It’s Not You, It’s Me

If sleep was a person, I’d marry it. I love sleep so much I have wondered at times if I need to repent of the sin of sloth. During the school year, my first thought as the alarm went off was almost always, “How many hours until I can get back in bed?” I loved Saturdays and school holidays because they gave me even more hours to stretch out in the comfort of my cool sheets and soft blankets, blissfully progressing back and forth through my REM cycles. Stephen learned long ago not to take it personally when I would say, “This is my favorite part of the day,” as I eagerly slipped between the covers and sighed with pleasure as I felt my muscles totally relax.  Three seconds later, I’d be snoring. I would be cranky if I didn’t get a full eight or nine hours every night. On the weekends, I would sleep a little longer, but I never let it take over the whole day; I’d always get up at 10:30 or after 12 hours. Like the restrained passion of Edward and Bella, the fact that I always stayed a breath away from complete indulgence made my love for sleep even more intense.

Giving up sleep has been one of my primary concerns as I’ve prepared to transition into motherhood. While I’m sure TH will be a prodigy in sleep as well as in all other arenas, I’ve learned that even “good sleepers” only give their mothers six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep at night, and that for most mortals, getting to this point is actually a huge accomplishment won after months of fatigue.

But for the past few weeks I’ve started to get a glimpse of how I’m going to manage this transition: by the time TH arrives, Sleep and I will already be “on a break.” Between my general discomfort and constant need to use the restroom, it’s been months since I’ve slept through the night, myself. My nights are full of tossing and turning (and getting up), and after six or seven hours of fitful slumber, my back is aching and telling me it’s time to get out of bed. (On the plus side, it usually sounds pretty good to go straight to the gym and walk out the kinks, so it’s been helpful for my motivation to keep up with my exercising). During the day, I have to keep moving to stay three steps ahead of sleepiness; when I slow down to rest or read a book, I end up drifting off to sleep…

…but what’s the harm in a nap? you ask. Surely, as a pregnant lady on summer vacation, I’m entitled to some guilt-free midday snoozing? But this is the other way that Sleep has become my nemesis. A nap may feel good for the moment, but it ruins any waking hours that follow. I stay sluggish, fussy, and unmotivated after a nap, no more well rested and not good for anything else, either. So I avoid naps as much as I can.

It’s kind of like a mother eagle taking the feathers out of her nest as it gets time for the baby chicks to fly on their own, or like the high school sweethearts who start bickering over stupid things during their senior year, subconsciously preparing themselves for when they get to college and break up.  By the time August rolls around, Sleep and I will be so on the outs I’ll hardly even notice that we haven’t gotten to share the qualitiy time we once loved. So I’m giving Sleep the breakup line I hate so much…I just need to focus on other people for a while, so that in the future we can get back together and really appreciate our relationship that much more.

Prayer

I know that hardly any of my faithful readers like serious posts, but…too bad.  Here’s my deep thought for today.

For the summer, the adult Sunday School classes are going through a series on the core values of the church, led by the elders and various other church leaders.  (Good idea, huh?  That was Stephen’s brainchild.)  Yesterday was the first Sunday of the series, and so I heard one of the elders, Lauris, talk about prayer.  He made lots of good points, but the one that caught my attention the most was a challenge about how much time we spend praying about things that are temporal, compared to how often we pray about things that are eternal.

Later in the afternoon, my dad, Stephen and I talked about the “prayer talk” we had all heard that morning, and as we reflected on our “temporal” prayers (past and present), we laughed at how often we spend so much time and energy praying for a certain person or circumstance, and later look back gratefully when our prayers are not answered in the way we hoped for.  I prayed in college for boys I admired to return my affections and desire my hand in marriage…SO glad God said no to those!  Over the years, Stephen and I have prayed for certain jobs to work out…and we’re so glad not to be living in Whitney, or Marlin, or Houston now that we see where we are now.  This certainly isn’t limited to my “self-centered” prayers, but when I pray for others too: for Him to bring someone a spouse, let a friend get conceive, or give loved ones certain opportunities or deliverance.  Now, I wonder…to what extent are these prayers born out of a heart that doesn’t really trust that God already knows what he is doing?  Otherwise, why would I feel the need to so compulsively offer God advice?  Even when I pray for “God’s will to be done,” I usually can’t help but throw in some suggestions just in case he hasn’t decided what his will is yet.

Even for those of us who dutifully follow the ACTS prayer plan, I’d venture a guess that almost every praying Christian spends at least 80% of their energy praying about “temporal” situations like jobs, kids, heartaches, friends, marriage, etc.  I wish I knew a prayer historian who could answer this question, but I wonder if this is kind of a modern phenomenon, an indication that too much of our mental energy overall is spent focusing on problems and circumstances that are fleeting?  What does it look like to pray for eternal things?  Everyone I know believes that they should be praying more (”without ceasing,” I think, is our specific command), and so if we’re going to pray less about the day-to-day, what do we do more of?

