The New Green Swim Trunks

When we first started having children I heard lots of things like, "The days are long but the years are short." (They weren't wrong). I was given lots of advice--some I even took. One bit of advice was to savor the memories. So I did. I journaled and blogged and took loads of pictures, especially of the big things. You know, the mile markers. 

When I brought the fourth baby home, the other three looked so big, so grown up. They weren't. When they started kindergarten I took a picture, and they looked so big! Six years later when they "graduated" from fifth grade I looked at the current kindergartners and thought, "They're just babies." When they left middle school to enter high school I took pictures and thought, "They are growing up so fast!" High school graduations brought me to tears as I looked at them and saw both the babies they were and the adults they were becoming. I look at high school seniors now and think, "How could someone who looks that young be leaving home?"

But I was ready for these moments. Well as ready as someone can be. I took the pictures. I wrote social media posts. I journaled, I knew there would be both pride and tears. And there was.

On Saturday he walked into the pool, said "Hey Mama" and sat down. I looked up from my book. He was wearing green swim trunks. I'd never seen them before. He hadn't sent me pictures when he was buying them. He hadn't asked me for money to buy them. He just bought them, or maybe the woman he loves bought them. I don't know. I just know I didn't, and I felt a slight gut punch and tears stinging the back of my eyes. 

People told me about the big things. I was sort of ready. But no one told me about the "new green swim trunks."

Appropriate Clothes and Adult Children

This morning I had two things on my mind--scratch that three. First, it was 4:30 am and the dogs, for the first time in a week, weren't barking. Now, you might think that is a good thing and most of the time I would agree. But see, I had to be up at 4:30 to get ready to drive to C'ville for a cortisone injection, so now that we have finally defeated the dogs being out of routine, I was disturbing it AGAIN! (Oh, and this is my feeble attempt not to write about the other two.....)

Second, I was trying to decide if I was going to be brave and transparent and vlog about standing by and watching your children make decisions you either question, don't agree with, or downright fear. I was going to talk about how hard it is to keep your opinions to yourself (you can read myself if you'd like), and how sometimes I do well and sometimes, well remember we've always agreed to pay for their therapy....

And finally, I was grabbing a pair of jeans and t-shirt to throw on to head out the door after a little coffee. I wanted to grab them quickly to keep from having to turn on a light or flashlight and jingle (charm bracelets were on) around the bedroom waking up my soundly sleeping and overly tired husband, but I froze because I heard a voice in my head. No, not the kind of voice I need to report to my therapist--my mother's voice! (Well maybe...)

Anyway, I heard the voice "reminding" me that when traveling on an airplane or going to the doctor, you dress appropriately, and by "appropriately" it means jeans and a t-shirt are not included. As I let the dogs out (again, disrupting their schedule), I let my mother's voice and my desire to not awaken my husband have a full-on WWE wrestling match. Spoiler alert--my mother's voice won. Now if you are wondering why a 54-year-old woman lets her mother's voice in her head terrify her to the point of possibly sacrificing her husband's much-needed sleep, you have never sat on a fully made bed at her
house! (Can I get an "Amen" Lynn Barton?)

As I was looking for a dress and getting myself "doctor's office appropriate," it suddenly hit me. We rear our children the best we can. Chris and I spent a lot of time talking about what we wanted to make sure our children took with them into adulthood, and we spent time in prayer with the children, with each other, and individually. I thought about Proverbs 22:6, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."

I get that doesn't mean our children will make decisions exactly how we want or think they should. They may even make some decisions, say and do some things we totally disagree with--and in the spirit of transparency, they have, but this morning I had a sense of peace. Peace that we did the best we could. We showered them with love, with faith, and yes, with the confidence to be independent and think for themselves. 

I'm now sitting here thinking two things. First, there is definitely the possibility some of the decisions adult children make that we don't think are good decisions may indeed be good decisions. I also hope they do sometimes remember some of the things we taught them. But the second is this--right after getting to the doctor's office I had to take off my very appropriate clothes and put on a hospital gown, so WHY does what I wear to get there really matter? 

Pretty sure next time I go to the doctor, I will still follow those directions--some things are harder than others....

Adult Parenting and Water Wings

 

I lowered my window as I began the ascent onto the first bridge I was forced to drive leading to my beloved home on Isle of Palms. I moved to the interior lane and far away from the Cooper River that I knew was waiting to gobble up the first car that parachuted off. The wind blew my hair across my face. I reached up to push it back and simultaneously wiped away the tears that had been forming in my eyes.

For the past hour I had been thinking about my now adult children and how much I loved them. I loved them; I missed them; I knew this was part of life. Oh and, I really like hanging out with my husband…

But I also was missing something else. Over the past year, the number of phone calls and daily texts has decreased. Sometimes I send a text and don’t get a response. (EGADS! It's not like they don't have school and jobs, and I might be an overly enthusiastic labrador puppy texter.) When they don't respond, I have to utilize all my willpower, deep breathing, therapy practice, and prayer so I don’t text again either a) passive-aggressively, b) attempting guilt, c) groveling, or d) asking if they’re mad and apologizing for some unknown “sin” I have committed. Sometimes it even works….the not giving in part....

As I pushed my hair and tears off my face, I broke into a grin. I remembered an evening in early September 1998 when I came home with a ridiculously over-priced (but dare I say darn tootin cute) diaper bag. Keep in mind, at this point we had one child who was just 3, one who was 13 1/2 months, and one on the way. I put it on the dining room table forgetting to hide the price tag.

From the kitchen I heard my usually very calm and soft-spoken husband yell, “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR EVER LOVING MIND?!?!?!” (He did not say “ever-loving.”) I walked into the dining room, “What?” “Katherine,” he tried to calmly say, “First we do NOT have $145.00 to spend on this, this, this THING! And second, we must have half a dozen diaper bags not to mention all the OTHER BAGS that continue to reproduce in this house.” “But, I needed this one.” I told him, “It’s a matter of life and death.”

