Date Archives → May 2008

Jameson bits

:: Jameson loves music. He loves to clap to it, groove to it, play guitar to it (on Daddy’s tennis racket — sound familiar?), and drum to it. And he’s not too picky about what the music is. The other day I was listening to Mozart piano concertos, and he started clapping and moving to the pulse of the orchestra. I guess I don’t have to worry about trying to teach him that all music has a beat (even the music without drums, amazingly enough.)

:: Somewhere along the way, he discovered basketball hoops, and has since been totally obsessed with them. Yesterday we took a long walk through the neighborhood behind our house, and we had to stop at every hoop sighting. I then would have to try to explain that we couldn’t actually walk down a stranger’s driveway and play with their personal hoop. This was very hard for him. To try and make things a bit better, when we got home we played for a bit with our little tykes hoop that Ryan snagged for a few bucks at a garage sale. I’d just like to say that my basketball skills have improved by 100% since purchasing this hoop. (But since 100×0=not much, don’t be too impressed.)

:: Never has a father been so adored by his son as Ryan is by Jameson. The past month has seen a steady increase of excitement every time Ryan gets done with work — and the minute he walks into the yard, Jameson is all ready to play ball, go to the park, wrestle on the floor, you name it. He just can’t wait. If Ryan puts on a hat, Jameson runs for his. If Ryan crosses his arms, Jameson works super-hard to do the same. The light in his little eyes whenever he’s spending time with his daddy is just so, so special.

:: Last night Ryan was gone, attending a company dinner. Jameson and I spent the evening taking a walk, making and eating a simple dinner, but mostly, sitting on the floor pillows in the living room and watching Emeril Live. I’m not kidding, the kid sits and watches any cooking show I turn on. Perhaps it’s because he understands what’s going on (Emeril pulls out a fish, Jameson makes fish lips; Emeril lifts the lid of a pot, Jameson says, “Hot! Hot!”; Emeril cuts a peach, Jameson says, “Mmm.”…)? At any rate, I made a bowl of popcorn, and we cuddled on the floor, munching on our treat and talking about the cooking together. What can I say, he’s an awesome kid.

:: Recently Jameson found one of Ryan’s sports magazines, purchased after the Sox won the series last year. On the cover is the pitcher, and Jameson, upon close inspection, realized that the pitcher’s hat is the same as his! Now, every time he sees the magazine, he runs to get his ball cap, and then points to the red “B” on the pitcher’s hat. And as he turns the pages, he occasionally will cup his hands around his mouth and jabber something that is supposed to be “Let’s go Red Sox!”, because that’s what we did at the game last week. (I forgot to write about that, but yes, we had a family outing to an A’s-Red Sox game. Very fun.)

mark 4

“The kingdom of God is like a man who casts seed upon the soil; and he goes to bed at night and gets up by day, and the seed sprouts and grows — how, he himself does not know…” –mark 4

I sow the little brown, plain-jane seeds into the soil.

I go to bed at night and get up by day: I do what I’m supposed to be doing. (And can I just say that is, like, the perfect description of how my life feels right now?)

And God — God! — causes seeds to sprout, to grow. He amazes me with a harvest. (How, I myself do not know.)

That was all the Word I needed today.

red flag: parenting styles

Amy’s link to a post on “Mommy Wars”, along with a flurry of activity the last few weeks elsewhere on the world wide web has set me to thinking.

And to being thankful for the Holy Spirit. I definitely appreciate the red flags He occasionally waves, indicating that perhaps I’ve just read, thought, said, or discovered something a bit “off”.

There was one such red flag last week when I realized how deeply mothers associate themselves with schools of thought or philosophies of behavior. A “beware” sounded in my ear.

Here’s what happens: We’re all, always, looking for the right way to be a mother, the right way to parent, the right way to not fail our kids. Built into each of us — whether through personality, background, or culture — are instincts. And we hear an idea and say, “Aha! That sounds right!” Eventually, you may hear a whole string of “aha” ideas, find out it has a name and an official wikipedia entry, and realize that not only does your style have a title, but there’s a whole circle of mamas out there with the same ideas! How comforting is that? To find out there are whole books written to answer each of your questions as your refine this style that you’ve decided is yours? To know there are forums with dozens of trying-hard moms asking and answering the same dilemmas you face? Magazines, conferences, groups… You’ve been adopted into an official mama club!

But here’s the deep, deep problem with that: we begin to identify with a philosophy, rather than with Christ and His Word. We begin by perhaps agreeing with the outlying principles of a certain school of thought, but eventually, we’ve bought the whole thing. Our ideas on the basic nature of man, the relationship of parent-child, the goals of parents, the end-result desired for our children: all of these are now defined and articulated by whichever philosophy we’ve decided is “us”.

And that’s dangerous.

That’s not how a Christian is supposed to live life.

