese. Now I cook dinner from scratch, send my kids to school with healthy homemade treats, and bake all our bread. I still don't like cooking, but I'm proud of having learned it.

5. Finishing college with an 11-month-old. It took me a semester or two longer to finish, and I may or may not have regularly nursed in the bathroom between British Literature and Philosophy, but I earned that bachelor's degree in English. That's true even if all I've read currently this month is Goodnight, Moon.

6. Being able to do 20 consecutive push-ups. That may not be a lot for some people, but it's a major accomplishment for me since I'm built like Popeye's girlfriend Olive Oyl.

7. Taking my family to church every Sunday. It's a habit in our house and part of what we do on Sundays; I'm glad we've made it something we automatically do, even on vacation.

8. Re-learning everything after a childhood surgery. After brain surgery when I was 10 I couldn't walk on my own, speech was difficult, and my penmanship looked like a 3-year-old's. I still have the notebook where I wrote "the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" over and over in occupational therapy.

9. Buying a minivan in cash. I hate debt, and we've worked hard to avoid it. We saved up to buy our first minivan when I was pregnant with #3, and it was the biggest check I'd ever written.

10. Being the Mormonism writer for an online magazine. I once wrote for a now-defunct site called Suite 101 that was sort of the Canadian equivalent of About.com. In its heyday I made good money writing about Mormonism and whatever else I wanted, and they even sent me complimentary business cards with my name on them once.

11. Making money buying body wash. I'm big on couponing. Regularly, I enjoy free toothpaste/shampoo and the shocked silence of the cashiers at CVS when I walk away with ExtraCare Bucks worth more than what I spent. Occasionally our house contains things like vitamin supplements for post-menopausal women that we have no use for but were money-makers.

12. Not killing the class pet. Or any of the numerous animals we've pet sat over the years, actually. I can kill a plant just by looking at it, though, so don't even think about asking me to take care of your ferns while you're out of town.

13. Painting the front door red. I was scared to paint our plain white door for years. I finally did and loved how it looked — until our 4-year-old dented the crapola out of it with a tennis racket a few months later for no reason whatsoever.

14. Recording little things the kids said and did. I may be a failure at scrapbooking (according to my scrapbooks I have 3 children who are barely a year old, when in reality I have 6 kids and the oldest is a teenager) but I have more or less faithfully written down cute stories and funny mispronunciations from each one's childhood to look at when I'm old and gray.

15. Buying a bedding set I loved for $40. We just replaced it, but for 10+ years we had the most beautiful comforter, made even more beautiful by the fact it cost so little. (Hint: If you know someone who loves a bargain as much as I do, when they hold up a shopping bag and squeal "Guess how much all this cost???" do not respond by shrugging and guessing a ridiculous amount like $1. It will ruin their day.)

16. My natural VBAC. My fifth baby was born by C-section and I was devastated. Not really out of principle but because recovery was AWFUL in comparison. So I was thrilled when Baby #6 came via a drug-free VBAC that was the hardest, most intense thing I've ever done.

17. Learning a vector graphics software program. I got tired of asking Phillip to design stuff on the computer for me so I figured it out myself. I'm not exactly an expert now, but my knowledge is passable and Inkscape is my go-to for designing the memes I make for Facebook.

18. That time my biceps were enormous. Ordinarily I'm shaped exactly like a living stick figure, but there was one period of my life where I was doing this amazing aerobics/pilates/yoga class with weights and I was ripped.

19. Becoming Mormon. I joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2000 and every good thing in my life either directly or indirectly comes from my faith in Jesus Christ and willingness to listen to his living prophet. Sorry to sound like an infomercial but I can't not do that when things are awesome.

20. Buying a house that will be paid off by the time I'm 45. If it were up to me, we'd have spent the last 10 years wearing rags and eating canned beans over a trash fire in order to have it paid off today, but Phillip said no.

21.  Learning how to drive a stick shift. In high school Phillip's sister taught me to drive their manual transmission car in the church parking lot, and it's a good thing because we inherited it when his family moved to Japan.

22. Using things up and wearing them out. About that car we inherited... we drove it for the next 10 years and when it gave up its last breath, sold it to a junkyard for $40. By the time our family is through with something, from clothes to baby gear to furniture, we've definitely squeezed every last drop of usefulness out of it.