I think at this time he might have poured a bourbon, sat down, and waited for what he knew was going to make sense to only one person—-me. 

“See,” I began, “We’re going to the beach next week, and I started thinking. When I am driving without you if the car goes flying off the bridge and into the water, I only have two hands. Right now I can grab both Sarah Katherine and Boss—one under each arm and get us safely to the surface. BUT, when this baby is born, Boss will only be 17 months old, Sarah Katherine will only be 3, and obviously this baby will be a newborn. This diaper bag is big enough that I can shove the baby into it. It’s waterproof and has long handles I can put around my neck. I can grab Boss with one arm, Sarah Katherine with the other telling her to hold on tight. And you know she always does what we tell her, and then I can swim us all to the surface and save our lives. Don't you want us to survive?”

Now I don’t know what Chris said at this point, but I did get to keep the diaper bag….

As luck would have it, 17months after William was born, Caroline came along. Thankfully I still had the diaper bag. For the others, I might have put water wings on them as we were driving over bridges, and I might have insisted windows were always to be rolled down—you know because the power windows won’t work underwater. (I have since moved from that to carrying a hammer, but NOW I have a tool made especially for this purpose which proves I am not crazy.

I kept thinking about all the trips we have taken over these bridges and many other bridges and how they never questioned that windows came down, and if I could convince them it was better to go ahead and have their water wings on so we could run straight to the beach even before Mommy unloaded the car, well, that was a small price to pay to make sure they survived the harrowing trip. (I didn’t tell them that part.) There were times, however, I would casually mention if we were ever in deep water and Mommy was trying to get us out, they should just hold on but not scratch me or push me under. (Obviously, I did not tell them that at the same time we were crossing bridges. For pete’s sake, I didn’t want to scar them!)

As I crossed the IOP connector (and praise God the final bridge), I finally got it. They were living their lives. They were doing well. They stayed connected to me, Chris, and each other. We still are connected, and it is different. We have plunged into a new way of being. Chris and I have crossed a bridge to the other side of being a parent. They may take a few dives off their own bridges. (Caroline has told me the saying, “If everyone jumped off a bridge would you?” Is actually ridiculous because OBVIOUSLY she would wait until everyone else did, and if they survived and had fun, of course she would jump.) Anyway, I have to let them do that in their own way. If I don’t—if I insist on trying to control, to protect, to save—well, then I’m the one scratching, clawing, and pushing them under. 

Swim sweet babies swim. 

Developmentally Delayed Parenting

I love to write, and sometimes I hate to write. Writing makes me look deeply at myself and the world.  Okay, that's not entirely true, I already think (or as I'm often told overthink) myself and the world, but writing forces me to put it in some sort of order, which sometimes is freaking hard and painful and unsettling and all those things--and sometimes even after writing it still doesn't make sense, and I still don't know what to do, but here goes.....

The BIG question is, "Why doesn't anyone tell you how hard it is to be the parent of adult children?" Seriously y'all. There are oodles and oodles of books about babies, toddlers, preteens, and teens, and then when it comes to young adults and adult children--well google it and you'll see. And keep in mind, I'm not saying parenting adult children, I'm talking about being the parent of adult children. There's a difference. There is this perpetual myth that once they turn 18 or 21 and move out it's like the first verse of Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now.

Rows and floes of angel hair

And ice cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere

I've looked at clouds that way

But instead of looking at clouds that way, it's looking at parent/adult-child relationships that way. It's going to be all magical and everything will be perfect. Well done good and faithful servant, you've launched them into adulthood now sit back and enjoy. And the biggest overused and deceitful line, "The youngest is almost out of the house. We're seeing the light at the end of the tunnel." What no one tells you is there is a very real possibility that light is a train!

Anyway....

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I've been wondering (and praying about) why I'm feeling so sensitive, unsure, and inexperienced. (Spoiler alert, the answer is because I AM all of those things! But let's back up a little.) 

Two days ago I was listening to the podcast "Share the Love Stories" and my good friend The Rev. Amelia Arthur was interviewing Karoline Lewis. Karoline was talking about her college-age sons being home during the pandemic and how she was trying to navigate that if they were still at college she wouldn't talk to them or know what they're doing all the time like she can now. I literally stopped running, stood on the street, and rewound it four times. Then this thought raced through my mind, "I am a developmentally delayed parent." (You really should take the time to listen to the whole podcast here.) 

Stay with me here. When our children were/are away at college or living somewhere else, I heard from them a lot! SK would text or call as she was walking to class. She would tell me about all the great classes she was taking; we would talk about friends; and sometimes, she would ask my advice. Or she would text or call when things weren't going great--the car got towed, the zipper in her formal dress broke 2 hours before formal--she needed me (or at least my debit card---sort of joking with that comment). The same happened with Caroline. And I loved it! 

To be totally transparent and honest, the boys didn't call and text as much, but it was still multiple times a week, and they always responded to me. They shared their lives with me, talked about relationships, asked advice (yes often laundry advice), and told me about their fears, frustrations, and successes. I had this, I'll admit it, smug satisfaction whenever I'd hear mama's saying, "Once boys leave home, you never hear from them." Not my boys, not my girls. And then things started to change.

Now here's the thing I do truly believe 100% in my head and 75-80% in my heart. THIS IS NORMAL AND GOOD!. But it's also HARD!! It's like this landmine of navigation, at least for people like me who overthink. How much calling is too much? If they don't answer my text should I assume they're mad at me, dead in a ditch, or maybe just busy? Do they roll their eyes when they see my number pop up? Do they have a funny ringtone for me? Would they tell me if I was annoying them? Or are they glad to hear from me and they'll stay in touch as their lives allow and it has nothing to do with me?

And then there's the whole thing about their relationships with each other....y'all this isn't just a landmine, it's a whole dang country of mines. I love they have always been close, but life. and choices have created some stresses between them and it's not mine to fix. Damn, I hate that! Then there's the 53-year-old woman I am who is overjoyed they talk to each other so much--truly it was always our dream/goal that they would stay close, but that mature woman is taunted by the 5 or 3-year-old who is jealous and misses them and wants to (or at least thinks she wants to) know everything about them. And don't get me started on the times they are together and I'm not with them. Should I text or call? Is that interrupting them and being too overbearing? If I don't engage do they think I don't care?