As a good classical teacher, I believe that one of the best ways to learn a new art is by imitating a master.  So I’m going back to some of the books I own that are collections of published prayers.  (The fact that some of these prayers were first composed hundreds of years ago speaks to their timeless nature…no mentions of mechanical trouble with the ox cart or grandma’s aching joints.  I’ve posted a couple of my favorites here and here.)  I’m finding that many great saints found plenty to say in praise of God and in concern for the sinfulness of the world.  I’m trying to build the habit of praying their words as my own, until I develop a heart that is more in tune with the eternal.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to stop praying about my job or my baby or my aching grandma, or even for my own very fleeting concerns (”God, where did I leave that paycheck?”).  I’m sure that God likes hearing about my daily worreis just like any father.  But I think that placing these requests in the context of a more lasting perspective is a healthy shift.  What I, and TH, and Grandma, really need is to see God and find satisfaction in Him.  When that is happening, even sleepless nights, aching joints, and missing paychecks can be dealt with properly…maybe even appreciated as a trial that develops perseverance and character!  (Remind me of this in two months…).

Hmm, I’m not even finished.  But I think I’ll save the rest of my thoughts for Prayer, part II!

Domesticity

I found a couple of blogs that have renewed my enthusiasm for the kind of homemaker I aspire to be: centered, purposeful, frugal,  creative, thoughtful, responsible…  The target audience is definitely the stay-at-home mom, but lots of the articles deal with issues of meal planning, home organization, de-cluttering, budgeting, and personal attitude that are really applicable to any adult woman.  Most of the “mom” articles are about kids who are toddlers or school-aged, but I’ve enjoyed reading them regardless.  So here are some links…

www.simplemom.net

www.steadymom.com

www.smallnotebook.org

I’m having fun following links on post comments, and I’m finding lots more good reading.  The common denominator between these sites is an attempt at living simply and thoughtfully, rather than getting caught up in busyness and clutter.  Sounds great, doesn’t it?

So far my favorite tip that I’ve read is about house cleaning.  The author has a daily chore chart for essential sanitizing and de-cluttering.  Beyond that, she says that she only “deep” cleans when something gets bad enough that she really notices and it starts to bother her.  And at that point, she just cleans that thing– if you notice a scuff on the baseboard, get a Magic Eraser and clean that scuff, don’t wait until you have a chance (or motivation) to clean all of the baseboards in the house.  If you are grossed out by the dust collecting on the mantel, than dust it, but don’t feel obligated to finish off the whole room.

I like it!  Seems similar to what I’m trying with my chore chart, but gives me some freedom not to worry about the “deep” cleaning that is not on my daily list.

Let the adventure of becoming domesticated continue!

Identity vs. Role Confusion

“Okay, there are two things that I remember about my childhood…First, I remember being with my dad.  He would get these far-off looks in his eye, and he would say, ‘Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.’  I just wish I’d realized at the time that he was talking about MY life.”*

I guess in some ways my life is turning out just like I planned…college, teaching, marriage, baby.  But what I did not foresee as I made my little hopeful life map is that it would be a struggle for me to adapt to life changes, even when they are exciting, anticipated, and planned for.  I’ve been thinking hard about my own sense of identity and value lately.  Here’s what it boils down to:  on days when I have accomplished many things (goals accomplished, house clean, quality products to show for hours spent working), I feel like I have been a success.  On days when I have less to show for my time, I feel discouraged, wasteful, and “blah” by the end of the day.

I feel like I am fighting against a semi-lazy nature, and so I over-compensate by trying to be over-productive.  On days when I have less to show for myself, I feel like I have lost the battle.  Normally, I’m forced by contract to put in a long day’s work at school.  This summer, I’ve been able to stay in producer mode as I’ve tackled organizing and decorating projects and as I’ve thrown myself into lesson planning for my first quarter of school.  I’m realizing that I take a lot of pride in my productivity, and that I use the checks on my to-do lists as measures of my own value and worth.

So it’s made me a little panicky as I’m watching the weeks tick by.  Even now, I’m struggling to keep up my momentum as my body gets bigger and the days get hotter.  It’s  harder to fight off naps during the day.  And even if I manage to beat my body and make it my slave, I know that I can’t put off this transition forever.  In August, school will start without me (sort of).  Possibly in the same week, I’ll be introduced to my new to-do: a baby who will have no regard whatsoever for the tasks I hope to complete in a day.

