Avery's chores

We were talking about the upcoming weekend as a family.  Bronwyn respectfully asked to bow out of her chores, being it was her birthday.  Avery suggested that since it was her graduation, she should have a week off too.  Which made us all chuckle.  She has nearly every week of her life off.

Which is totally our fault, I know.  She is just such a good kid in nearly every other way that it’s been easy to let chores slide.  We remind her starting on like Thursday; I know she has good intentions.  But she’s barely home, and when she is, she’s sleeping or running to work or staying up late finishing a project.  Friday nights she comes home from work, showers and heads out again.  Saturdays she sleeps and heads to work, and repeats.  So we’ve told her she’ll just have to do them on Sunday, which you know I hate.  And most of the time it doesn’t even happen then because we’re doing stuff as a family and she’s sleeping.  We’re bad. So bad.

So we told her straight up she’s crazy.  She rarely ever does her chores anyway, why should she get a week off when every week is a week off?  She retorted, “I’ve gotten 100% better at doing my chores lately.”  Which is somewhat true.  She’s made an effort the past month; I’ve seen her with the broom, I’ve noted the bathroom mirror is occasionally free from water marks.  But then I reminded her of the other parts of her chores that she isn’t doing like dusting the whole house.

And then I felt a little bad.  God isn’t like that at all.  He celebrates our achievements and progress, no matter how small.  He never dismisses our efforts on his way to point out what else we’re missing.  How sad that I would do that.

Because it made me think of all the millions of things I’m not getting quite right.  But that I’m better at than I used to be.

I think of all the mornings I just somehow skip my prayers until I’m driving away, that I don’t read anything spiritual all day and then try to cram in a little just before I turn off the light.  Days that I ignore ideas to check in on friends or when I get sucked into some mindless trivia.  Times when I’m condescending or full of myself and pride or when I succumb to negativity and pity.

But I have to agree with Avery, I’m 100% better than I used to be.  We never used to say night prayers as a family at all, growing up or in our earlier days of marriage and family; but now we’re pretty regular.  I never thought to pray about regular life stuff at all until a few years back, but now I ask about all sorts of things.  I didn’t use to think anything of the ideas I had floating through my head, but now I recognize some of them as promptings that I could follow up on.  And sometimes I do.  I have misused a lot of my free time over the years, but I’m getting better at being aware and monitoring how I spend it.  I’m also getting better at talking myself through my thoughts, asking myself questions and trying to understand what’s going on instead of giving in to hopeless or disparaging feelings.  We council about all sorts of things as a family these days, whereas the tendency could be to just make decisions and tell them how it’s going to be.  I’m getting better at using my words instead of retreating when we have differences of opinion.  I’m trying to give the benefit of the doubt and to try to see another point of view instead of being so set in my ways.  In so many respects, we’re all changing and making strides.  Not that we’re all superstars or there yet, just that we’re better than we used to be.

So I loved that Avery would rejoice in the improvement she’s making, reminding us that she’s better than she was.  My sideways comment didn’t ruffle her in the least, she confidently stood her ground, and I conceded that she was right.  We agreed to keep moving forward, I thanked her for getting on it and applauded her efforts.

A valuable reminder that we don’t need to berate ourselves (or others) for what’s lacking.  She knows what she’s supposed to clean (well, we took this opportunity to remind her); she doesn’t need any of us telling her or keeping track of how she’s doing.  And I think we’re that way too.  I obviously have a really good idea of what’s not getting done and where my weak spots are.  And I love that God’s soft and compassionate and accepting as we in essence tell him, “I’m 100% better than I used to be.”  And of course he sees that. He’s the type who praises our attempts, our offerings, and the advances we’re making. He never asks or expects us to be anything close to perfect right now. I love that and want to be that kind of parent as well.

Sounds good

A tiny thrill out of nowhere.  A sense of contentment.  Maybe a sound that reminds you of a memory from your childhood or your grandparents’ house. 

A page from my book of lists, no rhyme or reason, just an assortment of sounds I love. Might be a fun conversation starter as you create your own lists as a family or just for yourself.

