This is a pretty foundational concept in the Zug Haus, though some of us (…ahem…) don’t always execute it gracefully. As Believers we give grace because we have been given grace - though usually I demand grace for myself and justice for others.

Ruthie is an apple that did not fall far from the tree.

Much like me, she is quick to turn hot, and quick to turn cold - saying hurtful things she doesn’t really mean, then smoothing it over with a quick apology. Over and over and over again.

(Did I mention she is my carbon copy?! It’s frightening, really.)

“I’M NOT GONNA BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!” and “YOU’RE NOT INVITED TO MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!” are the popular declarations.

My patience has been enormous in this area. I guess I have a superhuman load of compassion for Ruthie’s anger, and spend a lot of time in prayer begging God to help me help her figure out all that passion before she’s, say, thirty-five and swimming in postpartum hormone surges.

(That was not fun).

My patience ran out just a little bit tonight - partly because I’m PMS-ing, but mostly because she told ME I wasn’t invited to her birthday party.

“OH YEAH?!” I screamed back at her up the stairs. ‘IF IT WEREN’T FOR ME YOU WOULDN’T EVEN HAVE A BIRTHDAY PARTY!”

I just snorted my wine as I read back through that last sentence. It’s so nice to be able to laugh at myself. I wanted to throw her out the window in the moment, but after the fact? It makes for a hilarious line in a blog post.

Anyway.

I hauled out the Big Guns tonight while she was in her time out, and I read the above verse to myself. All through this struggle with her temper we’ve talked about love being kind, that love never gives up being a friend, that we love others even when they frustrate us - most of which is found in I Corinthians 13.

And while all that is true, it’s really first and foremost about Jesus.

So when she came downstairs I read her this verse, and I asked her if Jesus waited until we were nice to him before he died. She laughed. Of course not! was her basic answer.

We talked about how the people Jesus loved were mean to him, but he still loved them, and that’s how he wants us to love others.

A little while later Ruthie and Thomas were squabbling over a game of Candyland, and Ruthie blurted out, “I’M NOT GONNA - ”

She slapped her hands over her mouth and looked at me wide-eyed. I smiled and winked at her, and she smiled back.

And then it hit me.

“Ruthie,” I said, “I can tell Thomas was really frustrating you. Instead of yelling at him about not being his friend anymore - because I know you don’t mean that - why don’t you just tell him you’re really frustrated?”

And you know what? She told Thomas she was really frustrated.

Sometimes I feel like the most dominating aspect of being a parent is rather CSI-like, always following the trail of clues past all the bullshit to find out what the heart of the issue is. It’s a hair-pulling experience, but when I finally crack the case it’s always liberating to feel like I know what makes my daughter tick, and how to help her connect all the dots about who Jesus is.

I saw the basement rooms full of flowers - tables spread with various stems, waiting to be arranged into beautiful bouquets. I saw the room with the cement floor centered around a drain, with a long narrow table in the middle. I grew up knowing that’s where a dead body rested while it was embalmed and prepared for viewing and burial.

When my grandmother passed - my dad’s mom - I remember my dad taking my small niece up to her open casket and touching her small hand to my grandma’s hand. He spoke gently to her, telling her it was okay to touch her, that this was just her body for us to say goodbye to, but Grandma was really with Jesus in heaven.

I grew up very aware of the physical attributes of death, even if weirdly so, according to my friends.

“Your dad does, WHAT?” they would say. It never occurred to me it should be strange, and their responses puzzled me. I didn’t understand why it was “creepy” that I sometimes spent Saturday mornings wandering the halls of my dad’s funeral home, poking around in dark rooms filled with caskets.

People died, and I knew my dad helped their families. I was proud of that.

Knowing the physical process of dying, though, doesn’t make the emotional response any easier. I’ve wrestled with the loss of Scout, our dog. She was declining in health, but her death still came suddenly, and somewhat unexpectedly. Bryan and I both agree she is the best dog either one of us has ever had, both in obedience and personality.

I’ve also experienced the loss of a parent - my stepdad, Gordy. And while their losses had drastically different impacts to my Universe (loss of a parent can’t compare to loss of a pet), they both left me aching for that Eden existence where there is no pain or loss.

Death reminds me that we were meant for Life, and something, somewhere, long ago, broke.

The ABC series, Boston Legal, ends every episode with Alan Shore (played by James Spader) and Denny Crane (played by William Shatner) drinking cocktails and smoking cigars on the balcony, sharing deep thoughts about whatever recent events transpired.

In last week’s episode, Shatner’s character, Denny Crane, asks, “Do you think in heaven I’ll have Mad Cow?”

(Mad Cow is his code word for the Alzheimer’s he’s been diagnosed with).

Spader pauses to take a drink, then says, “Denny, I think in heaven you will be as you were in the prime of your life.”

Denny Crane nods in contemplation. “Then I’ll be just as I am now,” he says and raises his drink to Spader.

