Last night at dinner Ruthie asked for a straw to drink her milk with. I said no. This triggered a chain of events that eventually landed her in her bedroom for a lengthy time out.

In the aftermath of the whirlwind, but while she was still in her room, I looked at Bryan and said, “Why didn’t I just let her have the damn straw?”

Bryan shrugged his shoulders.

It was a classic case of my arbitrary assertion of control, mixed in with a dose of laziness at not wanting to get up from the table again.

Solution for next time? Get my ass out of the chair and lovingly serve my daughter, OR put the straws where Ruthie can reach them.

Now it’s your turn: what are your parenting stories of epic fail?

When I asked him how much time he spent writing in a day, I was surprised at the answer - only an hour and a half (or so) of creating new material. There is always research and revising, he said, but an hour and a half is about all the time he could tolerate being in a creative head space.

I can do an hour and a half. I had a picture in my mind of something totally different, but this actually makes sense. I get a little antsy myself after a awhile. I remember this from when I had a babysitter come once a week for three hours so I could write at a local wine bar - I always seemed to get burned out before my time was done.

I’m also motivated by a conversation I had last week with a writing friend to get organized and set some goals for the coming year. The ideas swirl in my head, overwhelming me. I need to get them out, to make them tangible.

I was excited to hear my friend talk about submitting her work to publications she’d researched. I was encouraged to hear her ideas for organizing and sorting all my essays. I was grateful that our conversation propelled me out of a writing funk.

The following goals are the direct result of those two conversations.

Make writing a priority. Up to this point my creative times were written in pencil. I’d block out writing time on my calendar, but override it if I needed to make a dentist appointment or get the bookkeeping done. It’s as if I feel guilty for taking time to write, thinking I should be doing something more “productive.” This goal requires organization (to make sure there isn’t something else I should be doing), a mind shift (to take myself seriously), and support from Bryan (which I have).

Write a little every day. My schedule allows for this now, as long as I stay on top of my other responsibilities running the household. If I manage my time unwisely, I will not be able to accomplish this. Must. Stay. Disciplined.

Chart my writing projects. Most of the time I sit down at my computer and can’t remember why I’m here. I get stage fright. I stare and wrack my brain, and I can’t think of a single thing to work on. Then? While driving in the car or making dinner while the kids crawl up my leg it comes to me exactly what I should have been writing during that quiet two hours.

Submit. Submit. Submit. When I came home from BlogHer I was on fire to get my stuff out there, but I delayed too long and eventually lost my momentum. I feared rejection. I made excuses of time. Blah blah blah. I’ve targeted five organizations I want to submit essays to, and will devote some office time to researching them, finding out their submission requirements, and writing something suitable.

There it is. I’m very excited and starting to feel motivated again.

“I DON’T WANT ANOVAH PO-WUP ON SO I CAN USE THE POTTY WHEN I HAVE TO GO.”

I danced circles around the dining room table when I heard this news. Literally. Just ask Ruthie - she danced with me.

(It’s fun to have an older sibling who celebrates the successes of a younger one).

Then? As he was getting his jammies on later he suddenly jumped up and said, “I HAVE TO GO PEE!” and ran into the bathroom.

This time we all danced, and Thomas was beaming.

I really thought I’d have a four year old in diapers, but now I wonder if we’ll celebrate Christmas with brand new Spiderman underwear?

Here’s hoping.

Grace Based Parenting - Practical Theology for Women
Wendy Alsup reviews this book by Tim Kimmel. Here is an excerpt of her thoughts:

In the first chapters of the book, I had to put the book down and repent, because Kimmel nailed me with his assessment of how many Christians parent—primarily out of fear. I realized that I was more afraid of Satan and the world getting their hands on my boys than I was confident in God’s faithfulness to finish the good work He has begun in them (Phil. 1:6). I had to repent. Then I had to decide if I was going to align my parenting philosophy with my theology. Did I believe God had a good plan for my children? Did I believe that I can trust God with their little hearts and lives?

Kimmel made another important point that challenged me on how I thought about parenting. I wanted to protect my children from outside influences that I feared would cause them to stray. However, my doctrine teaches me that the greatest sinful influence on my children is their own depravity. It’s the sin within them rather than the sin without that most affects them and which I need to parent them through. As Kimmel says on p. 24, “Raising your children in a spiritual cocoon won’t help because Satan operates INSIDE it. He appeals to your child’s heart.”

Bumps, bruise, and uncanny inoculations - Zugito
Bryan wrote a great post reflecting on the challenging week we had navigating Ruthie through a conflict at school. I’ve thought a lot, lately, about how to blog about such things now that Ruthie is getting older. I have her privacy to consider, now, as she’s making friends and becoming more independent. I think Bryan’s post hits the right tone.

Where in the hell is Matt? - Matt Harding
I love digital art - video blogging, photo blogging, digital scrapbooking etc. The internet gives the ability for anyone to create and publish works of art, and this one is definitely worth seeing. If you click through to the Youtube page, you can click on ‘watch in high definition’ just below the video for a better picture.