Although I may harbor secret hopes that I’m growing a super-cooperative baby who will be born with a natural sense of schedule and contentment, I am aware that it is likely that I’m facing a new lifestyle where I won’t necessarily be able to measure success by the number of tasks I can check off of my to-do list.  I’ll get to the end of a day of “work” and the baby might still be crying, wet, dirty, and/or in need of feeding…my laundry will still be piled up wet, dirty, and/or in need of folding…my house will bear the signs of my distraction with dishes stacked up in the sink and beds left unmade.

Just thinking about it makes me feel like breathing in and out of a paper sack.  I believe that raising children is a blessing and a high calling and one of the most (ultimately) satisfying endeavors in life.  But I’m still expecting this transition to be a shock to my system, especially at first.  Right now I feel like I’ll be jumping off of a moving train onto the platform.  Gone will be the measuring of days by appointments and tasks, replaced by days measured in less “productive” terms of hours slept,  ounces consumed, and diapers changed.  I’m open to the idea that it will really be more like jumping from one moving train to another, and that Baby Days will not feel as unstructured as they look to me now.  But either way, I’ll get whiplash.

What can I do to prepare myself better for this mental transition?  Maybe some of you can tell me.  Or maybe the shift will happen lots more naturally than I’m expecting–that the actual presence of Turniphead (who, at that point, will have a much more normal name) will help me see my new world with surprising clarity.  Maybe I’ll look back on these summer fears as the final expressions of a mind defined by a pitiably narrow sense of purpose.  I guess we’ll see.  And if you keep following the blog, you’ll find out when I do.

*While You Were Sleeping…best movie of 1995, if not of all time.

**Disclaimer:  I hope that those of you who are stay-at-home moms don’t feel like I have no respect for what you do all day.  Quite the opposite!  I am imagining my own shortcomings in adjusting to having to create my own schedule, to apply myself to less finite tasks, and to work with little to no thanks or appreciation! I know that the “productivity” that I take such pride in is mainly the result of having someone else holding my feet to the fire, not my own personal discipline.  Those of you who devote your days to your children with joy and satisfaction make me hopeful that I can do it too.  I’m just thinking ahead to making this transition in the midst of rollercoastering hormones and sleep deprivation, and wondering how my little brain will take it.

Big News

I’ve always had these days, but they come with more frequency lately–the “I have nothing to wear” blues.  I made it through the day in a shirt that was cute but kind of tight-fitting, but I ran out of patience as I gathered my things for my final event of the day, computer time at Starbucks.

I have already compromised my vain principles to wear Stephen’s shirts around the house as pajamas, but I have never sunk so low as to wear them out in public.  But today I was tired, hot, and scratchy, so I set my dignity aside and pulled on his favorite soft American flag t-shirt before I walked out the door.

“It’s okay, lots of women go to Starbucks in oversized, ill-fitting clothes.  They don’t look great, and you might not either, but it’s not like you’re going there to pick up dudes anyway.”  I positive self-talked myself all the way to the bathroom.

There at the mirror, I was confronted by a shocking revelation: it seems that I have underestimated the enormity of my situation.  And by situation, I mean stomach.  The shirt wasn’t even that baggy on me!  It fit!  And I still have seven weeks to go!  I might neeed therapy in addition to a personal trainer when this whole thing is over.

Do you know who you’re talking to?

Now that I’m home during the day I’m listening to more talk radio, which of course is primarily geared toward pretty conservative listeners, to say the least.  I’ve been kind of flummoxed by some of the advertisements that I’ve heard between segments lately.  One entices, “Because of provisions in the stimulus plan, there is no better time for taking out a mortgage!”  Another one asserts, “If you have more than $10,000 in credit card debt, you have a RIGHT to settle that debt for a fraction of what you owe!”  Just today I heard an earnest recruitment ad for AmeriCorps, followed by the testimony of a mother who was encouraging all parents to enroll their children in some sort of child healthcare program so that their children might also have access to unlimited doctor and dentist visits for only $50 a month.

Not to deal in stereotypes, but these ads seem to be a little midguided.  Most conservatives I know (especially the kind who listen to news-talk radio stations) oppose anything having to do with the stimulus bill, believe that people should be held accountable for paying off their own debt, and are suspicious of all government-sponsored philanthropy and healthcare.

I have no additional commentary, I just think it’s kind of weird.

Deep Thoughts on Mundane Chores

I’m working on some new posts.  Meanwhile, enjoy:

SORTING LAUNDRY

Folding clothes,
I think of folding you
into my life.

Our king sized sheets
like table cloths
for the banquets of giants,

pillow cases, despite so many
washings seams still
holding our dreams.

Towels patterned orange and green,
flowered pink and lavender,
gaudy, bought on sale,

reserved, we said, for the beach,
refusing, even after years,
to bleach into respectability.

So many shirts and skirts and pants
recycling week after week, head over heels
recapitulating themselves.

