Simply Crunchy

The Balance Beam

trish52101 — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 17:26:21 +0000

My daughter is enrolled in gymnastics. After moving up to the kindergym class, she has recently decided to quit, but that’s a whole other post in itself. Her biggest struggle is the balance beam. She usually does great on the first one, but somewhere in the transfer between the first and second beam, she loses her confidence and balance. She wobbles in between the beams, climbs on the second, and falls off a few times. Without someone holding her hand, she is completely unable to walk the second beam, even though it’s no different than the first.

I can relate. Not so much on a balance beam- I’ve never had the coordination for that. Little changes really throw me for a loop, much like the change in beams throws my daughter for a loop at kindergym. Anthony was recently promoted to a salaried manager position. His job means long hours and going in off shift quite frequently. I’m not a flexible person. I like to know exactly what time he will be home, what days he will be working the following week. When he calls at 9:00pm to say he won’t be home at 10:00, that it will be midnight intead, I lose my balance.

I’m struggling with finding the balance between being a supportive, unconditionally loving wife and sticking up for myself, our family, his well-being. I want to let him lead, but I also know that he is the kind of person who doesn’t see a problem until it’s huge. He’ll work himself so hard that he wears himself out, he and I will have no time together, and Grace will miss her daddy too much. If I complain, he’ll be home but will let his work suffer. I feel like I’m sending him mixed messages- one minute fine with him working, the next angry that we will only have dinner together as a family two nights this week. I find myself asking “How do I find the balance.”

I think the answer goes back to gymnastics. With one of us holding her hand, Grace is able to regain her composure and her balance. She can successfully finish walking on the beam. While I want to push her to do it alone, I know that really, there is no harm in holding her hand. She’s only three- still a bit of a baby mixed in with child. There is no need for her to go it alone. In the same way, God is here to hold my hand, to help me balance, to pull be back when I lean too far one way or the other. I’m still a child, His child. I don’t need to have it all figured out, instead I need to reach for His hand and hold on tight. With His helping hand, I’ll be able to balance this season of our life and eventually transition to the next one.

Round 2

trish52101 — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 05:01:06 +0000

I blogged for a short while. I wrote because I wanted to blog. Then I ran out steam and time. Life consumed every spare moment. I wasn’t sure if there was much point to blogging. Then tonight, I found out that yet another person I know is letting their child cry it out. I came home feeling sick to my stomach. I hate cry it out. I think it’s wrong. My husband and I spent a while talking it out and decided we want to start a local Attachment Parenting group. The more we talked, the more I realize I want to share what I’ve learned about parenting. My husband said to me tonight “we always say it’s just a few circumstances separating us from the homeless beggar on the street. It’s only a few circumstances and the Grace of God that separates us from parents who do cry it out. We could have been them.” He’s right. I feel like God gave me a spirited, strong daughter to change me, to save me from making parenting decisions that I would end up regretting. In return, I want to share and teach others. So, here’s to round two of blogging.”

Real

trish52101 — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 19:48:07 +0000

I love my hardwood floors. They are scratched, discolored, and coming apart between the planks. Dirt from every person who has lived here has settled between the boards. They are strong, steady, and they creak. They are a far cry from the carefully picked out, color matching, decorator magazine styled linoleoum we picked out in our house in Ga. They are much more real. I love the scratches. The cracks in the wood are beautiful in a way thatperfection never can be. The wood looks scarred and comforts my soul. I no longer want pretty, perfect people and objects in my life. I’m drawn to the broken, the beautiful, the real. My beat up dresser, the deep turquiouse hand me down with the metal drawers makes me happier than any new piece out of the latest Pottery Barn catalogue. The rough, bumpy roads that drove me crazy when we moved up bring a smile to my face. My jeans all have holes in the knees, my boots are coated with mud. My life is a jumbled up mix of happy moments and tears. We yell, we cry, we argue, we live. In the mess of life, in the ugliness, I have learned what is truly beautiful.