Also, be sure to watch Matt’s Ignite presentation at Gnomedex on the making of this video. He makes a really interesting point about collaboration - that creating a video of himself (as he did in his first two projects) was not nearly as much fun as creating a video with other people. I think I have a new blog crush.

Psalm 3 (The Message)

1-2 God! Look! Enemies past counting! Enemies sprouting like mushrooms,
Mobs of them all around me, roaring their mockery:
“Hah! No help for him from God!”

3-4 But you, God, shield me on all sides;
You ground my feet, you lift my head high;
With all my might I shout up to God,
His answers thunder from the holy mountain.

5-6 I stretch myself out. I sleep.
Then I’m up again—rested, tall and steady,
Fearless before the enemy mobs
Coming at me from all sides.

7 Up, God! My God, help me!
Slap their faces,
First this cheek, then the other,
Your fist hard in their teeth!

8 Real help comes from God.
Your blessing clothes your people!

My Bible tells me this is a Psalm David wrote when he narrowly escaped death by his own son, Absalom. I am struck by the peace David expresses in the midst of the situation, peace enough to sleep. He trusted in God’s protection enough to rest, which then gave him strength to face the enemy “from all sides.”

The second thing I’m struck by is his willingness to let God be his avenger. He cries out for God to slap their faces, for God’s fist to hit their teeth. He doesn’t ask for an opportunity to kick some ass, but stands behind the power of God’s sovereignty.

And then he declares, “real help comes from God.”

My enemy comes from within - my selfishness, my need to be in control, my unrighteous anger. The battle against this enemy within is not for me to fight, and it is not for me to win. My battle cry should be to God, for him to put his fist through the teeth of my anger, to slap down my need for control.

Real help comes from God. When I try to help myself, I feel no peace and I get no rest. I only have stress and anxiety and tension.

Just this morning I was on a walk with my kids, and I caught myself obsessing over being in control. They were running, and falling, and getting wet and dirty, and I picked at them about staying on the path, about staying on their feet, about not touching this or that.

Until it occurred to me, “It’s drizzling out. It’s muddy. It’s wet. If I wanted them to stay clean and dry I should have stayed home.”

I’d read this passage less than an hour before our walk, and I sighed at how quickly I forget. And then I changed course. I prayed for God to ‘kick in the teeth’ of my need to be in control, I took several deep breaths, and I didn’t freak out when Thomas rolled around in wet sand.

I am so different than I was a year ago, two years ago. In times past I would ‘white knuckle it’ through stressful situations that triggered my unhealthy behavior - trying to will myself into doing the right thing, trying to fight my own battles.

I still do, at times, but much less often. And when I do give in to my anger, I’m much quicker to repent, and less likely to feel condemned. Psalm 3 comes to my attention like that really great song that shuffles onto the iPod just as you’re getting weary, the song that inspires you and gives you the motivation to pick up the pace again.

After a week of challenges and set backs, just when I started wondering if I’d changed at all, Psalm 3 kicked me into gear again.

Let Christians Vote As Though They Were Not Voting
This article came to my attention at just the right time. I was one of those pesky undecided voters. To make it worse, I’m a horrible decision maker. Regardless of how big or small the choice I have to make (chocolate or peanut butter? this school or that school?), I agonize over my options as if the decision I make now will make or break my entire life.

Some would argue the choice for president meant exactly that - life or death of a nation. But this article reminded me of where my ultimate hope resides. It reminded me that God is sovereign, and his love for us is not weakened or compromised by Man.

So it is with voting. We deal with the system. We deal with the news. We deal with the candidates. We deal with the issues. But we deal with it all as if not dealing with it. It does not have our fullest attention. It is not the great thing in our lives. Christ is. And Christ will be ruling over his people with perfect supremacy no matter who is elected and no matter what government stands or falls. So we vote as though not voting.

Bryan’s newest writing project, and one we’ve been talking about for at least a year or more, is a series of notes to our kids describing what this crazy family is all about. I think the idea came after a long season of defending ourselves and declaring what we are not about. That grew tiresome, and I think I lost myself into bitterness for awhile.

As we healed from hurt and made our attempts at restoration, we discovered it was much more life-giving to ourselves and to others to tell stories about what we are for, and why we are for them. Thinking on these things, rather than on all the ways we fail in the eyes of others, turns my heart away from the bitterness to receive the joy God calls me into.

I never considered myself or my husband to be complicated people, but apparently we are in the eyes of some. I’m sure chances are high Ruthie and Thomas will also be seen as complicated souls. I feel the best gift we can give them in this respect, is the nuanced context of our worldview.

With each note Bryan writes - in his classic ease and familiarity and cadence - my head explodes with the knowledge I get to be married to him, that I get to be led by and pastored by him. He is an amazing dad, and amazing husband, and an amazing writer.

(I wish I could see his ears turning red as he reads this.)

So without further gushing, I give you… Zugito.com.

I get to explain my feelings. I get to lay down the foundation of how I came to respond the way I did. I (usually) get to bring closure to each and every point of contention.

Not so with children.

Their nanosecond attention spans do not make an exception for long-winded apologies. Their simplified reasoning skills do not grasp the complex nature of complex relationships. Often when I get caught monologuing, Ruthie will sigh and say, “You’ve been talking for a long time!”

