Lois Lyda

I’ve seen this very entertaining show Clean House a handful of times, and it makes me feel good about my not-so-organized state of being, especially the “messiest home in America” special edition.  However, a friend last week brought me back to reality when she commented while looking into our tiny pantry, “Lois, you have so many things that you don’t need.”  On further examination, I realized that she was indeed correct. 

I embarked on “operation: clean week clean out.”  Here is a random list of things I have found in the house so far, that we really don’t need:

A Tagalog-English Dictionary.  Three Spanish language Bibles.  40 pairs of toddler tighty-whities.  10 outdated phonebooks - one from 2003.   Shredded coconut dated 8/2008. Baking chocolate that has been in the pantry since we moved in 2005 - oh, and I don’t bake!  A hardback manual “Guia contra el Dolor.”  3 St. Maximus library books that I was unknowingly holding hostage, and convinced the church librarian I surely must have returned.  Over 75 used grocery sacks (for Ben’s lunches, of course!).  A whole bag of miscellaneous sock singletons.  7 Baby Dolls of varying ethnicities (we only have one daughter, so I have left her with three:  one white squeezable snoring baby, one  black plastic baby - formerly a twin, and one fully clothed Native American).

 Already, just by getting rid of all my secular parenting books like “Nanny Wisdom” that I am never going to read, I have found a logical home for all the displaced shoes scattering themselves abroad in my entryway; our entryway bookshelf-bench now functions as a shoe cubby.

Far from discouraging me, this emptying of the home makes my heart feel fuller.

Lent began this week.  I sometimes get flack for fasting. “Be careful, honey,” my mum will say every year in a disaproving tone as I embark on this journey of self-denial.  As Richard Foster says, “The contstant propaganda fed to us today convinces us that if we do not have three large meals a day with several snacks in between, we are on the verge of starvation.  This coupled with the popular belief that it is a positive virture to satisfy every human appetite has made fasting seem obsolete.”

But an incident of a few years ago reminds me, as I begrudgingly surrender to the fast this year, why I “afflict” myself with fasting. 

One thing that is very important to our immediate family of four is family vacations.  It is a rare sliver of consolidated time spent exclusively together once a year.  After the birth of my second child, surrounded by an island of diapers and nursing bras and a sea of no sleep, I was dreaming of sweet vacation bliss. We booked a vacation to St. Maarten a year before our scheduled departure.

A few months later, my sister-in-law began planning her wedding.  Out of all the weekends in the calendar year, she decided that she wanted to get married on the weekend we’d be in St. Maarten, and expected that we’d be able to reschedule our trip.  However, the plane tickets were already booked - cancelling was not possible.  Ben and I, coveting our family time, felt that since we’d made our plans innocently without any knowledge of even an engagement at the time, that she’d defer to us.  We genuinely assumed she’d change the date when she found out we couldn’t change ours – but she didn’t. 

Instead, the whole extended family banded together and accused us of selfishly planning a vacation on the day of the wedding!  We were shocked at the accusation, and frustrated, and hurt. We pledged not to return for the wedding. 

Upon making this decision, my once pristine relationship with my in-laws went catapulting into the carribean.  For almost a year, there was tension, deep-seeded anger, and resentment between the two sides.  Hurtful words and emails were exchanged, doors were slammed.  Meanwhile, both the wedding date and the vacation date were set and refused to budge.

It is worth mentioning that my in-laws are also Christians.  We should have been able to work this out in a civilized, loving, Christ-honoring way.  But sin was firmly rooted in us.  Throughout this time, I was praying for God to help me.  I was praying for Him to rid me of my obsessive evil thoughts and feelings towards them that would rise up uncontrollably and surface at random, even during prayer.  But no break-throughs occurred.  We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas alone.  It was awful.    