I don’t think it’s an accident I watched this episode the night of Scout’s death, as my eyes were red and swollen from crying. Death of anyone or anything - a loved one, a dream, a way of life - leaves a gaping hole, and we long for it to be filled again. We find comfort in those things we lose, and we feel lost without them.

But like Denny Crane implied, each moment of my life is a miracle, each experience I’ve had is the best one I could ever have had. The prime of my life wasn’t yesterday, or when I was skinnier, or when Gordy was still alive - it is now.

And now is the time to enjoy it.

Chesapeake Bay Retrievers retrieving
After Scout died I wandered around on YouTube looking at videos of Chessies, and found this awesome one of a Chessie retrieving. Check out how fast he is! Scout was a great retriever, too, but after she blew her ACL a couple years ago we couldn’t run her hard like this.

Grandparents stay in touch via webcams - Seattle Times
Interesting article on staying close to distant relatives via webcam calls. Two years ago when Bryan was traveling to San Jose regularly, we did video calls every night for dinner, and we now do video calls with almost everyone in our family, This lifestyle is so ingrained in my three year old son, when I hand him a regular telephone he holds it toward something he wants to show the caller, expecting that she’ll be able to see it. Also? The other day he shut down a game he was playing on my iPhone, placed it in the docking station, turned on some music, and adjusted the volume. It’s a changing world, and I hope my kids can keep up.

Jack Black defines an Octagon - Sesame Street
We watched Kung Fu Panda again this weekend, so this hilarious video fed my Jack Black obsession. EIGHT GLORIOUS SIDES, AND EIGHT STUNNING ANGLES! So funny I was blinded by the sheer power of its awesomeness.

Birthdays and Christmas are hard. I want to buy them toys because it’s easy. The grandparents want to buy them toys because that’s what they love to do. But what do I end up with? A play room full of abandoned toys and a missing toy box.

That’s right, they play with the box.

Yesterday my kids played with a pair of wooden chopsticks from the local Pho restaurant for half an hour. They were drumsticks, they were door keys, they were pencils. Never did they take the chopsticks down to the $50 deluxe fisher price kitchen I bought for them off Craig’s list, and pretend to eat Pho.

The day before that they were entertained for the entire evening with one chopstick, the box from a case of canned tomatoes, and two plastic cups.

I know this probably means my kids are brilliant and creative, but I seem to be lacking this vision. I just want an object to be used FOR ITS INTENDED PURPOSE. Life must be ORDERED and CATEGORIZED.

Then one day I read this post on the PBS Supersisters blog. Here’s the excerpt that was my AH-HA moment -

1. Decide what kind of players (i.e. mess makers) you have. My kids tend to take one kind of toy out at a time and play with it on a grand level. If it’s tinker toys, there are exactly one million pieces and projects everywhere BUT they are all the same thing.

When Madeleine and Carter come over, all toys are fair game. Everything is integrated into the play. There are ropes tied to tinker toys, dolls sitting on tinker toy built swings, forts, stuffed animals with tinker toys coming out of their ears…etc. This is a different cleaning animal all together.

My nephew Ethan is completely uninterested with the tinker toys but has very happily dumped the toys so he can turn the box that held them into a car. Or maybe a sled to use down the stairs? Pure physical genius I tell ya.

All of these players might require different clean up habits.
1. We can tell Josiah and Jack they have to clean up the first mess before they take the next toy out.
2. I try to suggest a clean up sooner (after I know they have exhausted the resources) with Madeleine and Carter so we aren’t overwhelmed by a bigger mess tomorrow.
3. Ethan needs different resources all together. Plenty of “non-toys” available might curb the dumping or just go with it and pick up throughout the day. Dumping is a big developmental task requirement for some kids and calls us to parental surrender at times.

I know. Crazy, huh? THERE’S MORE THAN ONE WAY TO DO THINGS.

As I explore more of my own control issues, I’m realizing just how much I instigate the tension in our household. Instead of observing how my kids are wired and going with that, I’m attempting to dismantle and rewire them to my own liking.

Embracing who they are and facilitating their imagination has turned everything around. When they raid the kitchen drawer full of colorful kids plates and cups I tense up for a minute, thinking about how there will be no clean plates to eat lunch from. Then I remember God blessed me with two hands and the ability to use dish soap. I take a deep breath and happily watch them make a mess.

Works for them, works for me!

—

For other Works For Me posts, visit Rocks in my Dryer.

We lost our dog, Scout, tonight. She passed away peacefully around 6pm, just after Bryan came home from work. He walked in the door, she smiled and wagged her tail a little at him, and then a few minutes later she was gone - as if she was waiting for him to come home.

She was sick over the weekend, and she hadn’t been herself for about a week before that. This afternoon I knew in my heart she was not going to make it. I don’t know how I knew - I just knew. I remember thinking I was afraid she would pass in the middle of the night without anyone around her. As it turns out, she was laying on the floor in the living room with me and the kids coming in for snuggles every few minutes, and when she passed we were all with her.