I am loving watching them grow and become the people God created them to be. My heart burst with pride watching where life and their hard work take them. I am excited for the plans they have already made and are executing and for the dreams they are dreaming. I'm just trying to figure out where I fit or maybe just how we navigate our relationship now. And let's be honest, just like with so much of being a parent, I come to it with my own "stuff."

So here's the thing. I can write all about this, think all about this, pray all about this, but I'm just at the beginning of this. Years ago when she was 13 Sarah Katherine said to me, "Mama I think you should just try to be the mother we need and not the one you wanted." She's pretty smart...

Here we go--no one tells you how hard it is, will someone please tell me if it gets easier?

Also maybe we should all just
listen to Joni Mitchell's complete song and not just the first verse. Both Sides Now

Recovery Takes A Lot of Work

Chris and I don't fight a lot. It's the truth and not a statement about a perfect marriage (it's not). We just don't. We fuss; we disagree; we get annoyed, but we really have very few fights. And this is not because we agree on everything, we don't. 

One of us is a morning person, one of us is not. One of us loves to bike, one of us doesn't. One of us is reserved, one of us is not. And there's more...

We don't manage money the same. We don't even parent the same. Yes, it's true, and all you parenting "experts" are lying--yes I said it, lying if you say all parents, or even most parents do. Just because we don't parent the same way doesn't mean we don't have the same end goal in mind, we just go about it differently. We just don't have those big fights some couples have (no judgment). Partly I think it's because we just get each other and are honest even when the other doesn't want to hear it. For example, last night when I was telling him about a text exchange I was in and what I did and then said, "Do you think I was kind of being bratty and a baby?" and he said, "Yes. You were." And that is a whole other story I'm not ready to share because I'm still being bratty and a baby because my feelings are hurt. So I guess that's another way we are different, I get my feelings hurt SUPER easily--Chris might say irrationally easily, but he doesn't because that would lead to a fight...

Sometimes, however, we do fight--like last night. It was a doozy of a fight that resulted in our watching the second half of the Georgia game in separate rooms (maybe that was the silver lining...it was brutal!). Here's the truth (and the spoiler alert), on the surface last night's "fight" looks like it does stem from money and parenting, but looks can be deceiving...follow along.

Several weeks ago Boss lost his AirPods. I searched the cars; he searched the cars; I searched the cars again; he searched the cars again--no luck. He didn't blame anyone. He didn't try to "borrow" anyone else's And those two statements are what led me (or I pretend led me) to do what I did.

Boss and I are similar in our ways to release stress. We both like to run. He also listens to a lot of music. The semester was starting again, I knew he was under stress; I didn't want him to be under stress,  and so I went and bought him a new pair. Remember, he didn't ask me to or even throw a flinging fit of any sort--remember that is what I now realize was my rationalization. Anyway, I bought the AirPods and took them to him. I knew he was at the gym. What you should probably know is I did not discuss this with Chris...

I walked in the gym and over to his treadmill where he was running-- fast (we don't run at the same pace to relieve stress) with a pair of headphones in, but they were the cord kind--so old school. I handed him the box of brand new AirPods. To his credit (I can't remember if I told Chris this) he tried not to take them. "You didn't have to do that Mama," he said, "I was going to ask for them for Christmas, and I'm still not convinced I won't find mine." I started walking away with a wave of the hand. "Just use them, and if you find yours we'll give these to Daddy." I'm not going to lie--I liked being "the hero."    

Truth is I have always tried to "fix" things for our children. I haven't wanted them to suffer or be uncomfortable. Really isn't that true for most parents? The other thing that is true is good parenting requires sometimes being uncomfortable yourself and watching your kids struggle because that is how they grow. There may have been (read there definitely have been) a few times I gave in to my own discomfort at seeing them hurt or angry or uncomfortable and rushed in to fix things-see those parenting differences from above...

So here's where it starts getting a little sketchy...

As I pulled out of the parking lot after delivering the brand new in the box AirPods and headed to lunch with my friend (who also deals with addiction in her family) I thought some form of the thought "if he's tempted to use again, he'll remember this and he won't because he'll know how much I love him and that I would do anything for him, and he'll feel guilty if he even thinks about it, and he'll not do it, and now I can sleep at night knowing I'm in control and have fixed it for him." It wasn't exactly that, but it was close enough and also fully manipulative, controlling (or attempting to be controlling), and most importantly unhealthy. But I just ignored that little pesky voice that tries to be a voice of health and reason (and financial security).

Do you see where this is going?

That very afternoon I got a text from Boss...you are right--he found his AirPods. The new AirPods had already been opened. And why last night I decided to come clean with Chris I have NO. FREAKING. IDEA. But I did. And he was mad, and he doesn't want the AirPods, and he was mad, and he was right. (You have no idea how hard it was for me to type that sentence and will be even harder for me to say...)

I didn't tell Chris before, because he would have told me not to, and I didn't want to fight about it, or have him tell me not to and then go behind his back, so I just went behind his back to begin with--it made perfect sense to me--at the time. The other thing I know, and this might be even harder, is that I have a long way to go in my own recovery.

If I'm being completely honest with myself and not just trying to put lipstick on a pig, I was totally using those AirPods as a way to calm my anxiety over my inability to control whether or not Boss chooses to drink or use drugs again. I was trying to manage his life--keep all stress out of it because I believed, or wanted to believe, that would keep him in recovery. That's neither healthy nor fair.

It's not fair to Chris, and it's not fair to Boss. It is not allowing him to make his own choices or trusting in him to make good ones. It is not honoring his dignity and worth. It is not honoring his personhood. It was and is wrong. 

So what I now have to admit is I have a long way to go with my own recovery, and I have an apology to make. Anyone need some barely used AirPods?