Then Lent came.  And the Great 40-day Fast began. In my faith tradition, this means I ate a “Daniel Diet”, as I like to call it, abstaining from all animal products. I also cut back on entertainment factors in my life (for example, I ceased watching useless shows like “the Bachelor”). And I tried not to buy anything unnecessary, and to live a life more conducive to prayer, less busy and noisy.

With the addition of fasting, I continued in prayer about this grave family conflict.  Gradually over the course of the 40 days, my anger died, my evil thoughts were cut off. Finally and most crucially, a desire for peace and forgiveness was born.  I was humbled exceedingly.

We cut our vacation short to attend the wedding.  Our relationship has since been restored 10 fold to what it was even in it’s previous pristine condition.  I can only attribute this outcome to the fasting that I believe weakened my self-will and strengthened my prayers. 

“Fasting can bring breakthroughs in the spiritual realm that will never happen in any other way.” Richard Foster

I have officially made it my goal to unsubscribe to all bulk emails. John McCain’s Country First, Farouk Shami for Governor, Mom’s groups, Kid’s organic toy companies that, even with “mega sales” of a whopping 20% off, I will never afford to buy.

This unsubscribing equivocates part of my prelenten efforts to steer clear of “wanting”. The need to accumulate and buy at times attacks my psyche and, while our budget hardly budges, convinces me to buy.

Yesterday, for example, I clicked on an add for some reduced price diaper bag, and ended up purchasing four pairs of lace-free kiddie shoes (75% off MRSP, noless). While two pairs may have been legitimate, the $6.95 flat shipping rate convinced me that I’d get a better deal the more shoes I bought, which was almost the same cost as one pair of shoes.

One hour later, still deciding between the periwinkle blue gators and the orange fuzzy kitty’s, I fizzled away my evening wondering which footy friend would delight my children the most. In the end, I settled on the lightning bugs, and spent $38. All because of one failure to unsubscribe!

These emails take not just my money but my time. The irony is that while I seem to end up with time to open the email, and loose myself in online shopping, I never “have time” enough to press on the unsubscribe button at the bottom of the email. But this year, I’ve had enough of being prosletized and marketed to on email.

To date, I have 5425 emails in my inbox. At least half of these from bulk marketing.  From time to time I’ll go through and determine to delete , but I never make it below 5000. I have a mind to just “select all” and wipe out every trace of the past 5 years-worth of email communication, but the google search feature makes it too easy to keep things in my ever growing cyber landfill.  Imagine if those 5000 emails were paper. I wonder how much room they’d take up. One file cabinet? One garbage can? The entire garage? Who knows.  But 5000 seems excessive.

Unsubscribing to email is just one way I am trying to take control of my lack of self control, by eliminating the stimuli that convince me I need to buy things I never before thought I needed to buy.

So far so good. I haven’t bought anything since. . . well, okay, just one ltle thing . . .but it was an icon to help prepare me for the self-denial of lent!

What else in my life can I “unsubscribe” from?

My “outgoing mail” of excessive talking and my “junk mail” of overeating is next!

A while ago,  I visited a TV-free home -  my friend, a homeschooling mother of four - and left feeling a surprising, yet real sense of peace.  I didn’t immediately notice the absence of a TV.  The usual  places for a TV were occupied by a piano, a fireplace lined with pictures, a book shelf, a window.  I took note as the 8-year-old contentedly sat on the couch reading Ann of Green Gables.  The other three took charge of their own imaginations playing contentedly with a small selection of  simple toys.  I was amazed.  How does she do it without the TV?  Why would she do it?  Seeing how well she managed, how well her kids managed for that matter, I was lead inevitably to question my own reliance on TV as parenting “help”. 

When the FCC came out with cautioning remarks about the negative influence of TV on young children, mothers cried out against this measure, saying, “How will I cook dinner or clean house without the TV?” With this reaction, it’s a wonder  our culture survived before 1958 when TV became a standard household companion.  Nowadays the TV has become not only commonplace, but a necessity for most families.  It is not that we can’t live without it, it’s just that we don’t know how.   We have adapted to restless images and accustomed ourselves to background noise and call it “multitasking.” 