23. Marrying the hottest guy I know. Obviously.

24. Showing up to Zumba for the first time. When a friend of mine announced she was running a free Zumba class every week, I almost didn't go. I know full well I dance like Rick Astley on a good day, but I put on my big girl pants and made myself go anyway. It took courage and I still look like Rick Astley.

25. Maintaining empty space. I consistently and ruthlessly get rid of things at home. De-junking early and often makes me feel good.

26. My research skills. Whether it's kid ailments or some random topic I'm supposed to write a freelance article on, I can find out all about it. Give me Google, and I can learn anything.

27. Fake trips around the world every summer. During summer vacation, we learn about a different country every week, which I simultaneously love and hate doing at the same time.

28. Learning to use a video editing program. I wanted to make some videos for my blog, so I downloaded some software and taught myself the basics. Phillip can't figure it out, which is my measuring stick for whether something is super-complicated or not.

29. Never making impulse purchases. When I shop, I only buy what's on my list — except for today, when mint Oreos jumped in my cart at the grocery store. But I planned to buy those ahead of time as a birthday gift to myself, so they don't count.

30. Breaking 20k Facebook followers. And as Phillip likes to point out, if 20,000 readers like my blog, just think of how many more there must be when you include the ones who don't like it!

31. Making $100 an hour. Once. For a single freelance article. But still.

32. My parenting style. I admittedly have no idea what I'm doing, but the kids feel loved and are being raised with what I think is a pretty good balance of high expectations and freedom.

33. Sewing all the curtains in my house. I'm especially proud of the Roman shades in the dining room, which would have cost 10 times what I spent to make them myself.

34. My organization. I did forget my daughter's soccer practice today, but on the whole we do what we need and get where we're supposed to. You name it, I have a chart to keep it organized.

35. Cooking spaghetti for 200 people. My current calling at church involves pulling off activities for the members, which is beyond intimidating to me because event planning of any sort is my worst nightmare. Though I still don't like it, I survived the spaghetti dinner and even went on to do other similar events without dying.

36. Making a viral video. "Answering the Question 'Why Do You Have So Many Kids?'" was viewed over 42k times on Facebook. My one regret is that my hair was kind of weird that day, but oh well. It happens.

I know it sounds corny, but one of my favorite things about my husband's appearance now that we're getting older is the lines that appear at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. When I see them, I'm reminded of what a good life we've had.

The same is true about me, and about you, too. Do I really care if I have to pull my eyelids taut to apply eyeliner now? Not really. Because the fact that I've lived on this earth for 36 years is something to be proud of.

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The Circus Comes to D.C.: 7 Things You Learn When Taking Your Big Family to the United States Capital

Now that we're home and we're (mostly) unpacked, and the 3,857 articles of clothing that were somehow soiled on the trip are (almost) all washed, I can reflect on our most recent vacation.

Taking our large family to Washington, D.C., with five kids ranging in age from 11 to 1, taught me 7 lessons.

Lesson #1: You will visit every public bathroom in the city.

In fact, there may be certain Smithsonian museums that you have no idea what's even inside, excepting the restrooms.

Your children will stagger their pit stop requests throughout the entire vacation so as to maximize your intimate knowledge of each and every public bathroom on the National Mall.

This is made slightly less annoying by the fact that your preschooler calls port-a-potties "Portal Potties."

Lesson #2: You will be in each other's way, like, all of the time.

Your kids will walk off the Metro and stop directly in front of the doors, while you're trapped behind the stroller frantically waving at them and saying, "Go! Go! Move over to the side, at least!" as the other commuters stuck behind you start to panic. The kids, however, will be completely oblivious that you're even talking to them.

Little things like that are just more embarrassing with a big family, because, well, you take up more space. You're more conspicuous.

If you're by yourself and you get on the elevator at your hotel, can't figure out that the buttons don't work without your key card, and then get off, it's not too mortifying. People probably won't even notice.

But just try parading a family of 7 (plus suitcases) in and out of the elevator, then back in once you figure it out. Trust me, every eye in a mile radius will be trained directly on you.

Everything 7 people need for 6 days. We tried to pack light and blend in. Didn't work.

You'll be going up to your room when the elevator stops to pick up a guy on the fifth floor. He'll get on and exclaim, "Woah! Party in the elevator!"

You'd better believe it's a party, mister. You have no idea.

Lesson #3: Hotels aren't built for families of your, shall we say, caliber.

Not advocating breaking any fire codes here, but you'll stay in one room because let's face it: having a separate room for the kids to be in unsupervised increases the odds of the building burning down by 500%. It's just math.

