Jesus Socks

I am really enjoying myself this Christmas season. I have the extraordinary pleasure of having a three year old to celebrate with. Of course, it is so wonderful to celebrate Christmas with everyone from a new baby to a great-grandmother; however three year olds are just set apart from the crowd this time of year. Last year they had a ball opening gifts and eating sweets, and of course, they learned a lot and retained a little about traditions and the origin of Christmas. But at three, they are asking "why" all the time, and it catches me off guard when I see how many of my responses are remembered and taken seriously. Very seriously.

"What is Christmas? Why's it called Christmas? Why do we get presents? Why we eat together? Why we decorate a tree? Why did we get a BIG tree?" And on and on and on. As a mama who not only believes in Christ and wants her children to understand what we are celebrating, I am just tickled pink to hear comments like, "Oh, I'm gonna make Jesus a card for his birthday" and when pointing at the Christmas stockings hanging in our house, my little one said, "Those are Jesus socks." She came up with that one on her own, by the way. While shopping for groceries, we made a detour to the bakery for some cake watching, which always keeps the kiddies happy. Usually at the bakery I hear something along the lines of, "Look at that princess cake! I want that one for my birthday." But this time I heard, "Oh, Mama, I wanna get that cake for Jesus for His birthday!" Love, love it. I mean, of course there have been some moments of "I want this for Christmas," but when I take a few deep breaths and calm down after hearing the "I want, I want" chant, I realize that I really did much to create that problem myself by strolling through the shiny toy section at the store with the kids in the cart. What was I thinking? But for the most part, it has been not only a joy, but a lesson, to listen to my kid this December.

When my kids have a birthday coming around, I ask them how they want to celebrate. I try to shape the celebration around their likes, interests, and wishes. It's not my birthday, it's theirs. So after listening to my three year old talk about throwing a huge party for Jesus, that's just what we're gonna do. Red velvet birthday cake and all. Okay, so that's MY favorite cake, but I don't think Jesus would mind. I mean, it does look pretty Christmasy, you know. And we will put His name on it. But I don't just want it to be about the party. December is always full of charity bashes, food drives, and really great things like that. These things seem like something Jesus might want us to do, right? I want my family to be as involved in all those wonderful giving opportunities as possible. I don't feel like I've been commanded to celebrate Christmas, but I also don't feel commanded to celebrate any one's birthday. But I do it because it's a really cool way to show someone that he or she matters to me. And I'm gonna try my darnedest...(yes, that's a word...don't question it...I was raised on it...) to not get stressed about decorating and cooking and wrapping and shopping. Because that's just silly. This is a time set aside to celebrate. And I know that if someone threw me a birthday party, and it was a really nice party, but I watched that hostess stress herself out and go into debt buying things that weren't really that important, then I would be heartbroken. What's fun about watching someone you love make herself miserable for you? Seriously.

Now I'm sure I encounter people everyday this December who don't put or maybe don't even want to put much focus on Christ during this time of year. Me, I'm just gonna celebrate what I'm gonna celebrate. I don't want any judgment coming in my door or out of my mouth, especially this time of year. Anyone who wants to have a happy holiday season is welcome to do so with me....no matter if we see eye to eye. I mean, it's Jesus' birthday being celebrated, so I'm gonna try to go by His guest list...not mine.

Call Me Crazy: A Rant on the Absurdity of Calling a Mother Over-Qualified

So there's a phrase I've heard many times now from good-intentioned women, whom I believe were trying to prevent me from accumulating a fortune in student loans or to lower my stress level or to simply encourage me to devote time to my family. While the intentions of these women may have been good...I gotta say...the phrase just bothers me. Really bothers me. The phrase?..."Don't over-qualify yourself to raise your children." Okay...what?

Now that I have children, I don't believe this is possible. How could I OVER-qualify myself for such an important job? Mothering is a time demanding, highly rewarding job. It calls for a vast set of skills, and it is a charge with eternal significance.