She was a great dog, a faithful friend, and a joy in our lives. She will be missed.

Enter Kindergarten, Land of the Catty Girls and Cat Fights.

Sending Ruthie “out there” among kids I don’t know, whose parents I don’t know, for long stretches of the day where I cannot press my ear to the door for a listen is… challenging.

And time consuming.

Today I spent an hour sorting out an incident on the bus that I didn’t witness, and that I technically didn’t have an hour to spend sorting out. But alas, other things must be put on hold so my daughter and I can walk through the stuff of life.

I have Ruthie’s story, and I have the bus driver’s story. They don’t line up exactly, but I feel I have enough of the story to deal with it. I stick to the larger issues of Ruthie’s heart - how does she respond? What should she have done differently? How can she be more loving, even in conflict?

What I find, is if I stop what I’m doing and sit with Ruthie on the couch, giving her my full attention, she finally lets down her defensive guard and tells me the truth. I have created a safe environment for her, not a distracted, second class environment.

Sometimes the dishes can (and should) wait.

I peeled the wrapper of this pot roast off looking for instructions on cooking time, expecting to just toss it into the crock pot with some carrots and potatoes.

What I discovered is the pot roast speaks my love language: salsa & black beans.

The online version of the recipe indicates the prep time is ten minutes, and they aren’t kidding. This is one of the quickest and easiest dinners I’ve put together so far this winter - this one probably being THE fastest.

And if you think it looks good –

You should really try tasting it.

Here’s the recipe:

Southwest Beef Pot Roast

- 1 beef bottom round roast (3 to 4 pounds)
- 2 teaspoons vegetable oil
- 2 teaspoons ground cumin
- 1 jar (16 ounces) prepared thick-and-chunky salsa
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon pepper
- 1 can (15 ounces) black beans, rinsed, drained
- 1-1/2 cups frozen corn, optional

Instructions:
1. Heat oil in stockpot over medium heat until hot. Press cumin evenly onto all surfaces of beef roast. Place roast in stockpot; brown evenly. Pour off drippings.
2. Season roast with salt and pepper; add salsa. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover tightly and simmer 2-1/2 to 3-1/4 hours or until roast is fork-tender.
3. Remove roast; keep warm. Skim fat from cooking liquid. Stir in beans and corn, if desired; bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, 8 to 10 minutes or until liquid is slightly thickened.
4. Carve roast into thin slices. Serve with bean mixture.

The only alterations I made was to add a can of green chilies (because no meal is complete without them), and replace the corn with an extra can of beans (because we like our beans).

Now that I think about it, 95% of what I make involves green chilies and black beans. THAT’s a rut I can get into!

Renton Film Frenzy
Big things are happening down here in the South End - Renton Haz Creative Skillz! Last month we saw a bunch of film crews running around our neighborhood for the first annual Renton Film Frenzy, in which film makers have two days to write, make, and produce a four minute film. It’s pretty awesome, and I was excited to see some students participating. I dabbled in film making when I was in high school, and even made a short film for my Cinema Class’ final project. I’ll post that someday when when I figure out how to get it off VHS. If you follow the above link, you can watch all eleven entries. I think my favorite is Loaf’s Labors Lost.

Superhero Digest - Thomas’s Occurrences
Thomas has a blog, too, and he’s way more into it than Ruthie is. Whenever I ask Ruthie if she wants to write on her blog, she gives a very vehement, “NO!” Alrightythen. Thomas, on the other hand, quite frequently will say to Bryan, “I WANT TO WHITE ON MY BWOG!” A three year old’s blog is very cute. All he wants to do is post pictures of superheroes, so that’s about what it is right now - a catalog of superhero pictures. But hey, it’s a pretty accurate representation of what he thinks about, so there you go.

Moms in Twittersphere abandon Motrin
Wow. The outrage over this ad is unbearable. yeah, it’s a little patronizing, but does it really deserve this much energy? The big buzz online these days is the power of the “mommy bloggers” - marketers are beginning to capitalize on their internet pull. What I would really love to see mommy bloggers rally around is not happy hour play dates or hurt feelings, but our poor educational system, or human trafficking, or the need for mentoring programs. How about we use all that marketing power we have to change the world? (Yes, I am dramatic sometimes).

The View From Mars Hill - Crosscut.com
Bryan found this great article on Mars Hill Church on a local website. Much of what’s published about Mars Hill is inflammatory or dismissive, but this is a rare, deeper look into the community.

The Aviatrix - Fly Away Films
Totally random - this film short was on YouTube’s home page the other day when I opened up the site to do a search. It looked interesting, so I watched it. And wow. Beautifully written, beautifully filmed. I love the internet and it’s ability to support and promote artists.

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.