I drive

trish52101 — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 19:47:21 +0000

I watch in the rear view mirror as her eyes start to droop. A peaceful look comes over her face. She smiles and falls asleep. I turn up the radio, head to the outskirts of town, and get lost finding me. These days when she sleeps in the car, I’m not a mom, I’m not a wife. I’m a woman listening to the radio, sipping coffee, getting lost in the snow covered fields and frozen river. My heart warms at the sight of the red barn sitting on the hill of white. I drive past farms, fields, cemetaries. I am still the girl who sat in the window seat, walls covered with quotes cut from magazines, music playing, thinking and writing. I don’t write poems of teenage angst anymore. My days are filled with pouring out, caring for my husband and daughter. Thinking time is scarce, alone time is forgein. At night, I collapse into bed, too weary to think. In the morning, I turn off the alarm and sleep until tiny hands pat my face. So, when naptime nears, I drive. I find myself in the bumpy roads and country songs on the radio. For an hour a day, I find my way back to me.

Sometimes Love Hurts

trish52101 — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 03:08:37 +0000

Two and a half. It’s a fun age. I only mean that slightly sarcastically. Most of the time Grace is charming, funny, and lovable. Sometimes though, she’s not. She is going through a hitting stage and man, that girl is strong. Strong and persistant. Moving out of reach doesn’t work. She’ll come after us, arms out like weapons. We don’t do time-out and we don’t believe in spanking, so it’s a bit of trial and error figuring out what to do when she hits.

I’m learning a lot about myself as I try to handle the hitting fits. I react first and think later. I can see why parents spank and punish. That kind of reaction definitely comes naturally to me. Thankfully, I feel strongly enough against spanking not to do it. What’s harder is not using implied punishment. My first response when she won’t stop hitting me has been to say, “I love you but don’t like when you hit me. I am going to step out of the room and come back when you can stop.” I’ve even gone so far as to tell her, “I don’t like to be around you when you hurt me.” Each time, she starts crying and saying, “Mommy I need you. Stay mommy,” but goes back to hitting a few seconds later. One day, when I responded with my threat to leave the room, I saw the hurt in her eyes. I heard it hidden behind anger as she yelled, “Go away Mommy!” I realized that I wasn’t loving unconditionally. I was telling her I only wanted to be around her if she behaved, if it didn’t hurt.

Sometimes though, love hurts. Love hurt a lot for Christ on the cross. Love hurt a lot for God as He watched His Son die for our sins. Love hurts each and every time Gods holds on to us and refuses to let go, even when we hit and kick, trying to get away from Him. Love didn’t feel too good for Hosea, going after his wife time and again, taking her back after she’d been with other men. Love hurts for missionaries as they suffer to share the love of Christ, often with hostile people. Sometimes, love hurts.

Recently, I’ve taken a new approach to Grace’s hitting. I gently catch her hands when she hits. I tell her to give me five instead. Sometimes it works. If not, I keep catching her hands and letting them go. I tell her I love her but she can’t hit me. If she yells at me to go away, I tell her I love her and step a few feet away, telling her I will be right there waiting when she is ready. As she rants, I pray and stay calm. Eventually, her anger subsides and she comes to me and hugs me. She says, “I’m sorry mommy. I love you,” and we cuddle.

By staying present and staying calm, I’m learning. I’m learning that she hits when she is feeling out of control. When things aren’t calm around the house, she gets wound up. If I’m stressed or impatient, she hits. If she’s feeling lonely, she hits. I’m learning to see it coming and step in before that point with a little laughter or a cuddle. I’m learning that I need God, minute by minute, to parent gently and to love even when it hurts. I hope Grace is learning too, learning that I will love her no matter what she says or does, just like her Father in Heaven.