Which means you'll have people sleeping on pretty much every conceivable surface come nighttime.

At home we have a book called So Many Bunnies  about "Old Mother Rabbit" who lives in a shoe and tucks her many, many baby bunnies into bed in creative places:

"1 was named Abel, he slept on the table. 2 was named Blair, she slept on a chair. 3 was named Dee, she slept in a tree..." 

The book ends with the 26th bunny Zed, who sleeps on the shed. And you'll be wishing you had a shed by the time you get everyone tucked in to their various nooks and crannies in that teeny hotel room.

Families like yours can also get really loud, especially when all the kids are excited. You realize it's hopeless to prevent this, but you'll try anyway.

Phillip giving the preliminary "no screaming in the hotel because there are other people here" speech before we enter our room.

In the end, the kids will end up watching a whole lot of TV in the hotel room to stay quietly entertained.

Thanks to Cartoon Network, you'll leave with half the brain cells you had when you came.

Lesson #4: You will write embarrassing notes to housekeeping.

On your first night there, you'll be awoken by a child at your bedside saying they wet the bed, "bed" being a euphemism for the two couch cushions under the writing desk they're sleeping on.

As you're cleaning them up in the bathroom, you'll open the door and literally run into a second child telling you that they threw up earlier. Then they'll demonstrate it for you, in case you didn't actually believe them.

In the morning, you'll ask yourself, "Am I really doing this?" as you write the following note for housekeeping, but you won't know what else to do because you don't want the maid to come and just re-make the bed using the vomit sheets.

I debated whether I should sign this "thank you" or "sorry," and I decided that "thanks" sounded more positive.

Later in the week, a child will wet the bed again. You'll bit your lip, examine the circular urine stain on the blanket and have a debate with yourself: do you write another note and become known among the housekeeping staff as the Weird Vomit-and-Pee Lady in Room 1202, or do you run the entire blanket under the sink so you can still signify to the maid that it's in need of laundering without having to write "Heads up, there's urine on this!"

You will choose the latter.

Lesson #5: D.C. is a great place for cheapskates.

You'd be lying if you said one of the most exciting parts of this vacation was how little it cost.

If you're lucky, you'll get your hotel room using points from your credit card. Food won't cost much more than a week of eating at home, because you'll eat the hotel's breakfast and buy food at the grocery store to make your own lunches and dinners.

Look at the food trucks lined up for all the suckers! Oh, we're just fine with our PB&Js, thank you.

(Note: if you buy a week's worth of groceries at a Safeway a few blocks from your hotel and then give everyone in your 7-person family a bag or two to carry home, you should also wave and throw candy because people will think you're a parade.)

You'll pay for gas driving there and back, daily parking at the hotel, and subway fare, but that's it. There are paid attractions in D.C., but you won't see any of them, because there's so much else to see that's free.

You've got the federal buildings

and the monuments,

which have lots to offer babies who live to climb stairs.

But they're even more majestic-looking all lit up at night:

Plus there's the National Art Gallery and all the Smithsonian museums, and the U.S. Botanic Garden where you'll finally find out where pipe cleaners come from:

Didn't see a label with the name, but I'm pretty sure it's a pipe cleaner plant.

Lesson #6: Hell hath no fury like a baby who hasn't taken a proper nap in three days.

You'll hope that your 1-year-old will just sort of drift off to sleep in the stroller when he's tired, but how realistic is that?

He'll be okay for the first few days, but on Day 3 he'll end up screaming face-down on the floor of the Meto, and any attempt to placate him will only make him madder. When you get to your stop you'll carry him 5 blocks back to the hotel while he flails so furiously his shorts fly off, and he'll fall asleep the second he hits his crib.

Tomorrow, you'll learn your lesson and stay at the hotel to get the baby his beauty sleep while your husband takes the older kids out at naptime.

Lesson #7: You will discover again how cool each of your kids is.

At home you're nagging your kids all the time to clean up after themselves, put away the Legos on the floor, do their chores, and flush the toilets when they're finished (for goodness' sake!)

On vacation, you'll remember how hilarious they are and just how much you enjoy being around them.

They will laugh every time you go past the stop called "Foggy Bottom" on the Metro, and it'll never get old for them. They'll even make up a song about it together.

"There goes old Foggy Bottom..."

Your son will be transfixed by touching a brain (even if it is a fake one) at the Museum of Natural History,

and will try to convince you that this giant chunk of amethyst really does smell like grapes.

