blog awards & bad moods

I’ve been in a rotten mood the past few days. Kids didn’t nap, sun didn’t shine – if only the dog had up and left, it would have felt like a true, twangy country song.

My attitude towards Eeyoresque moods has been largely informed by the Julie Andrews School of Facing Storms: start ruminating on things I love and the dark clouds slowly lift. I’m not particularly partial to raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, but you get the idea.

So as I brooded, I found myself thinking about two delightful surprises that had recently come my way – blog “awards” from fellow bloggers who let me know they like my writing.

The first was from Sherry Antonetti at Chocolate for Your Brain. Sherry is a mother of ten and a free-lance writer. To think that my work is enjoyed by someone who knows heaps more than I do about 1) parenting and 2) writing was a lovely boost to my mothering spirit. Sherry passed on the Liebster Award, a German word meaning dearest or beloved. The idea behind the award is to create new connections among up-and-coming bloggers. When you receive it, you pass it on to five bloggers that you enjoy reading in order to spread the love.

The second was the Versatile Blogger Award from Natural Mama Nell at Whole Parenting Family. (You can read more about this award geared towards sharing the love here.) For this award, you’re supposed to share 15 blogs that you follow regularly and then share 7 facts about yourself. Since Nell is quite a versatile blogger herself, I was encouraged to think she enjoyed my writing in the same light.

So for a week where my mood has tended too sour, let’s sweeten things up a bit, shall we? Here are a few** blogs that have become favorites. Some I’ve shared in the past; others are new finds; all are well-worth your time. Simply listing them here has lifted my mood, proof that kindred spirits can always be found, no matter what medium we use. Enjoy.

Small Town Simplicity - Lydia’s writing is breath-taking: poetic, thoughtful, crystal clear. Her reflections on raising her children and living life simply make me slow down and notice small beauties around me.

Homemade Mothering – Talk about a versatile blogger: Maureen touches on everything from healthy cooking to green housekeeping to the joys of life with little ones. And her writing has an eager, honest spirit that I just love.

Peace Garden Writer - “Purposeful pondering from the prairie” is this writer/mother’s tagline, and the articles and columns Roxane shares from her newspaper writing fit her purpose perfectly.

First Day Walking - When I stumbled upon this blog from a “Twin Mom / Pastor’s Wife / Presby Minister / Amateur Writer / Silly Dreamer,” I knew I’d discovered a gem. I love Mihee’s writing about motherhood, ministry, and Asian-American and feminist theology. Check out her Motherhood Mantras series; I’ve clung to a few of these words myself.

What’s Up, Jesus - One of my guaranteed sources of wit on the interweb. Over years and miles and winding vocational paths, Rev. Love-It-Or-Leave-It and I have held onto a friendship based on mutual love of sarcasm and stubborn faith. Doesn’t get much better than that.

Random Acts of Momness – I’m a shameless fan of Ginny’s writing. Few people connect parenting and faith with as much grace and depth as she does, every time. Her blog is a bright place that never fails to disappoint.

Sense of the Faithful - As a thoughtful mother of young adults, Peg offers wisdom from the other side of parenting. She shares stories of brutal honesty about her struggles with the Catholic Church as well as thoughtful reflections on spirituality. (And her upcoming book on pregnancy and childbirth is amazing!)

Rosemary’s Blog – And if you have no time to read but simply want to rest with something beautiful for a moment, this artist’s work is amazing. Seeing Rosemary’s photography each day lifts my spirits.

** I’m too busy these days to read zillions of blogs, so you’ll have to forgive me on sharing less than 15. And does anyone really care about 7 random facts about me? Nah.

Any favorites or new discoveries you’d add to the list?

why i’m sticking with my dumbphone

Not a week goes by that my spouse and I don’t get mocked for at least one of the following:

1. having a land line
2. not texting
3. not having a smartphone

We have plenty of reasons for each. Our house gets terrible cell phone reception, so we need a land line to phone from home. Neither of us likes to text, so we’ve never signed up for a plan. And even though we’re years (yes, years) “overdue” for upgraded cell phones according to our contract, we don’t see the need to get shiny new gadgets while ours still work.