Prayer for Serenity

God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time,
enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking, as Jesus did,
this sinful world as it is,
not as I would have it;
trusting that You will make all things right
if I surrender to Your will;
so that I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

                                            Reinhold Niebuhr

        

Not Just Despair--There's Room for Delight

I woke up this morning at 4:36 am with my heart racing as though I had just come in from a mile sprint. My mind was also in overload but I couldn't slow it down enough to know what it was all about. All I knew was pictures of my children rushed by like a screen saver on speed. Outside a storm raged, and I burrowed under the covers attempting to catch my breath. Now let me be clear--there is nothing going on right now which should have me responding in this way. And yet I was.

Not very smartly, I decided to think about each of the children and imagine what was going on in their lives right now. (I get it--completely dumb, but hey, it was 4:30 in the morning!) They are all young adults living their lives, making choices I may or may not agree with--they are young adults growing into the people God created them to be. "Or not," the evil part of my brain taunted. 

A little bit later I realized there was no going back to sleep, so I got up and tried to journal. That wasn't working so well either, and it was still raining. Before long there was a brief interlude in the rain and Winnie and I set off for a walk on the beach where I planned to have a serious conversation with God.

As I reached the top of the walkway and saw the raging waters a thought suddenly popped into my head. (Let's just call her the Holy Spirit.) "Think about all the ways you delight in your children. Think about all the things they are doing that have you bursting with pride." And so I did. 

Then I heard this, "He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me because he delighted in me." (Psalm 18:19)  I stood and looked out across the vast expanse of the beach to the wild turbulent waves, and my heart rate slowed, and I was completely at peace. My slowed down heart burst with love and pride as new pictures slowly entered my mind. 

I began to walk, but the Holy Spirit wasn't through with me. "You know," she gently said, "You don't have to only come to me when you're in despair. You don't have to only come to me when you're in need or scared or repentant. I delight in you and want to be in relationship with you during times of joy as well as times of pain. Just as you worry about your children, I worry about you. And just as you delight in your children, I delight in you."

I continued to walk and the sun came out. I watched Winnie chasing birds and waves. I smiled and waved at others enjoying the morning sun after the stormy night. I realized I need to practice this new learning, so I committed to writing down each day at least one thing I did or said that would delight the Lord.

I walked to the pier, slapped it, and turned around. Suddenly the skies turned black and the rain pelted my face, but it was okay. God was with me in the sunshine, and God stayed with me during the storm.

In the storms, in the sunshine, in despair, and in delight--God is there. Guess I just needed a reminder today.

(But did it have to be so early in the morning?)

Is It Easier?

As the mother of four children in 4 1/2 years, I have spent the last

20 years fielding all kinds of questions and comments.  It started when they were very young and we went everywhere together--doctor's appointments, grocery store, pool, mall, you name it--I just loaded them up and off we went. (We were broke for crying out loud--we had four children--there was no money for babysitters and we didn't live near family.) Anyway, back to the questions... 

Some of my favorites--"Do you know how this keeps happening?"  Well, yes I do thank you very much and apparently we're just quite good at it.  (I think I've said before this blog isn't for the easily offended....) or "I don't know how you do it every day.  There's no way I could."  Well, sometimes I don't; I just wake up, put them all in their separate cages and go about my day anyway I want--(Seriously people?  You just get up and do it again and again and again..there's no choice--but if you mean that question as a compliment, please excuse my sarcastic thoughts..).  Or, "Do you like having them this close together?"  Now that's probably the most reasonable except for the fact that I know no other way....

Recently the question I've been repeatedly asked is, "Who was/is the hardest to raise?" or "Who was/is the easiest to raise?"  or even, "Are boys or girls harder?"  (That question I'm not touching with a ten foot pole--seems a bit sexist to me and I'm sure my liberal daughter would tear my head off if I tried--so maybe she isn't the easiest...)  The one that honestly makes me lol (that's me trying to be cool with the text lingo) is, "You're kids are so great.  How do you do it?"  Of course that question usually comes from someone who has never read my blog or facebook posts....

But I have been thinking about it (read obsessing about it) over these past few weeks.  Part of the thought process has been tormenting myself about my role--thinking about how what I have done that has helped my children grow up--thinking more about how what I have done has hurt my children--I even blogged about it--Whose Fault Is It? (yeah and I thought that would free my mind from being highjacked by the all consuming questions--apparently I need more therapy to know myself better).

So here's an attempt to answer the question--Is it easier to rear a child who obsesses over making straight A's and being in the position of having to beg her AP physics teacher to give her a B before she leaves for college so you can help her get through it without breathing into a paper bag?  (I admitted that to her last night...) Or is it easier to rear a child who has a learning disability but makes such good grades the school tells you they can't give him an IEP-- that is until he begins to fail? (Yeah because that makes sense--let's wait until his self esteem is in the crapper and then get him help--clearly time for a school change.) Is it easier to rear a child who has so much potential but only puts in minimal effort?

Is it easier to rear a child who all the faculty and staff adore (yes I know he's got the cutest dimples in the world I see them every day, and I know he's polite I've trained him BUT CAN HE READ?!?!?) or to rear a child who is a little less lovable by authority figures, who is strong willed but has a heart of gold once he respects you (and by the way, he also has those cute dimples although they're not as pronounced).

Is it easier to rear a child who works so hard at every sport s/he wants to play and still sometimes sits on the bench or to rear a natural athlete who doesn't know what it means to work hard?  (Until they hit high school and then...)  Is it easier to rear a popular child who gets invited to every party (and you worry about what happens at all those parties--actually you know because you are also rearing a child or children who tells you everything--or if they're not telling you everything you don't want to hear the rest...) or is it easier to rear a child who rarely gets invited to a party?  Is it easier to rear a child who follows every rule to the T never questioning or to rear a child who challenges every boundary?