 Of course this “multitasking” training begins so early that we unknowingly teach our children how not to concentrate.  Children interupt their own imaginative play to stare at frenzied images on a two-dimentional screen.  It’s been dubbed the parent’s most convenient babysitter; it’s always available, and it’s cheap.  But is it quality time well spent? 

When our family grew from one child to two, I was overwhelmed.  The couch was overflowing with laundry that needed sorting and putting away.  The sink was fermenting with dirty dishes.  I felt as though my only chance at keeping afloat, was to get another couch (for more laundry seating), throw the laundry away, or turn on the TV and let my son “zone out” while I “got things done.”   I really and truly wanted to educate and enjoy my children, but the stress of managing a home wore on me and won.   I felt that Emmanuel could at least retreat to the happy place in TV-land.  Deep down, this bothered me.  After a while I realized that much of the stress I was feeling was guilt.  But it wasn’t laundry guilt (although the smell of the wild underpants rotting in the basket made me feel a little below housewife par).   

When he watched TV, his  animated, energetic, smiling demeanor changed.  All the color from his face seemed to drain into the TV the longer he sat motionless and mesmorized.  Even standing on my head and juggling could not break his trance.  His eyes lost their luster, their life, and it seemed he had been zapped or drugged by the TV.   He didn’t seem himself.  Furthermore, when the TV went off, my son would spiral into a rage.  He became arbitrarily agressive and angry.  My belief in the so-called “happy place” began to change. 

 It has taken me several months first to warm up to the idea then to muster the courage to unplug.  I will continue to share my journey towards TV-free living as I go.

Considering our yard is a truncated 10 x 10 space not much bigger than our livingroom, I’m amazed at the creation capacity it has:  Snap peas, squash and spinach, raspberries and two blackberry bushes, a fruit cocktail tree, a patriotic rose of sharron, a flowering pair tree, roses, climbing jasmin, and wild flowers splashing color in unexpected places.  Gardening has always attracted me as a natural teacher to children of how life cycles work, and how things grow.  It never occured to me that our planting would attract other teachers as well. 

 A few days ago, our raspberries ready for the picking, we went out to gather our first harvest, only to discover that “someone” had beaten us to it; they were gone.  It wasn’t long before Emmanuel discovered a rabbit hopping around the wildflower jungle that is our yard. He chased after the rabbit with great excitement and curiosity; this small brown bunny was impossible to catch and excellent at hiding.  The next day, we went out to pick some spinach, only to find that this rabbit had exceptional timing.  Our garden may have been somewhat of a failure, but in many ways, provided an excellent oportunity to let nature teach us. 

 We took our son to Barnes & Noble the next day, and picked out the original authorized version of Beatrice Potter’s classic little book, “The Tale of Peter Rabbit.”  Encountering a wild “naughty” rabbit close to home, our son was instantly drawn to Peter.  The drawings are masterfully real, and the charaters are personified in such a way as to remain true to nature (well, besides the fact that they are partly clothed and can talk!).  We were able to sympathize with the antagonist gardener Mr. McGreggor chasing after Peter, and understand the importance of obedience;  Old Mrs. Rabbit told her bunnies to stay away for their protection, not for their punishment.    

Peter still visits our garden frequently, though he’s not too fond of the sprinklers.  We really should get a fence to protect our produce, or our blackberries will be next.  Until then, we will observe our Peter Rabbit as he interacts with our garden during the day, and read stories about him at night.

A revolving conversation in our household is how we want to raise our children. One of the topics frequently discussed is schooling. While Ben and I both had positive public school experiences, after teaching in the same system of which we are products, we began to have parental doubts (I’ll save the “why’s” for another day). A few years ago, we stumbled upon a classical Christian school through a family acquaintance. We began reading up on classical Christian education, and then we attended the open house. (yes, our son is only 3, but if the next two years fly by as fast as the first three did, we thought we better get a move on in figuring out his academic future!)