All those wrinkles
to be smoothed, or else
ignored, they’re in style.

Myriad uncoupled socks
which went paired into the foam
like those creatures in the ark.

And what’s shrunk
is tough to discard
even for Goodwill.

In pockets, surprises:
forgotten matches,
lost screws clinking on enamel;

paper clips, whatever they held
between shiny jaws, now
dissolved or clogging the drain;

well washed dollars, legal tender
for all debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;

and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold

you brought from Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover…

If you were to leave me,
if I were to fold
only my own clothes,

the convexes and concaves
of my blouses, panties, stockings, bras
turned upon themselves,

a mountain of unsorted wash
could not fill
the empty side of the bed.

copyright 1988 by Elisavietta Ritchie

The greatest plans of mice and men…

The latest (and hopefully last) development in my work schedule is that I’ll be teaching two classes of fourth grade writing/grammar in the mornings.  This has been the class I’ve struggled with the most for the past years, partly because of curriculum issues and partly because writing is stinking hard to teach.  But just this past year we hit on some curriculum that I really liked, so I’m happy for another year to get this subject to awesomeness.  (Reading and history, my other two major class subjects I’ve developed over the past four years, are in great shape, and I feel totally comfortable handing them off to my replacement.)

Thanks to my impeccable timing, Turniphead’s due date is two days before the first day of school.  I am expecting him or her to come late, so I have some hopes (however unrealistic) of making an appearance at work for the first day of school at least, but I’m planning so that my long-term sub can teach my classes for the first six weeks.  (I figure any days I happen to be there at first will just be bonus, and I’ll still be thankful for detailed plans.)

So my project for this summer has been to develop week-by-week plans for the first twelve weeks of school (that’s 6 for the sub, and 6 for me to ease my transition back after maternity leave is up).  It’s been so fun, and I have to say…I have never thought this carefully about my lesson plans before!  I’ve been having fun planning out lessons and creating all of the worksheets and resources that will be necessary to implement them.  My ultimate project is to have each week’s materials in a separate folder, all ready for the copy machine.

Maybe that mental image does not make your heart go pitter-pat, but those of you who are teachers, or who are OCD, might be able to understand.  It’s fun to plan for school when I actually have the energy and mental space to really think about how to do it well!  It’s also nice to imagine that because of my careful planning, my sub will be able to get everything covered, my students will hit the ground running, and that Future Lindsey might actually be productive too, despite returning to work in a fog of sleeplessness and emotional exhaustion.

Catch 22

So I’m trying to make healthy choices by drinking lots of water (or at least, what I consider to be water equivalents–lemonade, tea, Kool-Aid…) since it’s super hot outside and apparently bodies need lots of water anyway.  I feel like I’m drinking CONSTANTLY and I’m not even drinking my “recommended” amount.  It’s something like two gallons!  But even at this level of dehydration, it’s super annoying because Turniphead is sitting right on my bladder like it’s his royal throne.  Even if I’ve only had three tiny sips of liquid since my last potty break, a little jump or squirm from the The Child sends me running for the ladies’ room.  I feel like I’m spending a disproportionate amount of time in the bathroom, which is really getting in the way of my ambitions of productivity.

As a solution, I’m thinking of turning my bathroom into a home office.  I’ll get a Camelback backpack and fill it with my daily ration of water.  I’ll keep the straw in my mouth so that I can drink constantly and keep my hands free.  (Maybe with 24-hour water drinking I can get my two gallons drunk.)  I’ll set up my computer on a lap desk and install a wireless router on my Clearwire box.  This may be a disturbing mental picture, but I think that all of my fellow small-bladdered companions can understand that desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures.

Glad you could join us…

The classroom is erupting in chaos, and students are tripping over each other as they make their way to the door.  The teacher is still collecting her thoughts and papers, but then finally gets around to announcing to the few students still remaining: “That’s it for today!  Class dismissed!”

Homes are flattened along the coastline, the Red Cross has been delivering necessary supplies to survivors for days, debris is scattered far and wide.  The news reporter annouces:  “The Governor has decided to declare the Texas coast a disaster area.”

The song ends and four-fifths of the congregation sits down.  The pastor gets up to pray and instructs, “You can all take your seat.”

The first twenty students are already in line for the Titan as the last group members make it through the turnstile at Six Flags.  The youth minister raises his voice as if he is addressing the entire group:  “You guys can take off on your own…we’ll meet back here for lunch!”

Similarly…

High temperatures have been in the 100’s for ten days.  The grass outside of the path of the sprinkler is as crispy as hay.  Everyone in Texas is wearing the thinnest, skimpiest layers they can decently get away with.  When June 21 comes around and all of the weathermen announce “it’s officially the first day of summer,” they seem a little late to the party.