Want an example? Okay, how ’bout me: I came to mothering with lots of ideas inherited from my mother. Imagine my amazement when I discovered that much of what she’d taught and modeled to me was attachment parenting. (I can hear my mom now: “Attachment what?”) As I read about this philosophy of parenting, I realized how much I happened to fall into that “camp”. But when I began to notice “attachment parenting” in the profiles of Christian mama bloggers, a red flag went up. See, my ideas about how I respond to my baby’s cries, or feeding them on-demand in favor of schedules, and about nurturing them and ministering security and comfort to them were a result of my mom’s Bible studies, maternal instincts, and discoveries about how God designed babies’ and mother’s bodies.* As I continued those Bible studies on my own, the instincts that had been cultivated by my mom just grew stronger.

But I saw the trap before me — to jump from my Holy-Spirit and Bible based parenting into a camp defined by a human philosophy. A philosophy that would eventually influence my thoughts on human nature, parental authority, and goals for my children.

See, books and research, forums and magazines can perhaps help to confirm a God-given instinct. But when they become our identity, we can find ourselves going down paths not carved by the Word.

This goes for all parenting “methods”, not just the one I’ve given as an example. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us mothers to go around saying, “I’m attachment,” or, “I’m Babywise,” or “I’m gentle discipline,” or whatever your flavor of choice may be. There are “hook-line-and-sinker” ideas in all of those that should not simply be adopted as our own. (With attachment parenting, for instance, you eventually come to the belief that children are basically good.) The Bible tells us to sow with a view to righteousness, to sow to the Spirit — if we want to see Holy Spirit fruit. That means we must do more than simply grab at the most natural to us parenting style; we must purpose to have our minds renewed, our choices refined, and our lives characterized by Kingdom values.

Perhaps our parenting choices should be guided by the Word of God itself — a Word rich with principle, wisdom, direction, and all manner of guidance for every moment of life. Perhaps our questions should be posed to men and women of the faith who have borne fruit and whose wisdom is seen in the lives of their loving-the-Lord children…and not to a stranger in cyber-space who makes us feel comfortable because she just admitted to screaming at her children, too. Perhaps when Dr. Phil, or even Dr. Sears, makes a statement about the psychology of children, we should be quick to run to Scripture. And when the world tells us what kind and loving parenting is, we should be ready with the knowledge of what God says love and kindness are.

The world doesn’t need another generation of parents who think they’ve got the corner on the market with their new ideas and techniques. The world needs a generation of radical, take-God-at-His-Word disciples who are raising up a generation even more in love with Jesus.

So, I guess I’m writing this to stir myself and challenge you: don’t be an attachment mama or a Babywise mommy, or whatever.

Be a Christian.

(*This is not my subtle attempt to tell you that this is the only right way to parent. I’m just telling you about me, so you can understand the close parallels I found in attachment parenting.)

winnie

Yesterday afternoon, Ryan’s grandmother passed away.

I certainly didn’t know her terribly well, as our opportunities to see each other were few and far between. But she was warm, instantly embraced me as one of the grandchildren, and called often to make sure we were okay. I was able to spend a few afternoons with Winnie (there’s old fashioned for you, eh?) and her husband, and I’m glad for those few hours that help me understand how special she was to Ryan and his siblings.

Anyway, despite only knowing her for a few short years, and seeing her only a few brief times, the news of her death was deeply sad.

Death is, you know. Deeply sad.

Sometimes, it’s accompanied with hope. But sometimes, you don’t know. Either way, it’s an enemy.

*****

Life is fragile, a vapor. We do all we can to hold onto it: we choose a distant parking spot and walk 10 steps more, we eat blueberries on our whole grain cereal and spinach in our free-range omelet, we campaign against smoking and drinking and deadly vices. But in the end, we are dust. Ryan and I have talked much about the denial and fear, the unwillingness to even admit that our bodies are inevitably headed toward the grave. I understand; who would want to even think about such a thing unless they were secure in Hope?

It makes sharing Hope harder; they don’t want to hear, because they don’t want to consider that there will be an end. But once in awhile, our undeniable frailty shows through the cloak of great exercise regimes, and there is a moment. An opportunity. An ear that will hear and a heart that is open.

And I need those moments as much as any other. I need my world to be jolted a bit, need to remember that this Truman Show I live in is only hiding the fact that a world is dead and dying. The need for Hope is everywhere I turn.

Lord, shake me up. And may the truth about the Hope within me spill out.

reading

I’m reading Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth. It’s a loaner from my midwife. It was supposed to be my New York reading material, but there may not be much left to read by the time I get there. (Even if I’ve finished it, I’ll bring it along so you can look at it, Bri.)

The first half of the book is just birth story after birth story. I was excited to start reading them, knowing they’d be full of confident women giving birth courageously. They are certainly full of all that, along with some imagery and terms I find interesting (i.e. “rush” instead of “contraction”, to emphasize the energy instead of a sense of tension). But they are also full of… well, labor. There’s a reason I’m prepping for all of this. It’s, uh, BIG. (I won’t say daunting, because I don’t want to be daunted. [Although I may be, now and then.])

And since I’ve only had one birth with one midwife, reading all of these stories is helping me to get a feel for how other midwives coach and assist, and what I could ask for from my new midwife.

And I’m getting very excited about giving this homebirth thing a go.

The second half of the birth is Ina May on birthing. I’m eager to get to that part, to learn more about this miraculous process, and to read her tips and insights. I’ll return with a full book report when I’m through.