Jumping on the bandwagon

trish52101 — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 18:05:51 +0000

For the past week, over half of my Facebook friends have posted what they are thankful for. I haven’t. Every time I read their status updates, I feel a twinge of guilt for not posting what I am thankful for. After all, I am thankful for a lot. Last night it seemed that everyone is posting about thankfulness. Today, every time my phone buzzes, it’s a status update about Thanksgiving. As I sat with the blank status update window last night, I comtemplated posting how thankful I am for family, food, shelter, my life. I just couldn’t do it. Somewhere inside me this tiny nonconformist voice kept saying “Don’t jump on the bandwagon. You’re thankful all the time. You don’t have to type a status message just to be like everyone else.” I’m realizing that I am a jumbled up mix of wanting to fit in and wanting to be different. I have enjoyed my journey away from mainstream parenting. It makes me proud when people say I’m screwing Grace up when I still respond to her cries at 2 1/2. The shock on their faces when I mention that she still sleeps with us makes me grin. I love that my sister thinks my raw milk is strange. I think it’s great that my friends warn me “It’s not organic and it has high-fructose corn syrup in it, should I get her something else,” before offering Grace a snack. I love being looked at funny when I talk about learning to soak grains and eat fermented food. Lately though, I’ve been wondering, am I trading one bandwagon for another? I recently read a tweet about lavender causing early puberty. Another study I read talked about the dangers of tea tree oil. It seems that a lot of the natural stuff isn’t that great either. I still think it’s better than artificial, but my crunchiness is waning at times. It’s like the crunchy side of me is fighting with the mainstream me. I know finding balance is key, that I can be a little of both- but that’s difficult. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. I want black and white, cut and dry. So, for the time being I’ll keep flip-flopping between one identity and the other. And, I’ll post what I’m thankful once the last Thanksgiving status message disappears from my news feed.

Changes and Reflection

trish52101 — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 06:24:41 +0000

Grace is napping alone right now. She’s been asleep on the sofa for almost two hours. She’s opened her eyes and gone right back to sleep. For those of you who don’t know me, that’s huge. Until this week, she has never slept more than 15 minutes without someone beside her for two years- except for a brief time when she was on reflux medicine that made her sleepy. Her sleep schedule has been really screwy- she’s been resisting naps, falling asleep in the late afternoon, staying up late, and sleeping late in the morning. It’s a hard cycle to break- especially since there is no forcing her to sleep when she isn’t ready and no waking her when she’s tired. So, in an effort to get her to wake up early Saturday morning, I got up out of bed. Instead of waking, she slept for an hour and woke up happy. Same thing happened at nap time Saturday. Last night she took a two hour nap without me. Each time, she’s woken up happy- except when Anthony got her out of bed instead of me- that’s another story. At night she’s still in bed with us and has been alternating between cuddling with me and rolling away from me. I don’t know what to do with this new found freedom during naps.

A lot of my friends don’t co-sleep. Some are firm believers in Babywise and Ferber. As I’ve posted updates about my joy at Grace sleeping alone, I’ve worried that it would sound as though I regret the choices I’ve made with Grace. There are so many people out there who criticize attachment parenting and co-sleeping, as well as child led scheduling (for that matter, there is plenty of criticism on both sides) and I was leary of adding more fuel to the fire by sounding like I wish we’d forced her to sleep alone from the start. Of course, this train of thought, as well as my enjoyment of two hours to myself each day this weekend left me wondering, “Do I regret the path we’ve chosen with Grace?”

It’s a loaded question. What parent doesn’t have regrets in some form or fashion. That said, I am glad she’s been a high-needs child and needed parenting around the clock. I’m glad we haven’t been able to get her to sleep alone until now. I am not naturally an attached person. I care for people, but I often get busy and forget to connect with those around me. I easily withdraw into myself and sometimes keep an unhealthy distance. Anthony calls it my “wall.” He’ll says “Baby, you’re wall is up again. Please let me in.” Grace hasn’t given me the choice of putting my wall up. Had she slept alone from day one, it would have been easy to compartmentalize parenting. I could have very easily tried to make her fit into a neat little box- one that I could conviently put away at night. I’m definately not saying that all parents of kids who sleep alone do this- I’m just saying that I could see myself doing that.

God knows me. He knows what I need to be a good parent. I truly believe He gave me a child who gave me no choice but to form a deep attachment to her. Going to sleep and waking up with her for two years, not being able to compartmentalize motherhood, putting her ahead of myself even when I haven’t wanted to, trading my love of sleep for laying awake singing to a tired baby; these things have helped me to connect and bond with my daughter in a way I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. Because of that connection and bond, I’m able to parent much better than I would have otherwise. I’m intuned to her moods and feelings enough to see when I’m not letting her in- when she’s feeling that I’m being distant. So as I sit watching my toddler sleep, I am simply content in knowing that even though it isn’t easy, attachment parenting is right for us.