Old-fashioned? Maybe. (Though the New York Times says we’re not alone in clinging to our retro dumbphones.)

But the deeper truth? I can’t let myself get a smartphone.

Do I think they’re slick? Certainly. Handy? Definitely. But I refuse to bring one into this house. Despite my desire for an iPhone, I have to draw the line.

Because boundaries between work and family are already blurred when I work from home.

Because I already struggle with being present to my kids, given all the distractions around me.

Because when I see something like this, it hits a little too close to home:

I spent yesterday at a Social Phonics training in social media with emergent church leaders Tony Jones and Doug Pagitt. At the end of the day, they shared a final list of tips for diving into the social media world.

Get a smartphone flashed on their slick Powerpoint. “Is there anyone we still need to convince to get one of these?” Doug asked with a bemused smile, waving his phone in the air.

My hand floated up.

Both men turned with a look of surprise to the youngest person in the room. They launched into a litany of reasons to get a smartphone: it’s the future of the Internet, it’s the way people communicate today, it’s going to replace laptops in just a few years.

I listened to their logic. I smiled graciously. But all I could think about were my two boys.

They need me to look at them more, not my phone. They need me to listen to them more closely, not my email. And while I can’t be present to them 24/7, I want to show them the power of connecting by disconnecting.

Even though I struggle, it’s a spiritual practice for parenting that I want to cultivate: presence. When my day is already full of email and work, laptop and phone calls, I don’t want to add another constant distractor to the mix. Saying no to smartphones is my act of resistance.

I’m digging in my feet as long as I can, for them. While I embrace email, blogging and social media as ways to connect with people I love, I also have little people right in front of me who need to connect with me even more. I want to be present to them as best I can when they’re still so small.

So for now, this mama is sticking with a decidedly dumbphone. Which is why I never got your text.

(But you can always try our land line!)

holy week reads, day by day

We’re on the cusp of the holiest of days.

For those who call themselves Christian, the Triduum is the most sacred time of the year. A truth often buried under piles of Easter candy, pink bunnies and plastic grass.

Each day has a distinct flavor. The earthy service of Holy Thursday: washing dirty feet and breaking bread with friends. The stark emptiness of Good Friday: lamenting death and sitting with suffering. The long stretch of Holy Saturday: wondering and waiting. And the brilliant delight of Easter Sunday: singing joy and celebrating life.

I love Triduum. Every year I slowly slip into a lackluster Lent, but always find myself on the eve of Triduum with childlike anticipation. Because the journey from Thursday to Sunday never fails to surprise as it draws me into the stories and the rituals, the sacred and the mystery.

Triduum sums up what I love about being Catholic: ritual, liturgy, Scripture, sacrament. I wrestle with my faith and my church and my God every other day of the year. But for these four days, I enter in deeply, willingly, openly.

That said, the prospect of multiple church services with a baby and a toddler in tow is practically laughable. I’m sure we’ll end up with good story material this year as we always do. And I know much of our Holy Week will be lived out at home, which is just fine, too.

To balance the mayhem we’ll bring to Mass, I’ve collected a handful of lovely reads and reflections to help celebrate each day at home, during those rare gems of quiet moments to myself. Perhaps a few will intrigue or inspire you as well:

Palm Sunday lessons from an unlikely Pontius Pilate by James Martin, SJ. “Because, as even a six-year-old knows, everyone roses from the dead.”

Strip.ped bare: Holy Week and the art of losing by Richard Lischer for Holy Thursday

Busted Halo’s excellent Virtual Stations of the Cross for Good Friday

What did Jesus do on Holy Saturday? From the Washington Post’s On Faith blog

And lest you get overwhelmed, take this advice and let one piece of the Passion rest in your thoughts this week. The whole is too much for any of us to hold.

(Especially without a good soundtrack to accompany the highs and lows.)

Happy holy week. We’re almost there.

if this blog were pinterest…

…here’s what would be on my Advent board.*

• a beautiful and easy idea for a nightly family ritual of light to celebrate Advent with kids. Filed away in my memory for later years when candles do not pose an immediate and alluring fire hazard to the toddler set.