Is it easier to rear a child who has no filter (one guess as to which child that is) or to rear a child who keeps everything inside?  Is it easier to rear a child who makes a joke out of everything or a child who is so sensitive they cry or explode at even the smallest imagined slight?  Is it easier to rear a child who never thinks s/he is enough and is full of self criticism or a child who has so much confidence s/he can't take any criticism?  Is it easier to rear a child who is open and honest about his/her doubts and fears or a child that hides his/her insecurities behind a "cool" facade?

I could go on and on but the bottom line is, I don't have an answer because none of it's easy--not for me--not for any parent.  And back to my previous blog--we as parents can only do so much.  That's the answer I really want to give people who ask (and particularly to young parents who make statements such as "my children will always or my children will never" seriously y'all please don't it will come back to haunt you--and those of us with older children roll our eyes and laugh behind you're back--didn't say we were nice...and besides your comments made to us are usually perceived as judgmental and unkind--not to mention delusional)--anyway, what I want to say to ALL parents is be kind to yourself, do your best, be intentional, but extend to yourself and to your children room to make mistakes surrounded by forgiveness and grace--

Before the children walk out the door to go anywhere I say, "Have fun; remember who you are; be true to yourself."  As I've thought about the questions I get asked I've thought about this family motto.  I realize that as I have said it all these years it has really been about them being true to who I want them to be--to the values and morals I want them to have--to the behaviors I want them to choose--frankly to the way to be that reflects positively on me.

What I want to ask (but perhaps I'm not ready to answer) is are you ready for your children to be true to themselves--themselves as God and not you created them to be?

Whose Fault Is It?

When SK was two years old, she was SO GOOD!  She did whatever we asked; if we told her to sit in a chair and we forgot to tell her she could get up, well, 4 hours later she'd still be sitting there.  I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back telling myself what a good parent I was.  "Terrible twos," I thought, "Well that's what parents who aren't so involved, so consistent (yes I was delusional about my consistency), who don't put the effort in--that's what happens to them."  And then she turned three...

I think terrible two's is a misnomer or at the very least an expression parents who have gone through the 3's choose to continue to use so that others also get the shock we had and/or don't run for the hills in the weeks before their children's 3rd birthdays.  Anyway...

She turned 3 and suddenly my control was well if not non-existent much less.  I've been struggling with that ever since.  Or maybe I haven't; maybe I've assumed whenever SK or one of the others made a choice I didn't want them to make, said something I didn't want them to say, maybe I convinced myself it was just a blip...

In reality, what I did, what I do is try to figure out why and usually it involves asking myself, "What did I do wrong?"  "How have I failed them?"  It usually involves replaying every mistake I know I've made over the years and wondering if that was the moment...(and I do this with even the smallest of things they do).

(As parents, I think we also do this with our children's successes--like my broken arm when SK was 2.  I think sometimes we make their honors, their awards, their achievements about us and our good parenting, our solid home--we take their hard work and make it ours.)

Lately I've been thinking about this a lot.  If I'm honest I've been thinking about it both because my children are well into the teen years (please do not remind me SK will be 20 this summer) and I've been in therapy where I have explored some of my childhood to try to understand why I think in certain ways, why my emotional default is what it is.  What I recognize is that I both want to take all the responsibility for my children's thoughts, behaviors and choices AND I want to blame my parents for any painful emotional residue I have left over from my childhood, and I recognize that putting all my eggs (or ego) into that basket denies the personhood of myself and my children.

I am not denying that the environments we grow up in deeply impact us.  They do--for example, living in an alcoholic home you learn survival strategies that stick with you--become your default (things like making sure everything is okay for everyone all the time, staying quiet so as not to draw attention to yourself (yes sometimes I can be quiet), and trying to be perfect because maybe that will fix the problem).  Growing up in environments that our too permissive can breed entitlement; growing up in environments that are too controlling can breed rebellion; growing up in overly critical environments can breed low self-esteem, growing up in loving, stable, consistent homes can breed secure children all that and more is true.  But...

The other thing I'm beginning to think might be true is it is also somewhat narcissistic to believe that any choice our children make is because of us.  It's making it about us.  It appears we are being good parents by trying to find what we did wrong so we can fix it, but it's in some ways making us martyrs and it's definitely denying their free will, their personhood, their creation as a child of God independent of us--even if they were knit together in our wombs.
         
               "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise
                 you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know
                 that full well." (Psalm 139:13-14) (NIV)


On the other hand, I want to blame my parents--I want to find a reason why I am overly sensitive, hard on myself, always trying to please.  I want it to be someone else's fault because if it is totally someone else's fault that lets me off the hook; it gives me a "get out of jail free card"--and it might even keep me from doing the hard work I need to do to be healthy and whole--to live fully into the person God created me to be.

It's about control or giving up control.  If I believe that my children make choices because of something I've done or said, then all I have to do is find that thing and I can make it better (or at least my definition of better) or I can teach other parents how to have the 'perfect' kids I have.  I can make certain they never make that choice again, or I can make certain they keep making the choices I deem best for them.  I can be back in control--I can put them back in their snug beds, tuck them in like tacos, and bring them hot chocolate in the mornings, and everything will be FINE.

Further, I not only find I do this with my own children, but I do it with others' children.  When a child misbehaves, even a child as young as a toddler, it is so easy to say, "If only their parents would..." It is easy to say, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."  Again, it is easy to deny the free will, the personhood of every child of God some whom sometimes (or all the time) make choices we don't like.

This isn't easy; it's not easy combining psychology and faith; yet, I believe that is what an integrated faith looks like--it's using our minds, our experience, and scripture.  But it is hard.  On the one hand, people use verses such as Exodus 20:5b-6 which says, "punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments." to blame parents--to say it's something you did.  But then you read Deuteronomy 24:16, "Parents are not to be put to death for their children, nor children put to death for their parents; each will die for their own sin."  

Which is it?  It's hard to know.  I cling to Proverbs 22:6 "Train up a child in the way he should go, Even in old age he will not depart from it."  I also believe I don't know exactly what that way is except to do my best, to love God and to love my family, to be intentional and to be ready to extend forgiveness and grace to myself and to my children.