Mirrors

trish52101 — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 03:28:29 +0000

Chubby hands on my face, kisses on my nose. The words “Hi mommy.” gently whispered. This is my life at 11:30pm on a Tuesday night. My two-year isn’t sleeping and neither am I. With each kiss on my nose, my frustration at being up so late watching Sesame Street diminishes.
We have a game we play, my daughter and I. She pulls me towards her, puts her hands on my cheeks, and kisses my nose. She says, in a singsong voice, “Hi mommy, you my best friend.” I tell her she is my darling, she says, “Mommy, you my darling.” She parrots every thing I say back to her, a mirror reflecting my love. Motherhood is a tough job, a great responsibility. Like it or not, she will reflect what she sees. In those quiet late night moments I am thankful that the challenges of the day fade away and Grace is a mirror reflecting only love.

Promise you won't get mad

trish52101 — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 02:52:31 +0000

Sisters. Best friends. Enemies. A sister sees you at your best and worst. My sister and I live together so we tend to see the best and worst in each other quite frequently. In October she is getting married and my husband, daughter, and I will be moving in with her and her husband. We’ll also be moving two dogs and two cats in with his dog. Fun times! Thankfully we have a long standing tradition of forgiveness and mercy. I can’t even remember when it started but when one of us is going through a tough time, the other will promise not to get mad, no matter what. It’s like a real life representation of salvation- to know you already have forgiveness before a transgression is commited.
This time around, I am the one offering not to get mad. My sister has a lot going on and I know she needs a safety net right now. I know her well enough to know that she needs one person she can’t let down. I stepped up to be that person. Little did I know how much I needed it.
I’ve been hanging on to bitterness lately. Clinging to irritation and unforgiveness. Sin comes naturally and it doesn’t take much effort to let it flow. The anger and frustration feel good at first. The negativity builds, almost imperceptibly, until it is so deeply rooted that seems impossible to break free from. By offering mercy to my sister, I have to let go. I have to breathe. I have to choose peace over turmoil. In the absence of judgement and anger, something has to fill the void. If my heart isn’t hard it must be soft. If I am not filled with anger I must be filled with something- love, peace, joy. Forgiveness and mercy feel good. Choosing ahead of time to be mericiful, removing anger as an option, frees me from making choices in the moment. Each situation that comes up requires only one response. Mercy. Today I will choose mercy before I even get out of bed. Mercy not just for my sister but mercy for me and for a world that desperately needs it.

An Honor

trish52101 — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 21:01:00 +0000

Sleeping sitting up in a rocking chair with 35 pounds strapped to me, I didn’t expect to find joy and contentment, yet I did.

Every now and then my two-year old daughter gets really watery eyes and an awful runny nose. Last night was one of those times. She went from feeling great to feeling miserable in a few hours. She started the night by waking every fifteen minutes crying. I could hear the gunk in her throat. She was having a hard time swallowing and I could tell she was in pain. I held her as she cried, repeating “I love you” over and over to her. Each time, she’d cry, then lay her head on my chest and fall back to sleep. After waking a few times, I put her in the Ergo and walked until she fell back to sleep, still repeating “I love you.” I couldn’t make her feel better, but I could make her feel loved. I sat in the rocking chair and rocked her while she slept, strapped to me in the Ergo. I drifted in and out of sleep. Every hour or so, she’d wake up crying. I’d get up, tell her I loved her, feed her honey (to soothe her throat), and walk until she was back to sleep. As I sat in the quiet darkness, feeling her breathing and listening to her snore, I prayed. I prayed that she would feel my love. I prayed that God would give me the strength to be loving even when it was hard. I could clearly feel His presence. I could feel Him keeping my heart soft and gentle even though I was exhuasted and desperately wanted to lay stretched out in a bed. I felt Him teaching me to be thankful for my role as mother. At 1am, I was the person God chose bring her comfort, to soothe her, to teach her that she is loved unconditionally. What an honor.