• a moving film on “Change,” courtesy of the “Deacon’s Bench” blog, which promises you will never walk by the homeless man on the street without second-guessing your assumptions about where the change you give him might go.

• an important reminder (and clever video) that while we are rushing around to finish our shopping, millions of people in this world need something much simpler for Christmas.

 

• balanced with a refreshing perspective from The Guardian on why gift-giving really is meaningful – and part of what makes us truly human: Presents: The Real Meaning of Christmas

• I’d probably “repin” some of my favorite Advent poetry from last year, because truth and beauty never get old: week one, week two, week three, week four.

• and finally, a ridiculous outtake of Stephen Colbert doing a liturgical dance to “The King of Glory.” Having watched this about 7 times, I can report that it keeps getting funnier.

* I am still not entirely sure I “get” Pinterest, despite being mildly obsessed with finding new kids’ crafts, home decorating ideas, and other projects I will surely never undertake. So for all of my Face.book friends who keep requesting to follow me, FYI – I have no idea what I’m doing.

But I do love me some Advent.

the trinity of family life

Give and take. Sacrifice and compromise. The exchanges we make in love.

Our December has turned into a microcosm of our marriage, a portrait of our partnership. First I was gone for five days of meetings, and F had to scramble to stay home with the boys when the babysitter was sick. Now he leaves for a week-long business trip, and I’m the one scrambling to rearrange my schedule.

This month we’re both juggling child care and work responsibilities and housework and errands. We’re sharing dinner duty and diaper duty and sending a zillion emails a day between home and office to coordinate the caring, cooking, cleaning.

One feeds the baby and the other washes the bottles. One makes dinner and the other scrubs the dishes. One does the laundry and the other buys the groceries. One stays up late with the baby and the other gets up early with the toddler.

The next day – or week or month – we switch. And the cycle of sharing starts over again.

Sometimes we’re tempted to keep track or keep score. We’ve sacrificed more, we think. We’ve done too much lately, we brood. But that is the temptation away from agape, from mutuality, from self-giving love. Marriage and parenting are never 50/50, but the allure of the equal makes us constantly renegotiate what’s working, what’s not, and how we can change.

This is the dynamic we’re daily carving out for our family. This is the model of marriage we want to give to our boys. This is the way of life that makes the most sense for us – even when it doesn’t make sense. This is the Trinity of family that teaches me daily what it means to love, to give and to receive.

The nature of our God as Trinity is no dry doctrine. Sometimes it seem mysterious or esoteric, but sometimes it is as close as the people in our own home: those with whom we share a table or a bed.

The Trinity is a dance of love among a family. It is the gifts we give and receive as we help each other become the people we were created to be. It can be messy and demanding but also beautiful and divine.

And in the midst of this busy week in a busy month, I’m humbled and delighted to share the glimpse of God that our family life gives to me. Check it out at Picturing God: Faces and Traces of the Divine.

 

inspire your spirit (great websites): picturing God

You know the days. You’ve had them, too.

(I’ve been having too many of them lately, hence the lack of recent postings ’round these parts.)

The days when all you see around you are piles of dirty dishes, heaps of laundry, stacks of bills, messes of toys. The days when email and voice mail and children are all whining for your attention. The days when distraction and disorder reign supreme.

The days when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you shudder at the wild-eyed, disheveled soul who glares back.

It was a day like this when I stumbled upon a beautiful website while doing research for work. Picturing God: Faces and Traces of the Divine is an oasis of calm amid the internet’s frenzy, a place of prayer amid the online babble.

The website, run by Loyola Press, is exactly what its name suggests: a collection of photos submitted by readers that illustrate glimpses of God. Many are stunning landscapes or skyscapes; other are places or people with spiritual significance. Some are exotic; others are everyday. Certain photos look professional; most are decidedly amateur. They are both simple and spectacular.

But each daily selection has such depth and conviction and beauty behind it. I love that people saw God in that instant, were moved to capture it, and inspired to share it. The world would be a better place if we all woke up each morning with eyes open to find God in the places and faces around us.