I believe God is not a puppet master; God does not pull strings and we behave in certain ways, so why in the world would I give myself that power over my children?  I am not God.  (I keep reminding myself, but sometimes I still forget.) I also believe God doesn't just throw us into this world and abandon us; God is with us through the good choices we make and through the bad. God is with us extending forgiveness and grace--holding us accountable but always loving us--each of us no exceptions.

If I'm honest, I don't have this all figured out (read figured out at all), but I'm trying.  I believe there are many people in this world trying.  Perhaps if we could extend grace to one another, perhaps if we could be less judgmental of others children, others parenting styles, others beliefs, others intentions, others personhood, perhaps then we could extend that grace to our children and to ourselves.  Perhaps we could stop trying to figure out whose fault it is and just love one another through.  Perhaps.

Changing the Religious Landscape without Changing Hats

Last week I began thinking about this post--I was writing it in my

head--"My Crazy Multiple Personality Weekend."  I was going to write about how it was a good thing I was good at color coding because I was going to need to carry color coded cards that Chris could flash at me so I would know who I was--starting Thursday I was back and forth between corporate wife, Mama to four (make that 5--foreign exchange student is still here), priest, friend and all in a rotating schedule that was hard to remember.

I was going to write about how over the course of 4 days, I was corporate wife at Pimlico (closing bigdeals, dancing in high heels--wait that's a song, but I was closing deals right Liz?), rushed home to be prom mama (read prom paparazzi), preached and celebrated Sunday morning, quick nap, priest colleague at Celebration of New Ministry (not vesting because....) rush to lax banquet, and then collapse at home counting down the hours until I could be in my therapist office where she would reintegrate my personalities and make me just me.  Yep, I was going to write all that and then for a bonus last night happened and I got to have a flinging fit which put insane woman as part of my personality this weekend (that will probably show up in a blog later), so I was going to write all that and post it on my fun blog Growing Up Doyle.  But....

The weekend didn't go exactly as smoothly changing roles.  Instead I found myself  texting a colleague who was sitting at his mother's bedside as she slowly passed away at the same time I was taking pictures of my husband presenting a trophy; I was transferring money for the teens, answering texts about curfews while placing bets; I was communicating with the girlfriend's mother about the night before while vesting for service; and I was celebrating with my friend Bill and the rest of the clergy of the Diocese of Kentucky as I ran to the lacrosse banquet--the roles didn't change, they overlapped.  Additionally the pew forum research on America's Changing Religious Landscape was released, I listened to the Diane Rehm show, Bishop Chilton Knudsen posted in Breaking the Glass Ceiling, I went running--there was my major mistake--I went running which always leads to thinking, and then The Rev. Tim Mitchell preached a sermon on collaborative ministry, in fact the whole celebration of new ministry celebrated, raised up collaborative ministry--lay and ordained---(stay with me, by the end I think I can pull it all together)

I started thinking about comments I heard or facebook posts clergy were making about why the nominals are becoming nones--basically the people "on the fence", the ones some colleagues would say aren't totally committed anyway, now considered themselves Nones--no religious affiliation.  I was thinking that we the clergy can spin this research anyway we want.  We can say, "we'd rather they just admit they really don't believe anyway." We can deny there is a decrease in attendance (in my nuclear family less than 50% attend on a weekly basis--there I've admitted it my teens don't go to church every week and I'm a priest--one even says he doesn't know what he believes anymore and he argues with me about infant baptism--the world didn't just end when I told the truth); we can inflate the average Sunday attendance numbers, blame transition; we can do a lot of things, but what I think we need to do is take responsibility.  I think we need to listen; I think we need to think about what kept these nominals from falling off the fence onto the side that embraces faith.  I think we need to think about what our role is in the declining numbers and maybe even (read definitely) make some changes.  (Disclaimer: these are my thoughts--I welcome dialogue, but if you're going to personally attack me, please do it before 11 am--that's when I'll be in my therapist office...)

It's not a bug on my collar--it's monogrammed

One of the points the guests on the Diane Rehm show pointed out was  people today don't see the church as the place of authority anymore--they think independently--they don't need to go to the church for all the answers.  They don't want to be TOLD what to believe, how to behave, they want to think. I started thinking how true that is not only in the church but across the spectrum of our lives. Gone are the days when people just accept exactly what a doctor tells them.  Patients bring in their questions, they challenge, they do research--the doctor remains the trained expert, but there is conversation--the patient is not seen as a body to be "fixed" with no input, but rather as a body who knows his/her own body, who has a mind, who has something to contribute. The medical field has had to change or their practices decline--hmmm sounds familiar.  (So most people ask questions, I still don't, but that's because I'm a doctor's daughter and I know I'm going to sign that paper which says the doctor can talk to my Daddy and he'll do the questioning.  One day I'll take over--maybe.)

I think as clergy we have to re-think how we see ourselves--how we view our authority.  We can no longer present ourselves as the paternal, has all the answers, saver of souls, hierarchical expert. Because guess what?  We're not--it's all been a farce anyway and people know it.  We are the trained experts in homiletics, exegesis, Hebrew and Greek (along with many other subjects) and we've had experiences as we've lived out our ministry that is helpful to the conversation, but those who enter our churches (and by the way why do they have to come to us--I think that's a new post to be written), they bring with themselves life experience, expertise in their fields--even and perhaps those most open are our children and youth. If we want people to be open, honest, and vulnerable in our faith communities, don't we have to be too? I believe people want a place where they can bring their questions, their fears, their doubts and we can journey together--and they don't want labels and all or nothing dogma and doctrine.

More and more people are identifying in the political world as independent instead of democrat or republican.  As I was running I was thinking that seems to be indicative of people not wanting a boxed political ideology.  People want to think about individuals issues and not have to "buy into" the whole party line because it's complicated.  I think we have to think about that--if we as the clergy say to belong to this church you have to believe and accept and then give them a list of musts, well, seriously it's no wonder they're leaving.  Let's talk about what we say in the creeds, in the Baptismal covenant, in the Gospels.  Let's hear how people are experiencing these truths in their lives, and perhaps most importantly, let's stop pretending we have all the answers.