• our vehicles finally turning over when it’s -13 (they’re all parked outside, covered with snow and ice, so it’s a miracle any of them start)
• the hum of the refrigerator 
• the water softener gurgling and cycling
• the heater kicking on
• the washing machine and dryer
• water trickling like in those backyard water features
• my name
• crackling fires in our fireplace or when we’re camping
• babies breathing
• country music—it reminds me of my dad
• alternative 80s music—it reminds me of being young
• Avery’s friend picking at his guitar late into the night
• creaky floors
• the gas oven starting up
• Todd and the boys watching a late-night show or playing one of those extra-long board games way into the night while I sneak away to my room
• old music from the 40s and 50s in antique shops—also reminds me of my dad and his upholstery shop
• turning the page in my book
• lawn mowers in the distance
• the birds starting at 4:30 in the morning and when I’m taking a nap on the corner couch of our living room; I feel like I’m in a treehouse surrounded by nature
• the breeze rustling the leave in the trees especially when I’m taking a nap or camping
• rivers
• airplanes, especially the one that flies directly over us a little before 10 each night
• rain on the roof and on our skylights or on our tent when we’re camping
• dramatic thunderstorms
• autumn leaves as they actually fall and then later when we walk through them, kicking them
• cicadas
• my son or daughter's voice on the phone... or my mom's or one of my sisters' and especially Todd's
• sprinklers tsh, tsh, tsh
• geese rounding themselves up in the fall
• shots in the distance on an early Saturday morning in October
• wind chimes
• crunchy snow
• the old fashioned pencil sharpener twisting around a wooden pencil
• the clicking sound of my phone and computer keyboards 
• dogs having dreams
• Bronwyn playing hymns on the piano
• Callum’s band music that he looks up on Spotify and plays for us
• Avery’s van finally rolling in late on weekend nights
• songs like Moon River, A Summer Place, Life is Grand by Silvard (look it up)… soundtracks to Anne of Green Gables and Somewhere in Time and Grease.
• acapella harmony
• frogs in wet grass areas
• oars cutting through the lake water
• Todd next to me in bed

As I tried to make sense of my list, I recognize delightful sounds all around me.  And I realize they provide comfort and cheer because most of them are simply reassurances of everyday life.  They provide the backdrop of a home that’s humming along, the cadence of normal living.  I love the seasonal sounds that remind me we’re moving into a new time of year, that conjure up memories of what I love about each of them. This list is just a start, I’m consistently adding to it mentally as I go about my days. And I know it’s nothing to write about, but I wonder if it doesn’t add a bit of merriment and joy to our days as we listen with a little more gratitude for simple pleasures we hear all around us in our ordinary lives.

Not to worry

My mom and sister had just gone into the store when I got a call from the school, to come quickly, because Callum had just had a seizure.  So I motioned to them and then conveyed the short message, urging them to come with me.  My sister was alarmed, my mom had all sorts of questions.  I figured we’d get the story when we arrived and we’d decide what to do then.  Cheri asked why I wasn’t freaking out.  I told her if it had been that serious, they would’ve taken him away in an ambulance.  I considered the impact of a seizure as we drove.  We’re overdue for some kind of upset.  Maybe this would be our next family trial.  Maybe it would change all sorts of plans.  I envisioned him no longer able to drive, grateful I don’t have a job, aware that this could be serious.  But why get ahead of myself… we would deal with it as it unfolded.  For now all I could do was drive the speed limit and ask mom about the book she’d been reading, which totally annoyed Cheri.

I recognized it for what it was after a few minutes of talking with Callum as he sat in his wheelchair in the school office.  This has happened several times before.  It’s not a seizure, he just passes out.  I knew he’d be fine, it’s super temporary and common.  But the nurse advised us to take him in to see a doctor.  Against my better judgment.  A waste of time and money.

My sister called me out on it later as well.  Why wasn’t I more concerned?  Why am always so nonchalant?  Like when Andrew crashed on his bike and tore his knee apart and I stayed home with the littles while Todd handled it.  Or when my dad died and I didn’t burst into tears.  Or when our dog ran away and got hit and I (along with Todd) muttered it was her own fault.

She asked us the other day at breakfast how Callum’s grades are.  I looked at Todd.  We have no idea.  We think pretty good.  She asked if we ever look at his report card.  Of course.  But we don’t remember how many were A’s and how many were B’s; that’s his business.  And we talk about how what he does now will affect all sorts of opportunities in the future all the time. So why would we meddle with his grades? He’s got it.  Same with the rest of the kids.  I had no idea Avery was in the highest honors category till I saw it on the graduation program the other day.  Kudos to her, love it.  I firmly believe whoever owns the worry should carry the load.  I refuse to be in charge of their lives and do the worrying for them; they’re totally capable of handling their own stuff.