Seeing each day’s photo and reading its description have become God moments in my own day. They slow me down and remind me to see. They give me hope that beauty and peace can still be found all around us. They remind me that the world is full of seekers and soaked with the divine.

And on frenzied days like today, my mothering spirit needs that reminder.

Here’s my* glimpse of God for the day. What’s yours?

*My amazingly talented sister-in-law snapped this shot, so I can take no credit. But hey, recognizing others’ talents is a glimpse of the divine, too, right? And the beauty of baby ears…sigh.

kindred (mothering) spirits

One of the beautiful and surprising things I’ve discovered since I began to write this blog is the many kindred spirits to be found in the blogosphere.

Whether it’s comments from faithful readers or links from fellow bloggers, I have come to treasure the connections that this space has let me make. And today I get to celebrate one of those connection in a lovely way.

When I first happened upon Ginny’s blog at Random Acts of Momness, I felt I had found a diamond in the rough. Here was a true mothering spirit, someone else who loved to write and muse about the connections between faith and family life. Then when I realized hers was also a byline regularly carried by our diocesan paper, I was even more impressed that this kindred spirit was an Actual Published Author. (Yes, I am still totally geeked out by this kind of stuff.)

So when Ginny asked me to write a guest post for her series on “The Best Gift My Mom Gave Me,” I was delighted to contribute. Not only because it’s a wonderful question and a chance to celebrate the most influential mothering spirit in my life. But also because it will hopefully lead all of you to check out her blog and her writing as well.

No matter what our work in the world, we need kindred spirits to carry us along the way. Anne of Green Gables was absolutely right.

“Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.” 

baby kicks & infertility blogs

When the baby was first born, I could spend hours just staring at his brand-new self. I marveled at his movements. Jerky leg kicks. Graceful arm stretches. Twists and turns, quick and sudden. Even now, two months later, his muscles are still learning how to move, figuring out what it will mean to reach and roll.

Once in a while I’ll be cuddling him on my chest, and he’ll drag an elbow or foot across my stomach, and I’ll think, “Hey! I remember that - from the other side.” Newborn movement is womb-like, an embodied reminder of how we spend our first months of life flipping and kicking in safe, snug darkness as we grow.

Eventually babies grow out of the froggy legs and balled fists, but it takes a while to leave behind the gestures and postures of the womb. Even as adults we revert back to the fetal position to sleep or self-soothe when scared. It takes time and effort to overcome the habits bred into our instincts, and some of them we never lose.

It’s been nearly three years since our season of infertility ended. I have a beautiful, grinning, wild reminder of that fact running around my house every day. And yet sometimes I plop down in front of the computer at the end of the day for some idle-Interneting, and I find my fingers instinctively dragging the cursor to click on this blog. Or this one. Or this one. And lately I’ve been asking myself why.

Why, when my life is so far from those days of infertility, do I return to the stories and the sorrow of those who are still there? The women who yearn to be mothers. Or the lucky ones who have “crossed over” to parenthood through adoption or pregnancy. Why do their stories still speak to me?

It takes a long time to break our habits or turn our hearts. Finding other women who shared my sadness and frustration and fears during the months in which we were trying to conceive was a lifesaver. I didn’t feel alone. I didn’t feel desperate. I didn’t feel abandoned.

The power of sharing stories and finding soulmates cannot be underestimated. Even across the invisible Internet, we can connect and reach out, find friends and companions to share the path we journey on. Back then, it was other women who were struggling with infertility and their faith. Today it is other mothers of young children. Instinctively I search them out for insights and answers to the concerns of today.

Like the baby’s womblike moves and motions, my habits send me back again. I haven’t been able to let their stories go, because it’s important for me to remember that season of my life. The challenges and the grief, the unknowing and the doubting, the hoping and the praying. We are our journeys. And I never want to forget that part of my story that forever shaped our family’s beginning.

I’m sure my fingers won’t always gravitate towards the blogs that tell their stories. Just like I know my baby won’t always curl his little fingers around my thumb or instinctively turn his head when I graze his cheek. Over time, we slowly grow out of our old habits and the wombs that once held us safe.