 At the open house we expected to be informed; instead, we were moved to tears. This came as a surprise to both of us, since neither of us (according to Myers-Briggs) make decisions based upon emotions. Ben scribbled on the information package, “I want this (underline underline underline) for our children.” “Me too!” I tearfully mouthed back, as the 3rd grade choir sang the hymn “This is my Father’s World” from memory (all five verses, no less), and I could picture my own dad sitting proudly in the audience on grandparent’s day watching Emmanuel singing about the beauty of God’s creation. And that’s just it. That God is the author of life should be the beginning point for all learning. This is a key missing ingredient in public school.

Another option we considered is Home Schooling. Many mothers at my church do it, and I hold them in high esteem, but to be honest, I don’t think I have it in me. Most of them look frazzled, worn out, exhausted, beaten down. No doubt, it is the most demanding job in the world. But I don’t think I’m homeschooling mom potential. My sister points out that, with our teaching background and “skill set”, we’d have “an excellent home school.” I’m just not totally convinced. I already feel frazzled & worn out, and all I have to do is be here.  Perhaps, I just don’t have the desire. Or perhaps it is that Ben and I have already made our decision to invest in a classical Christian education for our children.

We hung out with our neighbors tonight.  One of them was showing off his new tatoo written in large bold print,”Fuck all ya’ll.”   With the smell of cigarette smoke and beer in the air, heavy metal music played loudly from the improv garage band.   I couldn’t help feeling somewhat “otherworldly.”  A sense that I don’t belong here with all this tension and hatred.  Meanwhile, as the lyrics to the songs raged, our son scooted playfully down the sidewalk on his tricycle, and our daughter innocently danced to the music.  I felt sad about our meager attempts to be good neighbors and good parents, and frustrated that the two goals seemed to be clashing unexpectedly.  To keep my children pure, to keep their eyes and ears from the evil in this world is more difficult than I originally thought. 

I crossed the street, and put Eden to bed, comforted this night to pray, knowing that this is the ‘one thing needed’ of parenthood.  The only parenting strategy that actually might “work.”

And so I pray:

Raise my children to be pure in heart, that they may see God.  

Raise my children to stand firmly against God-hating teaching. 

Raise my children to run from the world and the delusion of the world. 

Raise my children to turn away from evil and do good.     

Public school cannot teach my children to be pure, or to be good.  And on my own strength, neither can I.  Still, more than anything, this is my desire for them.  Purity and Goodness.  Grant this, O Lord.

 While birthdays have always been a bit of a let down, this one tops the cake in my recent memory (although due to getting “older”, this is not so good, anyway). Admittedly, it began under a false  premise that you get what you ask for. I’m 29, I should know better.

 So, about a week before my birthday, my husband asked me, “What do you want for your birthday?”
“To leave the house. . . and a clean house,” was my immediate and sincere reply. Meaning me leave the house without the kids, since I’d been housebound for a week with the car in the shop, and someone other than me cleaning. 

 My birthday came, and just before my husband left for work he handed me a card with $100. Of course I love receiving cash gifts.  However, in the not too distant past, we had decided to gift ourselves each with $100 of petty cash to budget miscellaneous needs or wants for the month.  Awkwardly, I asked if this was “over and above” my monthy allowance.  Awkwardly, Ben said “no”. 

“Thanks for the card,” I said.

Thus began my birthday.
 Ben had to work late, but he assured me there would be “something tomorrow”.

When the kids are happy, I’m happy, so I decided to take them to the lake. My son couldn’t be happier to pack up his giant dollar store shovel that was almost as tall as himself. It turned out to be a beautiful sunny April day.  The kids played non-stop with the best inter-personal skills I’ve ever seen for a three- and one- year old.  I blew up a big yellow pre-historic giraffe that Emmanuel named “Beer”, and the two of them floated around content as clams.  They really enjoyed my birthday!