Which brings me to Bishop Knudsen (it's coming together, just be a little more patient). she wrote, "the church is losing credibility as a place to bring questions" and that "all of us need to venture into deeper levels of vulnerability and truthfulness."  She wrote in her post on Breaking the Episcopal Glass Ceiling that she feels she is beginning a new ministry that she has been preparing for her entire life.   She has been open about her alcoholism and recovery and both of those have been part of her preparation for this new ministry.  As a person who has been criticized for being too transparent, has been told she shouldn't let people know about parenting mistakes, about any mistakes, who shouldn't be so out there, I give special thanks for Bishop Knudsen and her openness, and I vow to try to have her strength, courage and vulnerability.  Bishop Knudsen brings all of herself into her ministry, I'd like to have the strength, the bravery to do the same--

That's how this post all comes together.  I can't put hats on and off (although I had a gorgeous hat

thanks to Penny--even looked good with jeans and a sweatshirt).  I can't change roles as though they don't overlap, shedding one for the other, because they do.  All of these roles come together as I step into the pulpit and behind the altar on Sunday mornings.  I am a corporate wife who worries I might say something wrong and ruin my husband's career (clearly a dramatic corporate wife) and who also enjoys the people with whom he works.  They are my good friends.  I am also the mother of teens who worries about grades. drinking, and drinking and driving every night but particularly on prom night, because I know it can and does happen, and I am a mother who is grateful she has an open relationship with other parents (even though it may creep Boss out that I text the girlfriend's mother--I really like her--they may break up one day but I've found a friend).  I am a priest that wants to celebrate the new ministry of a colleague, is grateful for shared ministry, who pastors colleagues even long distance and through texts, and who wants to be at every game, banquet, play, and everything else for her children. I am a neurotic person (again that post will come later) who sees a therapist, who has a loving understanding husband, who is the daughter of an alcoholic, and is a person recovering from an eating disorder. All of these things inform my ministry; all of these things are part of my ministry; all of these things are preparation for current and future ministry. All of these things are me..

I believe we can change the religious landscape of America but we have to change first--we have to live into our vulnerability, our fears--we have to stop hiding who we are for fear of losing our authority, and we have to share our questions, doubts, pain and celebration in ministry equally and collaboratively among the priesthood of all believers.  Instead of worrying about which side of the fence the nominals will fall, perhaps we should just tear down the fence.

A Village with Boundaries

Several weeks ago I ran into a man I know and admire (for

many reasons, but his photography--it's a step above everything) and he asked me a question, "I know you love having Charlotte (better known as The Toddler), but I have a question."  I momentarily stopped breathing dreading the question I knew was going to follow.  "But what about your priesthood?  What are you going to do? Are you ever going to return to work?  Is anyone talking to you?  Why did you resign?"  (Obviously these questions are if not a daily part of my life a weekly part--and for the record the answers are, "I'm still a priest. I don't know what I'm going to do. Yes I'm going to return to work and yes people are talking to me--some even about my future in ministry....the other is another blog)

He asked none of those questions.  Instead he said, "Are you more of a follow the rules just as her mother wants you to do or a spoil her rotten and do whatever you want?"  I stumbled through the answer, but like so many things in my life the question has remained with me.

The short answer is "both."  Do we give her more than one cookie in the afternoon?  Yep.  Do we let

her stand on our counters as long as she want asking, 'How about...?' Yep. (Sometimes even naked) But do we make her say please and thank you? Yep.  Do we let her hit us? Nope (although last week when I told her know to hitting and she cried I did have to leave the room while I teared up too.) That was the short answer.

Over the past several weeks I've been thinking about what our role is in The Toddler's life and what it should be.  I don't know how it will play out forever, but I think there are a few things that are important, crucial even--things I was taught as a young mother...things about villages and boundaries

My mind went to many episodes in our young family's lives and how so many people taught me how to know the difference--

• Aunt Gillian not allowing Sponge Bob to be watched when our children were over because she knew how much it mattered to me. (And she didn't tell my children or hers that I was the neurotic overly protective controlling Mama--she maybe should have told me.)  
• The Banse's giving Caroline 4 bowls of cereal for breakfast (they also let her sit with them in church so I didn't have to deal with the sugar high!)
• Woody looking over Boss's head for the answer from us when Boss said, "I know I'm not really old enough to play football but I think I'm tough enough, can I play?"
• Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Anne telling me on separate occasions, "SK can tell me anything and I won't tell you unless I think she's in danger." But Aunt Ingrid writing me first and sharing a letter she wanted to send SK to make sure it was okay.
• All the parents over the years who called and asked whether a particular movie was acceptable and particularly the ones who understood when we said 'no.'

There are some things that make no difference, but there are others that are plain and simply crossing boundaries, boundaries of parents' rights.  Dessert without eating dinner--no big deal; doing something that violates a moral or value the parents hold dearly--huge.  It's knowing the difference, erring on the side of the parents, asking the question that matters--it takes a village but a village respecting the parents that truly matters.  I'm grateful we had that village; I want to be that village.  And there my friend is your answer....a village with boundaries--hope I don't cross them....

The Truth of the T-Shirts

It popped up on my facebook page, and I laughed out loud recognizing how true it was in our family. My sister didn't need rules--she was so good, but she was pretty bossy.  (and y'all wonder why I have issues...) I definitely gave my parents reasons to make rules (and no I will not share examples), and Dritte--not telling you those stories either!

I suspect my children could fit into these t-shirts too--need one more though.  I was thinking about this yesterday on my run and remembering conversations with, in particular, Sarah Katherine.  One of the things Chris and I have done for better or worse is to admit to our children when we mess up.  I used to say to Sarah Katherine, "You didn't come out with a manual.  I'm doing the best I can." or "You're our practice run; we'll get better as we go along."  Sarcastic?  Funny? But yesterday I realized how very true....