Lately I feel like Ruthie steps off the bus ready to pick a fight. Like a passenger in a car fishtailing toward a tree on the side of the road, I brace myself for 3:30. Sometimes we miss the tree, sometimes we hit it dead on.

Today we wrapped ourselves around it.

If I don’t have something EXCITING, and DELIRIOUSLY FUN, and WILDLY ENTERTAINING waiting for Ruthie when she comes home, she becomes angry. Not just disappointed or whiny, but downright angry. Right there at the bus stop she’ll yell and stomp her feet and declare she’s never going home again. I’m so boring.

I understand her anger. It’s my anger. I gave it to her when she passed through my body. We like to get our way. We like to be in control. When she falls and skins her knee she cries dramatically, but then she throws something or kicks the ground. Stupid rocky ground! she’ll yell. Falling down means she’s not in control, and that makes her angry. I know this, because I made her. She is from me.

I lost my temper with her today. I feel defeated. Frustrated. Hopeless. Sometimes I feel like I’m raising a monster; sometimes a sweet angel. Sometimes I’m the one who’s a monster. My emotions and hormones can’t hold me intact as I bounce back and forth from moment to moment, first drawing her close, then pushing her away.

Today I happened to be hormonal, so I cried. Right there in front of her. I apologized for losing my temper, of course, and then I just started babbling about nonsense. I was mostly talking to myself - talking myself down off that cliff of despair. But she sat quietly and listened.

Ruthie looked sweetly at me with her round eyes and big cheeks, and then? She leaned forward and began to wipe my tears away with the bottom of her shirt. She was so tender, dabbing gently over each tear, wiping softly the trail it left.

I feel this could be one of our greatest moments of communication, a connection, a breakthrough. She is beginning to understand me, and I am able to tell her how I feel. It’s all going to be okay, just like when Bryan and I work it out.

Ruthie finishes dabbing my tears, and I smile at her.

She sits back in her seat and opens her mouth to speak. I think she is going to say something incredibly profound for a five year old (it’s been known to happen).

In her sweet, compassionate, kind voice, she says, “Can I have some chips?”

White Girl Guilt
Pasta Queen tells a story about a strange encounter in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and wonders if it means she is racist. I related to her inner struggle, which I’ve expressed here, and here, plus in another essay yet to be published. Here is an excerpt:

“I was standing on an unfamiliar porch, holding a stuffed animal from a Maurice Sendak children’s book, when I saw a man smoking a substance I wasn’t entirely sure was legal walk around the corner half a block away. He was black, so the fear I suddenly felt made me feel like a racist white girl. Sure, I was in a questionably safe part of town and, sure, his manner of dress and body language would have provoked suspicion even if he was white, but he wasn’t white. He was black, and when I’m scared of black men I feel racist even if my fear is justified.”

Planet Money
Between the election and the economic crisis, I’ve been in information overload. It’s very overwhelming. Bryan told me about NPR’s Planet Money podcast, so I started listening to it several times a week while the kids nap. What I like the most about it, is how the hosts break down everything for the most ignorant listener. For instance, he once interrupted a Harvard economist and asked him to explain “for the listeners at home” what the word “dividend” meant. That’s my kind of show.

Here are a couple that have been particularly helpful -
Breakdown of each candidate’s economic policies (podcast), and Was the Money Ever There? (blog post).

The Mentoring Project
Author and speaker, Don Miller, recently launched The Mentoring Project, aimed at helping churches establish mentoring programs within their communities. His video lists some pretty staggering facts about fatherless children as well as mentored children. Don himself was raised without a father, so this project is very personal for him. A donation of just $5/month will support a mentor, which I think is a brilliant business model. Who can’t afford $5/month? Not many people. You should check it out.

I almost left it at just this, a picture. Because really, what else needs to be said? But the point I’m trying to make here, is not that I buy myself single servings of ice cream, because why not just buy the entire half gallon? If I’m going to buy a bunch of single serving ice cream cups, you KNOW I’m going to just eat a bunch of single serving ice cream cups in one sitting.

Not a cost effective way to binge.

No, I buy these to assuage the guilt I feel for not stocking my house with chips and ice cream for the kids. I have no self control. If I buy a bag of chips, I will eat a bag of chips and the kids will ask me where the chips are. So? I don’t buy chips. Same with ice cream.

Why feel guilty? Because I believe in the beauty of moderation. If I could eat chips and ice cream in moderation, we would not be having this conversation. I would like my kids to learn the beauty of moderation, but since I never keep this stuff around they tend to horde snack foods in their cheeks and jacket pockets whenever we go somewhere that has snack foods.

Definitely not a sign they are grasping moderation.

The other day I spotted these cute little ice cream cups on sale at the grocery store for a dollar each, and I couldn’t resist. I bought two - one for each kid. If I eat one, I’ll have to deal with a major melt down (HA! Get it?!). So I can’t eat one. I have to leave them for the kids to have one evening after dinner. They get their special treat, I pretend to still be on a diet, and that, my friends, works for me.

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