Filed under: musings
I realized the other day that I, somewhat regularly, have entire conversations in my head. Now, this may be common. But, what struck me as odd is that these conversations actually involve other people that I know, probably you. Strange?Wait. For instance, I will think that I need to call you, and of course, I don’t really have a quiet moment to do so. So, I continue thinking about what it is that I would say to you; but, what’s weird, I then think about how you would respond. I respond. You respond. And so forth, and before I know it, I’ve had an entire dialogue with you and yet obviously, still without you.
It happens with letters, too. I really love written letters; in the day of electronic relationships, there’s something completely fantastic about giving or receiving a piece of written soul. Alas, but like everyone else, I fall prey to the demi-god, Time. And so, I write letters in my head to you: encouraging you, thanking you, blessing you, loving you. I’m sorry you never received them. But, I do always ask the Lord to somehow communicate these things to you, just in case I never have the opportunity.
This post is for the women who question their ability to parent: you are not alone. And for any of you who have commented about me “always having it together,” this 16 hour period should prove otherwise.
Part One: (Sunday evening) Mark and Liam are at church. I’m at home alone with Burke and Blythe, waiting for our friends Lynn and Totila to arrive. I head into Blythe’s room to change her diaper; Burke disappears somewhere to play (not uncommon). After changing Blythe’s diaper, I call Burke’s name trying to figure out where he is. No answer. Uh-oh. I’m now running around the house still calling Burke’s name and looking for him. Bingo! He’s in his room with his back to me. In the 2 minutes I was changing Blythe, he managed to swipe the children’s ibprofen from the counter, open the child-proof lid, dump it on himself, the rug, the table, and of course, drink some himself (about 4-5 times his normal dosage).
Part Two: (later Sunday night) Mark and Liam are home, and Lynn, Totila, Kristen, and Tim are over. It’s past the boy’s bedtimes, which I haven’t noticed because I’m enjoying seeing and talking with our friends. Liam is chasing and “tickling” Burke around the house, when — BAM — his head busts right into my chair, moving me and the chair about a foot. (Good thing he had such a large dose of ibprofen.) He had a 2″ x 1/4″ gash above his head, and although he did cry initially, this guy was so cool. He took it like a champ. Meanwhile, Kristen finds Liam sitting in the living room crying because he unitentionally hurt Burke and feels really guilty/responsible.
Part Three: (Monday morning) Someone used our debit card info to buy something online. So, I’m on the phone with the bank trying to get it all sorted out. After an annoying run-around with the bank, I realize that I don’t hear any of the kids. So, again, I’m calling their names, but this time I’m looking for all 3 of them. Nothing. Epiphany: Liam probably let them all outside. As I’m walking to the door, the doorbell rings. It’s an old, sweet man letting me know that my children are playing in the front yard by the street. As he’s speaking, Blythe is CRAWLING IN THE STREET. Nice.
Filed under: pictures
liam’s thanksgiving feast at school
me: Do you want to color?
Liam: Yeah, that would be great! Let’s color in this book.
me: No, let’s color these pages here.
Liam: No mom, if you want to color, these are your choices.
me: Liam, we need to have a little talk…
——————————————————————
Liam: Mom!
me: yes?
Liam: Burke is disobeying me and needs to go in time out.
me: Liam, Burke doesn’t need to obey you; he’s your brother.
Liam: Yes, because I am 4 and he is 2. So, he needs to obey me and go in time out.
me: (trying to contain my laughter) Liam, come with me and let’s talk….
————————————————————————————————–
(The boys are playing in the hall and a dust pan that was propped against the wall falls on Burke’s foot.)
Liam: Mom, the dust pan just fell on Burke’s foot!
me: Oh, Burke, I’m sorry…are you alright?
Liam: See? This is why you need to put the dustpan away where it belongs.
me: Thank you Liam. We’ll talk in a second…
This book is about personalities. What do I think about it? Let’s just say that I have been reading, rereading, thinking about, and internalizing this book for the last year. I know — it’s a little strange. I guess that’s why I don’t bring it up too often in conversation. I’ve found that most people are comfortable with what they already know about themselves and perceive these types of books (and people who read them) as only seeking to label, categorize, excuse, or validate them. They abhor the idea that someone else might restrain them to a “box.” But, this book isn’t about boxing people in; rather, this book is about freedom.
Never have we been so aware or sensitive about difference. We live in a time of political correctness. We know that everyone is unique: we think, believe, act, learn, and talk differently. Yet, we often project our own self onto others, right? We relate to people on our terms, in our own relational “language.” We impose our values and interests on others, assuming that they value the same things. I’m doing it right now. You see, I’m an idealist. According to Keirsey, the idealists value seeking identity. So, of course, I naturally assume that everyone else would find this book as valuable and revelatory as I do. Wrong.
So, what exactly is the point or value of this book? Well, as Patty Griffin sings, “’cause everyone’s singing they just want to be heard disappearing everyday without so much as word.” We can actually live our entire lives (in relationships with people) and never really feel heard or known. The value of this book is that it gives us tools to understand not just that we’re different, but how we’re different; it gives us contexts so that we can know and be known. So, if it’s true that everyone has something to say and a need to be heard, we can actually listen, understand, and receive them rather than strive to convince them or change them to be more like ourselves. Imagine.
Well, sort of. Thursday was my 29th birthday. Mostly, it was a normal day – nice, but normal. I worked at the writing center in the morning and spent the afternoon hanging out with my family (the boys picked flowers for me). Sam (Mark’s dad) was in town and took me, Mark, Tim, and Kristen to dinner at Cafe Excel (my favorite). So, while we were looking at the menus, this guy with an ear piece coiling down the back of his shirt walks up near to our table. Just as we’re about to make fun of him, we see Barbara Bush (grandma) walking behind him, followed by George, Sr. and some more secret service. They sat down right behind us, about 5 feet away. Suddenly, my birthday dinner felt a lot more important. Mark’s comment: “I feel like my safety is threatened with them this close to us.” Drama. Unfortunatley, I didn’t have my camera.
me, 29 years ago
blythe, almost 13 months
the boys picking flowers
Last weekend, Mark, the kids, and I hauled up to DFW (thanks to Scott and Diana loaning us their car, but that’s another story) for my 10 year reunion. It was wonderful to see old, and not so old, friends and catch up over our choice beverages that we can now all legally drink. I had a really great time and especially appreciated Mark coming with me (knowing that he had to ignore his disdain for anything celebrating high school in order to do so).
Filed under: pictures
Below are a few of my favorite photos from this summer
liam playing at the splash pad
burke chasing seagulls in Corpus