But remembering where we came from is important, to help us move forward with gratitude and mindfulness.

For me, it is gratitude for the gift of two wild and precious boys. And mindfulness of those who still wait, hope, and pray.

why i do what i do

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about why I write this blog. With the arrival of a new baby, life got even fuller than before, and I find myself examining all the ways I spend my days. How can I streamline this, find a more efficient way to do that? How do I still make time for all the parts of my life I value: my marriage, my friendships, my work, my passions? As life gets ever more demanding, how do I keep a calm, clear center?

I retained little from my AP Economics class in high school, but I do remember this: everything has an opportunity cost. If I do A, I cannot simultaneously do B. Writing takes time, precious time that can be spent in other ways. I try to carve out moments and corners where I can sit and think, write and reflect, but often I choose option B instead – which is usually time with family. All good things, but I feel pulled in many different directions. Most days I am constantly juggling activities, weighing priorities, dividing my time. I imagine most of you feel the same way.

And yet I feel a strong tug to spend time here, to keep writing and thinking about what parenting means in the life of faith. I know there are others of you out there who agree, who struggle with these same dilemmas, who ask the same questions. How do we teach our kids about God? How do we make faith part of our family life? How do we live out our values in authentic, meaningful ways? How do we raise children who are people of compassion, hope, and justice?

In the weeks and months ahead, I want to explore these questions in a new light. You’ll see some changes around here (if you haven’t already noticed a few – check out the “about me” link on the side bar, for starters). More intentional series on how we nurture our mothering – and fathering! – spirits. More resources on prayer and Scripture. More reflections about how faith intersects with the events and news that fill our lives. And hopefully, more lively conversations with the perspectives we all bring to the table.

For those of you who are new here: welcome! For those who have been journeying with me for a while: thanks. I’d love to hear from all of you – what you enjoy finding here, what you’d like to see more of. Leave a comment or drop me an email at motheringspirit@gmail.com.

Lots of ideas and inspirations have been gestating in my mind for some time now about what I dream this space could become, and it’s time to birth this baby. The labor may be long, but it’s well worth the work.

Peace – L

where do your babies sleep?

For the past few months I’ve been fretting about how we’re going to squeeze two children into one small bedroom. Not being the world’s best spatial reasoner or interior decorator, I struggled to see how it would all fit: a crib, a toddler bed, a dresser, a changing table, plus all those books and toys and clothes – the stuff of childhood.

Our current plan is keep the baby in our room for the first few months, probably longer than we did with S so s/he has some solid nightime sleep habits before we stick two in one room. But beyond that, we have no choice: there’s only one bedroom next to ours and I need the guest-room-turned-office downstairs to keep both its original purposes.

F has been entirely cool about the whole prospect, reminding me that for the vast majority of families in the world, everyone’s sleeping in the same room (or hut) anyway, so even restless toddlers can learn to sleep through a newborn’s cry. But I’ve been stressing about it in the way that only a nesty pregnant mother can.

That is to say, irrationally.

Which is why I was both calmed and chastened to see this photo shoot in the New York Times: “Where Children Sleep.” It’s the work of a documentary photographer who wanted to capture the diversity of childhood across the globe through images of children’s bedrooms. Equal parts familiar and foreign, touching and terrifying.

Certainly the images say much about class and poverty around the world. So it was a welcome reminder that my middle-class dilemma of having two babies in one room is quite a first-world problem. But it also touched me to see the little pockets of beauty in every bedroom: the dolls and the toys, the colors and the curtains, the personal touches that each child had collected to make their small place their own.

It’s true that everybody sleeps, as the author of the article points out. And there’s something comforting to remember that we all let down our defenses each night to become utterly vulnerable as we recharge our bodies and minds for the next day’s work.

But I’m still haunted by the fact that my babies’ work will be to rise each morning to play and learn, while other children go off to work in quarries or dumps or sweatshops.

Maybe it is only in sleep that we find the equality we deserve.

(Ok, now go click on that “first world problems” link to cheer yourself up. Or at least have a good laugh at ourselves.)