Now, THAT Was A Good Time

Friendship is a sheltering tree.

-Samuel Coleridge

There are just some people that you love to be around - aren't there?

People who make you laugh. Who make you feel good about being exactly who you are. Encouragers. People who are not naively optimistic but yet exude warmth and cheerfulness and hopefulness.

I have a friend like that. And this past week she and her two adorable boys came to our house to hang out for a few days.

We did a lot of silly little things (pretended our kitchen was an internet cafe and played on our laptops simultaneously).

We seemed to eat a lot of food (like creating hilarious squids for the kids' lunches which consisted of hotdog chunks with spaghetti noodle tentacles, crafting the absolute best caramel popcorn which we very tempted not to share and making homemade pizzas where Emma threw the crusts in the air which will make my children even less impressed with me the next time we make pizzas and I cannot perform on demand).

We accomplished a thing or two (organizing the bundles of baby boy clothes from our many sons to pass on to the newest-not-yet-born Wickstrum boy and helping design and write some ideas for each of our websites - yet to be revealed).

And we even did some wild and crazy activities (like Emma rode the Look Up swing for the first time and only screamed a little and we both joined a silly group of others to become the first members of the Look Up Lodge Polar Bear Club by jumping into the lake on 1.23 at 4:56 p.m.).

The kids had some big experiences as well. Bergen and Cole enjoyed an all-boys sleepover. Beckett and Piper tried their first sleepover, but it ended badly. Piper and Beckett also discovered that they can each hold their own against one another. Uh-oh.

Really, it was just a super swell visit.

Emma may have been tired when she left, but I sure hope she thinks it was worth it too!

What Do We Do?

(It's another one of those this-picture-has-nothing-to-do-with-this-post-other-than-the-fact-that-this-is-my-blog-and-this-is-my-cute-kid. Apologies to all.)


I just heard this line in a song . . .

"If you feel it, it must be real."

That turns my stomach.

This idea is absolutely pervasive. It has invaded everything. Our music. Our movies. Our commercials. Our attitudes. Our expectations. Our brains. Our hearts. Our actions.

And I hate it.

Because it is a lie.

I'm not saying feelings always lie. I'm not saying feelings are wrong. Or sinful. Necessarily.

I am saying - you cannot trust only your feelings. You cannot live from your feelings alone. You cannot base your actions on your feelings.

It is a dangerous way to live.

But we hardly know what else to do. We hardly know how else to play this game.

Because it seems everyone else is doing life by their feelings.

And I just wonder . . .

How can I rescue my kids from this disastrous pursuit of what feels right, of what feels good - of feelings forcing behavior?

(Is there any defense? Because some days it seems as if the battle has already been won.)

I don't think seclusion is the right answer. Avoiding the world hasn't proven to be an effective tool in my experience thus far. (Just look at how many kids graduate from private schools and home schools and instantly embrace everything they felt they were denied.)

I believe that you learn truth by studying truth. You don't learn what is true by studying what is false. You memorize what is real so you can recognize the fake. If I am intimately familiar with a made-from-scratch chocolate chip cookie, it won't be hard to taste the difference in a processed Chips Ahoy. I don't have to study every brand of chocolate chip cookie, from Great Value to Soft Batch, to know when I am being offered something less than homemade.

But even though I know that in theory, I'm not sure I know how to teach that to our children.

Particularly our teenage child.

The one who needs the balance, the steadiness of truth most at her vulnerable age where everything Mom and Dad says sounds silly and everything popular culture says sounds cool.

So what do we do?

(This isn't really one of those hypothetical questions. Go ahead and answer.)

today

This had been a busy little day.

For a random Tuesday. (Actually, I believe it is officially Wednesday morning when I am writing this - but what difference does that make?)

I took the chaps to a local library to watch a Christmas "play" about Holly and Bah Hum Bug. By Porkchop Productions.

I've probably said enough already.

Actually, it was all good. The trip to the library enabled me to pick out a few new books on CD (The Kite Rider (not to be confused with The Kite Runner) and Little Men) for car listening on the many December road trips (Ohio, Florida and all the states between here and there) we have ahead of us.

Back to the library's presentation.