You'll see the statue of Roosevelt and his dog at the FDR Memorial and your 3-year-old will immediately bend over to check "if there's anything inside her nose."

Your two oldest girls will stand in the Lincoln Memorial and read one of his speeches in its entirety,

and the baby will want to be standing on the windowsill pretty much all of the time you're in the hotel.

You'll play with them at a water park

and laugh when the baby tries to copy his older siblings doing handstands in the park.

And you'll tell yourself never to forget how very, very lucky you all are to have each other.

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Would You Spend $5 on an Anniversary Gift?

I don't understand traditional anniversary gifts by year. I just don't.

This is what I'm talking about:

Today is our 12th anniversary, which means that we should either be getting each other some swanky new silk undies or a tasteful monogrammed set of linen napkins. (For the impracticality of either gift, please see the 5 small children swinging from our rafters.)

Luckily, Phillip and I have never made a big deal about our anniversary, and sticking to a bizarre gift schedule like this is so not us.

What has historically been us, though, is the $5 gift.

When we got married we were 21 and 22 years old, completely broke and busy college students. By our first anniversary we were just as poor, just as busy, and had 1-month-old baby.

Spending a lot on each other was out of the question, and thus was born the $5 gift rule.

One Christmas when we'd been married for about 5 years, we spent the holidays with Phillip's family. On Christmas morning, we went around the room watching everyone open their gift, one by one.

Next to me, Phillip's sister opened a card from her husband and read it out loud. "Don't be upset that I spent so much. I did it because (a) I love you..." it began,  and what followed was a moving love letter and a digital camera she'd been secretly wanting for a long time.

There were tears. There were hugs. It was epic.

Then all eyes turned to me and watched me unwrap... a new ice scraper.

The thing is, I was just as excited about my gift. I burst into laughter, thinking how this was exactly what I needed, and only Phillip could've known how I'd been complaining about my crappy ice scraper every day.

(He's also the only person who understands that I'd be delighted instead of offended by the gift of an ice scraper from my spouse. I've been told that this isn't the norm.)

So I thought the ice scraper was awesome, but there was more. Every day for the rest of that winter, Phillip got up early to scrape the snow and ice off my car in the blistering cold before he left in the morning.

To say that I love this man is an understatement.

What I liked about the $5 rule was that it forced us to pay attention to some small way we could improve the other's life, and then get creative about it because five bucks isn't much.

Twelve years later, we've gotten a little lax in our gift-giving policy. Sometimes we spend more than $5, sometimes we don't spend anything at all. Some years we go on a trip, just the two of us.

Sometimes we forget about our anniversary completely (we may or may not have been reminded one year by a phone call from my dad wishing us a happy anniversary.)

To be honest I sort of miss the $5 gift policy. But last year we did do pretty well — according to the chart, at least.

We needed a new stockpot for the stove, so went to the mall and bought one. A stainless STEEL pot, for our 11th anniversary. Ha!

That was a complete accident, though, and probably the first and last time that we'll be going according to the chart.

Unless we make a French silk pie tonight.

photo courtesy of Baker's Square

Which actually isn't a bad idea, and the ingredients would probably cost about $5. I don't think we've ever gone wrong with a $5 anniversary gift.

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When You Feel Like a Miserable Failure of a Human Being (Not That I Would Know...)

Lately I've been thinking about discouragement. Not the kind where you feel like you can't keep your house clean (psssht... like that matters.) The big stuff, like being a good mom and a good person.

Everyone struggles with this; at least I hope they do, because I do, sometimes.

On Sunday as I was thinking about discouragement and what we do about it, I went to church and heard one of the New Testament parables in a whole new way.

Jesus tells a story in Matthew 18 about a forgiven debt. For the long-form story from the Bible click here, or if you have the attention span of a gnat these days (don't worry, it's not your fault and I'm not judging you) here it is in bullet points:

• Man #1 owes Man #2 a huge sum of money.
• Man #1 can't pay and begs for mercy. Man #2 forgives the debt. Yipee!
• Man #1 finds his old college buddy who owes him a little bit of money, roughs him up, and demands the money right now. When it doesn't happen, he throws his friend in prison until he can pay.
• Word gets back to Man #2. He is not amused. He chews out Man #1 and "unforgives" his original debt, because he wouldn't show mercy to his friend like he'd been shown.
• Moral of the story:  "So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every on his brother their trespasses" (Jesus' words, not mine.)