We returned home for very late afternoon naps to a very messy house.  While they were sleeping, I decided to clean up, so that I could be my own fairy God-mother and grant my own birthday wish.  I was pleased with the outcome, minus the fact that it was my handiwork.  When Eden awoke from her nap, she was very sick.  Perhaps she’d swallowed some lake water. 

The next day, Emmanuel followed suit.  The two of them shivered on the couch watching movies, moaning and vomiting occasionally.  As anticipated, in the late afternoon, the doorbell rang.  Was it my mother-in-law arriving to clean my house, or look after my kids so I could go out? After all, she had told me she was really excited about her gift for me. No, just the UPS man.  I was surprised to read “PajamaGram” on the outside of the box.  Maybe some sexy lingerie?  Wrong again. Inside a hat box was a pair of sky blue pajamas speckled with white and pink feathers.  They weren’t lined or made with organic sateen,  or programed to massage me in the night.  Just plain cotton pjs . . . in size M.  I scowled.  I’m not size M.  I checked the bank account with great shock to find a $75 dollar charge.  I was convinced I could find the same pajamas at Walmart for under $5.  

Another package awaited me in the mail box.  It was from my brother - pink pajamas.  These, I liked very much, though I was starting to wonder what kind of vibe I’m giving off.

I had suggested to Ben that I’d like to have a game night on my birthday weekend. Sunday arrived, and Ben announced that his parents would be coming over for lunch.  Not exactly my ideal birthday game night, but it was a nice gesture.  Excitedly, my mother-in-law handed me her gift.  Pajamas, no less!  Oh, and some scented drawer lining paper  - the same gift I received from her last year.  I’m not sure why exactly I would need drawer lining paper on my birthday, in light of the fact that all my drawers are to my knowledge lined.  I have no burning desire to stick my head in Ben’s sock drawer and take a whiff of strawberry shortcake.  

I’ve been thinking about this pajama phenomenon a lot since then.  I realize that I have been tired; worn out from long days wrestling and wrangling two toddlers, and lethargic from lack of exercise.  No wonder I received three pairs of pj’s (the drawer liner is still a mystery)! 

My sister-in-law emailed, “I hope your day is full of birthday surprises”.  Well, it definately was filled with the surprise of not getting what I wanted.  And this is a good lesson for any person, no matter how old.   Sadly, or maybe just naturally, I don’t view birthdays magically anymore.  I don’t wait up all night before, or anticipate my wildest dreams coming true because I’m one year older.  I consider myself to be a woman of simple needs. For me, a “birthday surprise”  would have been something out of the ordinary like a few hours by myself at a coffee shop.  Because a few hours at a coffee shop would be just enough to rejuvinate me, to magically transport me to another “world” for just a moment. Compared to this, pajamas are surprisingly ordinary.

I turned 29 and turned the pages of modernity from private  journaling to public blogging.  After blogging a few entries on our family website, it just seemed more fitting to have my own cyber “pages” to type thoughts that are purely mine, not necessarily a reflection of our family as a whole.  So, i tried to come up with some fancy name for my personal blog; “mummylyda” or “sophiadawning” (my christian name) or “chronicles of motherhood”.  In the course of picking a title, I decided that i didn’t necessarily want to limit my blog to motherhood.  while this is the most consuming aspect of my life at present, it may not always be the most central theme of my blogging.  Perhaps I may write more about other topics, marriage, writing, orthodoxy, or perhaps the blog will assume a purpose beyond my current imaginings.  As of now, I simply want an avenue to write where the art of writing itself doesn’ t have to be such an introverted and lonely pursuit.  It is my hope that in the course of googling, someone might stumble upon my blog who shares a similar experience with me.  While I am new at this, it is my intention to be as honest and real as possible, even at the risk of embarassment and blushing.  Wish me well in my new venture!  More to come soon . . .