One of the actors in the show used a rather scary Halloween-ish mask for the Bah Hum Bug character. London, Sworn Protector of Younger Siblings, decided that the mask would be too frightening for Piper. London informed Piper that she would be placing her hand over Piper's eyes and would leave them there until Bah Hum Bug left the stage.

Piper agreed to this with an "uh-huh". She grabbed Eagle, tucked her thumb into her mouth and politely sat still for the next twelve minutes, content to merely listen to the action and trust her Protector's decision.

I laughed. (Internally only, of course.)

And I tried to take a picture. With my too-cool-for-school-new-free-from-Verizon cell phone that arrived just yesterday.

After the library I gave the kids a car picnic lunch while I drove to the bank and headed across town for more errands. The car picnic lunch was a great idea from Gretchen and was a way better success than the last at-home-in-a-hurry lunch experience.

And then I took five young children into the pits of Hell known as Toys-R-Us. Unbuckle everyone. Enter store. Corral all children in the direction I need to go. Buy a birthday present for a friend. Check out the double stroller. Feel disappointed that it is not the one I want. Give Fox his bottle while allowing the kids to push the buttons on every talking Dora doll in aisle six. All thirty of them. Corral all children out the door, past the gumball machines and the Tigger ride. Buckle everyone up again.

And then I took five young children into Target. Unbuckle everyone. Enter store from parking at the farthest possible location. No carts nearby. Carry car seat, hold Piper's hand, threaten other children so they will stay close as we walk three quarters of a mile. Watch Bergen nearly implode attempting to control his own overpowering urges to run every two steps. Enter store. Get sucked in to the $1 section by the door. Forget why I entered store. (Oh, yes - double stroller, trash bags, baby wipes.) Find the trash bags. Realize that this Target does not have the double stroller I want. (I just want five point harnesses - is that so difficult?) Find $3 jackets for the girls. Buy two. Find $3 shirts for Bergen. Buy two. Leave store without a double stroller or baby wipes.

And then I took five young children into Babies-R-Us. Unbuckle everyone. Promise ice cream cones at the nearby Chick-Fil-A to all obedient, angelic children. Hooray - a sale on baby wipes. And look - the stroller I want. But too expensive. Agonize over decision. Piper poops and announces it loudly. Finally, and sadly, choose the stroller I can afford. Salesman asks if I have found everything. Laugh and say, "Well, I want that stroller, but I want it for a price lower than the one I am buying." He responds, "Wait, that's a discontinued model. You can buy the floor sample for ten dollars less than the one you have chosen." Push him over in joy. (Okay, that's a lie.) Rejoice as I leave the store.

Of course we all have some ice cream in celebration.

Arrive at home. Remember that I forgot to clean the kitchen. Notice the trash that we forgot to take out. Begin to think our home resembles that new "Hoarders" show on A&E. Realize that Fox needs to eat but he has pooped and spit up all over his car seat. And Piper needs another diaper change. And Riley wants to go sleep over at a friend's house. And Magnus wants to eat all of the dog food in the closet. And Bergen wants his shoes tied in a double knot. And London wants to know if she can watch the Beatles Yellow Submarine movie. And Mosely cannot work the zipper on her new jacket.

In the middle of all of this my new phone beeps, although I barely recognize it because it's a new sound.

And it's my husband.

And he says we have a date tonight.

And it's not to see a play at the library. Or a trip to a store to shop for strollers. And no one should spit up. And there should be no pooping involved.

So I am really glad to go anywhere with him - particularly to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

And that is why I am writing this post at 1 o'clock in the morning.

The Greatest Obstacle

Do you want to know what my biggest parenting challenge is?

Let me start but telling you what it is not.

It is not

determining which homeschool curriculum to use

or even the decision whether or not to actually homeschool these children at all.

It is not preparing daily breakfasts, lunches and dinners with variety and healthy eating habits in mind.

It is not

balancing the demands of six children, a messy house, overflowing laundry, marriage and friendships.

It is not

determining the best course of discipline appropriate for six different humans.


No.

It isn't any of those things.


My biggest parenting challenge is this . . .

With five children under the age of six all together on every day outings to the grocery store, museums, farms, nature hikes and more -

How am I supposed to use a public restroom?

seriously.

Oh Man.