I told her it’s simply a waste of good energy.  My grandma was a self-proclaimed worrier.  So was my dad.  I don’t know that I ever really thought about it much growing up; but even if I used to be, not so much anymore.  Maybe it stems from a class I took back in college that taught me to look ahead at what the worst-case scenario might entail and to work off that.  Fail a test, maybe fail a class, might have to re-take it and use an extra semester to graduate.  Same when we couldn’t get pregnant.  We finally decided we’d join the Peace Corp and I’d learn to be one of those stellar childless women who dedicated herself to her work.

I’ve walked myself through a million possibilities over years instead of fussing or getting overwhelmed.  Worrying does absolutely nothing to help any situation.  Thinking ahead could though.  For instance, we decided forever ago that, no matter what our kids came to us with, we would offer unconditional love and acceptance.  For sure.  Sexual orientation, religious preference, teen pregnancy, deciding to skip college, whatever.  What is there to worry about?  Anything could happen.  Is it helpful to ruminate over all the things that could change or go different or be unsafe?  Not at all.

I guess I just figure we do what we can to prepare for and prevent problems and then move forward.  This works with everything from wondering if dinner will flop when we’re having company (I just make bread and make sure we have ice cream; we can always order pizza or grill frozen chicken if the rest burns) to wondering how our kids will turn out (we teach them what we know, use boundaries and natural consequences and love them unabashedly; the rest is up to them).  I guess I don’t see what the big deal is.  I take the scripture, When ye are prepared, ye shall not fear, seriously. It works for all sorts of things from giving a talk and having a fire escape route and letting your kids travel to accepting a scary medical diagnosis and thinking about dying.

I guess I’ve also asked myself, why spend good time on things I can’t control?  There’s precious little within my sphere that I really can.  We can save for retirement and plant a garden and store some food.  We can pay off our debts.  We can adopt healthy habits.  We can be smart about our safety. We can refuse to get dramatic or uptight or resentful.  We can forgive and let go of a grudge and be kind and accept people as the are. And leave the rest.  We simply do what we can and then deal with whatever comes along.

No question I get a little nervous when I see so much money pouring out of our house; sometimes I honestly do wonder how we’re making it and if we’re getting any of it right.  I feel a little uneasy as I think of all the future unknowns, from how this new job situation with Todd will work out to wondering if we made the biggest mistake of our lives by buying this house.  Yes, of course, I wonder what’s going on behind the scenes with the kids, and sometimes we’re blindsided and heartbroken, as maybe all parents are occasionally.  Obviously the world makes me a little nuts and I wonder if I’m strong enough to endure it. And I sometimes feel unsettled about relationships.  I just try not to fret and stew is all.

Because I choose to have faith.  Over fear.  I choose to deal with what’s currently happening.  I refuse to get bogged down in all the What Ifs.  Too overwhelming.  I have enough to think about just with today’s issues.  So while I’m like everyone else and give in to thinking about an uncertain future now and then, I have to self-talk myself through these moments and hush the chatter.  

And, if it’s not mine to contend with, I allow the owner of the concern to handle it.  I can offer assistance to ladies at church I notice who are struggling; I love spending time with them.  I can listen to friends and family members as they vent and bounce ideas around with them. I can offer to study with Bronwyn or buy supplies for Callum’s project.  I can ask Avery if she’d like a hand getting her graduation announcements out.  I can pray for my sister to find a better job and provide respite for another.  But ultimately, none of this is mine to carry.  Each of us has our unique set of variables.  I trust that the people in my life can do their own work.

And so, worrying to me is just negativity, a loss of time and energy, and maybe actually prideful.  It’s believing that the people in my life are incapable.  That without me, they would flounder and fail.  That I’m the one keeping them afloat.  It’s believing that I have control where I really have none.  That I am more than I am, that I can change circumstances and people. I’ve just decided to do what I can within my realm, to act within my stewardships without taking on someone else’s issues.  Then I believe it’s wise to leave it up to Someone else.  We forget that God is in the details.  And that when we are trying to align our hearts with his, when we are doing what we can, we can rest—worry-free—assured that he will sort things out for the best.