My first thought on hearing this parable, past or present, is "How dumb is this guy?"

Man #1's debt had just been erased. He didn't have to pay a thing, but he goes to so much trouble to start paying back the loan. That's like calling Verizon to ask for a discount on my FIOS, then getting it, but continuing to pay the original price every month.

Except dumber. It's like if they said "Okay, you can just have your Internet for free" and I kept sending in checks. (Side note: if anyone knows of a deal like that, please email me.)

I mean, why did he feel compelled to keep paying after the debt was forgiven? 

Maybe he was trying to show that he appreciated the forgiveness, and wanted to pay back a little of the old debt to say thanks or to show that he'd tried.

He could have been embarrassed by the fact that he'd gotten so far into debt and wanted to prove he could make a dent in the amount he'd owed.

It could have been because he didn't really believe it. Maybe he thought the debt was so big that it couldn't be forgiven so easily.

Whatever the reason, I sort of want to reach into the pages and shake the guy: "Hello! Your debt was forgiven. What are you doing?"

It's like he didn't understand at all that his debt had been totally wiped out.

And then I get it: that was the point of the whole story. The man didn't get it. He didn't wholly trust in the forgiveness offered by his creditor, so he ended up losing it.

When I'm beating myself up over yelling at the kids (again) or skipping scripture study and prayer (again) or having an unkind thought (again,) I'm not much different than Man #1 in our story beating up his friend.

God knew that I was going to epically fail some days, and that I wasn't always going to do my best, and generally get myself into an enormous amount of debt (figuratively speaking.) Ain't no way I can make it up to Him.

But the great part is, I don't have to.

Instead of dwelling on how I'm not doing my best, all I need to do is ask for the forgiveness Christ has already given me, and say thank you.

And then instead of feeling discouraged and disappointed in myself, I can start over. I can ask for help to do better. No need to waste time on old debts that were already incurred and forgiven a long time ago.

Now, if only that meant I didn't need to clean up messes the kids make around the house.

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How an Easter Dress Taught Me About Gratitude

"Oh no, I haven't gotten a new Easter dress yet!" my oldest daughter exclaimed from the recesses of her bedroom closet.

We were smack in the middle of the Great Closet Cleanout, which happens approximately once a week since my children are fond of throwing their dirty clothes on the closet floor, then sprinkling clean clothes and used towels from the shower on top just for good measure.

I wondered for a moment why that thought even crossed my daughter's mind. I don't think I've ever bought her an "Easter dress" in her life, mostly because I don't buy stuff unless we need it and I like to think of us as minimalists. Also because I'm cheap.

But as my daughter organized her closet full of dresses and claimed to need another one, I realized we were far from minimalists. 

We're drowning in a culture of excess, to the point where the only problems that could even exist in my kids' minds are first-world ones.

During summer vacation from school, the kids and I take a pretend "trip around the world," learning about different countries in an attempt to keep young brains from atrophying. During the week we "visited" Mauritania, we got a book from the library about what Mauritanian kids do all day.

A popular children's game in Mauritania, just like here in New England, is soccer. But while my children get chauffeured to the field in our air-conditioned Kia and enjoy a snack brought by the coach at halftime, the kids in the book were playing barefoot in the dirt and kicking around a wad of plastic shopping bags secured with a rubber band.

My kids have so many toys, books, games, and dress ups that we have to rotate them in and out of the attic. 

The kids in the book played with little cars they fashioned from wire hangers and pieces of tinfoil — toys they literally made out of trash.

Most of the time I try not to think about this too much, because when I do, it disgusts me. Not just because we have so much, but because we're constantly complaining about it. 

Last summer, a friend and I took our kids to the lake and watched them splashing around while we commiserated about how impossible it all is: the cooking, the cleaning, the dropping off and picking up. And that part about helping our kids grow up to be halfway decent people, too. 

When there was a lull in the conversation I said jokingly, "Well, let's just lounge on the beach and complain about how hard our lives are." We laughed, and our talk turned to other things. 

But really, I've got no excuse to be unsatisfied. Yes, my floor is littered with crusty noodles and splatters of dried spaghetti sauce from last night, but it means that I have a floor. And walls. And a roof. 

It means I have enough food to feed my children and extra to spare. 

Most of all, it means that I have 5 beautiful, healthy kids who don't have to worry about anything bigger than what they're going to wear on Easter Sunday. 

And that is truly something to be grateful for.

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