After this morning's Bible study, I had a small window of time to get back to our house, grab a quick lunch for everyone (and by "grab" I mean "Mommy has to assemble") and get everyone back in the car and headed in the opposite direction to the afternoon's art lessons.

It was raining. Time was limited. I had five children with me.

I knew it was a recipe for disaster.

But I had no idea how violently it would all break down.

The kids got corralled in, stepping in each puddle and muddy inch in the yard and splash their wet selves across the sun room floor.

Thankfully the kind ladies at the nursery had given Wilder a bottle, which bought me a few minutes to slice an apple and set out some pickles per London's lunch request.

Nursed Wilder. Then fed him his mushy bananas. (I am always glad when my babies begin solid food, but sad too because the meal process becomes so much more involved.)

Changed Piper Finn's diaper and then began slapping peanut butter on sandwiches that kids could eat in the car.

London announced that Magnus was in the car. (Didn't bother to ask how this happened, just passed her a dog biscuit to lure him out.)

Heard Piper screaming. Magnus had stolen her sandwich. "Mommy, please make me another one?" she asked.

I did.

Grabbed my bag and began putting poor Wilder back in his car seat.

Screams.

Magnus ate Piper's second sandwich.

Seriously?

"Mommy, can you please make me another san'wich?"

I did.

Attempted to get five set of small feet out of the door.

Watched Magnus barrel back into the house, knock Bergen over and attempt to grab Bergen's sandwich from the poor boy's very lips.

Forced Magnus out of the house in a less than godly manner using less than godly words that were less than quiet and less than appropriate.

Reached for my own sandwich and watched mustard fall onto my skirt.

Trudged through the rain carrying Wilder and my bag.

Wrestled Piper's eagle and Mosley's blanket away from Magnus at least three separate times.

Grew impatient watching two little girls struggle to enter the Suburban while holding umbrellas.

At long last, started the vehicle and hit the road.

From the backseat, I see Piper's peanut buttery hand reach toward me holding her crumpled sandwich and hear her say,

"I don't care for this anymore Mommy."

Constant

Really, this post is about chaos.

And I think the photo demonstrates that fairly well.

And it's funny.

And Leanne said she will only read my posts if they are accompanied by a photo.

Our house is lived in.

It's comfortable.

And we like that.

But comfortable can ooze into cluttered faster than Bergen can ride a bike down a hill. And cluttered can morph into chaos with a speed faster than Riley's fingers can text.

Last weekend Kevin and I looked around our home.

And it looked like chaos had settled in.

I was tired of messy children's rooms where a child could not play with any particular item if they desired because there were simply too many toys strewn across the floor. Clean laundry was flowing out of the basket and beginning to be contaminated by dirty laundry piled near it.

I wanted a change.

So did Kevin.

And we had a yard sale quickly approaching.

It was the Perfect Storm.

So we organized. Cleaned every nook and cranny. Bagged up all but four stuffed animals per kid. (Veggie Tales, Curious George and Eagle are the only ones who have made the current cut.) We swept. Sorted clothing. Stashed the doll house in the closet for a rainy day. Sold the train table on craigslist. Threw away only what even GoodWill would refuse.

It was hard work.

But rewarding.

And the house looked good. Shiny. Clean. Simplified. Clutter-free. You could walk. You could run. Your socks didn't get dirty just walking around the kitchen. Your clothing choices were infinite because every article of clothing was cleaned and neatly folded or hung in the closet.

It was beautiful.

And heartbreakingly short-lived.

It still looks pretty good. It does.

But not pristine.

We had to eat. We had to get dressed. We had to play. We had to live.

One busy weekend later and things are a little misplaced again.

Laundry is dirty. (Why did man ever have to sin in the garden? Nakedness is so much easier to maintain.)

Dishes are in the sink.

Larry and Junior and George are flopped on the floor.

Disorder is always waiting around the corner.

It is always waiting.

And it takes steady, concentrated effort to maintain order.

To push back chaos.

This is true at our house.

And in our relationships.

With our friends. Our spouse. Our children. God.

Steady, concentrated effort to maintain order.

To maintain relationship.

Harmony.

Peace.

And how quickly it falls apart if we stop.

Even for a weekend.