I started thinking about how strict we were about dress.  Only certain things could be worn to church; school dress collared shirts only for the boys and hats NEVER to be worn backwards. (We gave into the collared shirts when I went on a fifth grade field trip with Boss and he was the ONLY one in a collared shirt.)  Change started even earlier--SK went to preschool everyday in a smocked dress,
matching bow, monogramed panties (with matching color to the dress of course) and saddle oxfords; I'll never forget the morning Karin Truitte and I watched our youngest enter preschool in mixed matched clothes (Caroline did have on a smocked dress with a bow barely hanging on her head and not matching) and rain boots--it wasn't raining.  We looked at each other and laughingly said, "There are probably people judging us, but hey they dressed themselves." and we headed off to tennis. (She was on her fifth, I on my fourth--we'd had lots of practice!) As for church dress, now we're thrilled they're in church--sometimes in jeans with shirts untucked (not hats

Backwards cap/sibling love

though); Boss left for school today in athletic shorts, a jersey, and a backwards hat--and the world is not ending.

I did make him take the hat off at the table

A couple of weeks ago we let Boss take my car and drive with four friends to Florida (they were chaperoned when they got there).  SK said, "Are you kidding me?  You would have never let me do that."  She's probably right.  She's also right when she says she was never allowed to miss church and now sometimes the others do. That change has come in just the past year--we have moved from insisting they go to church with their questions and their choice of clothes to them not always going. (Why I Insist My Children Go to Church on Their Terms)--and the world is not ending.

I kept running and I kept thinking.  There is so much truth in those t-shirts although a different truth than the successful attempt at humor.  The truth is rearing children is a life long practice run.  We do the best we can with the information we have at the time.  Over time we sometimes realize we made things important that weren't and we need to make some things more important.  Sometimes by the time the youngest hits the teen years, some of the rules are cast aside.  It's not necessarily as is commonly said because we're just older and tired (although that is true to), but I think the real reason is we've been practicing and we recognize the game plan may need to change.  I think what we've also learned is sometimes the rules aren't nearly as important as other things.  We learn to choose relationship over rules.

Isn't a life of faith like that?  As we live we are constantly practicing.  Practicing living into the people God calls us to be; practicing being in relationship with all of God's creation, practicing tolerance, inclusion, forgiveness, redemption, and grace.  Practicing and changing; recognizing there are things we have to let go of--things we used to think were so important, and there are things we need to cling onto.  Wendall Berry writes in "Practicing Resurrection" (Full text: Practicing Resurrection)

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Why I Insist My Children Go to Church, On Their Terms

I love pens--I know that's bizarre (but so are so many other things that I do.)  But really, I do love them--all kinds and all colors.  But I do have my favorites.

One of my favorites is a Waterman pen  a dear friend, Kennedy Helm, gave me.  I was honored to know Kennedy and to listen to the words of advice he would often impart.  (He taught me how to take a child on a college tour--and he was mostly right; we didn't fight at all.  And said child will be attending a school of HER choice next year--but that's another story.)  Kennedy always signed everything with his own fountain pen  kept in his coat pocket.  Ask him to sign a paper while holding a pen, he would still reach for his.  When I was ordained Kennedy and his equally wonderful wife, Elizabeth, gave me a Waterman pen.  "With which to write your sermons," Kennedy said, "Or sign the books when you finally publish them."  I love that pen.  Kennedy has passed away and I don't see Elizabeth nearly enough.  I miss them both tremendously.

Several weeks ago I ran out of the pen's ink cartridges.  Life, and snowy weather and illness, have all conspired against me and getting to Office Depot (Kennedy's recommendation on where to buy replacements) to purchase new cartridges.  Today, stuck at home because one car is in the shop and the other three drivers had real things they needed to do, I braved the single digit temperatures and walked to Office Depot.

When I got home, I immediately put a new cartridge in and started trying to write some long overdue notes.  My stomach dropped a bit--it was scratchy and jumped over spaces--it wasn't smooth at all.  What was wrong with it?!?!!  As I felt the panic began to rise, I hadn't written down how Kennedy told me to clean it,  I heard Kennedy's voice in my head, "Make sure you use it frequently.  If you don't it won't write smoothly.  You also have to write with it often so it learns your hand; it becomes part of you.  A pen can be used by anyone but it also becomes very personal. You have to press down with just enough pressure.  Don't be afraid to press down, but not hard enough to damage the nib. You'll get the hang of it."  I hadn't been writing with it--and so I started writing my name over and over on a piece of paper until it finally became more smooth, more clear, and once again a part of me.

As I was repeatedly writing my name it dawned on me, this is why I both insist my children go to church and why I don't make them acolyte or sing in the choir or be a Eucharistic minister unless they want to.  This is why they attend church and why they are allowed to, encouraged to, question and challenge what they hear in sermons (yes, even mine), what they read in Scripture, and how they see people behave. They are allowed to participate on their terms.  Chris and I, along with their Godparents, presented our children to be baptized and made these promises.

Will you be responsible for seeing that the child you present
is brought up in the Christian faith and life?

Parents and Godparents

I will, with God's help.

Celebrant

Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow
into the full stature of Christ?

Parents and Godparents

I will, with God's help.

                                                      (BCP p. 302)

And we will uphold them (this is also what I tell them when they ask why they have to go to church--we made promises).  Chris and I make sure the children are in church and my hope and prayer is that with constant use their faith will become a part of them AND that it will be their own personal faith, not what I tell them to believe but what they really believe.  I suspect there will be times life gets scratchy, but I pray that because we have kept the promises we made at their baptisms they will have what they need to work through those times.  I pray that we have given them the tools they need to refill their souls.  And I pray that they are surrounded by people who press them into finding their own faiths, I pray that they press themselves hard enough to find their own faith, but not hard enough to damage them.  

Thank you Kennedy--you continue to impart valuable wisdom.  And now I will go write a note to Elizabeth--it's high time we had lunch.