The point behind the "don't over-qualify yourself..." statement would often be something along the lines of "Why spend 200,000 dollars on a law degree and fill your head with all sorts of legal knowledge, if you are going to stay at home with your kids and not practice law?" I'll tell you why, or at least why according to this mom: We all have interests, passions, and strengths which can create in us a desire to master certain subjects and areas, and to pursue these interests, passions, and strengths can be a wonderful thing. Some women may want to learn to play Bach Inventions flawlessly on the piano. Some may want to become a licensed therapist. Some may want to attend night school to earn their high school diploma. Others might want to work hours in the kitchen to develop the best sweet potato pie recipe in town. And whether or not these women choose to use these accomplishments in the work force now, never, or later...guess what?...the skills and experiences gained through the process of achieving these goals can certainly help qualify one in a unique way for motherhood.

Many times I have heard people comment on the waste of money a Masters Degree is for a stay-at-home mom. This just gets under my skin. Waste? Really? Even if I never teach, instruct, or facilitate another class in my life, I can say with confidence that I will use my MFA as a mother. Maybe my kids will be encouraged by my experience to dedicate themselves to their education. I'll be better prepared to help with their literary education and hopefully help them to develop a love of books. Or maybe the life lessons I learned while working late hours on my school work will help me to better manage my time and follow through with other commitments. The process of borrowing and repaying student loans will help me to responsibly manage my family's finances. And I cannot tell you how many times the random knowledge I have from college courses like "The History of Fashion" come up in conversations and provide answers to questions from family members like "When is this movie set?"...ha...like I said, random. I could go on and on and on and on about the benefits I see in my life and the lives of mothers around me, who use what they know or what they have done to fulfill the role of mother in one way or another. And I'm sure most mothers could go on and on and on with their own examples, too. Whether a mom has a high school diploma or a doctorate, and whether she completed an apprenticeship with a woodworker or has a certificate for yoga instruction, I'll bet you she is not "over" qualified as a mother.

And maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself here, but it seems to me that children can benefit from highly educated, well-disciplined, or uniquely talented moms. Call me crazy. Just don't call me over-qualified.

It Matters More Now

It's funny how before my kids were born I had all this time to write, think, keep my house in order, play the piano, and all the other things that keep me grounded and full of purpose, but now that my kids are born, well, making time to work at these things is pretty darn hard, but doing them matters so much more to me. It's like, when I write something now, it seems more lasting, more precious to me somehow. Maybe my kids will want to read through my journals someday, and maybe they won't, or maybe they will just like to know that they have something their mother wrote in their possession. Whatever the situation may someday be...I'd like to leave words behind for my girls that mean something to them. And when my kids hear me playing the piano every now and again, I want them to hear something sweet or comforting in the music, rather than hearing "old classical music and hymns that mom played instead of spending time with us". And I certainly don't want washing dishing to trump getting down on the floor and playing memory with my kids, but I do want them to have a comfortable, clean home in which to thrive. So, how in the heck do I not cross over this fine line from working at things that matter in special ways to the dark side of a mom too into "me time" and her own pursuits to remember to notice and really see her children? For all you mommies with passions and hobbies and dreams out there, this is not a rhetorical question. Seriously...how do y'all suggest keeping on the right side of the line? At this point...I'm thinking it shouldn't be that big of a problem, because I am thinking of my daughters and my role as a mother in some way as I perform every little task I do. But I realize that as kids grow up and become more independent, then this may be more difficult to do...maybe?...I don't know.

Inspired.

So here I am...blogging again. I completely slacked off on this pursuit during the month of July, but let me tell you...this was an intentional slacking off. There were times during the last month when I started to log on to blogspot and get a-goin' again, but then I thought to myself, "Brittany, Brittany, Brittany...you are exhausted. You are uncomfortable due to the blessings of the third trimester of a third pregnancy. You are behind on work, and you have not scraped away much creative writing time for yourself this last month." All of these things in conjunction with all sorts of other randomness meant that anything I sat down to write on here would be a little too melancholy, and possibly, a little too whiny for my posting taste and definitely too pessimistic for your reading pleasure, whoever "you" are, if "you" even exist. And if "you" do exist, then I apologize for neglecting you for the last month, but you have my word that it was for your own good.

So, I am back from a wonderful trip to Kentucky. I am finishing up one of my final online teaching assignments before taking a little time off. And I am writing again. Of course, I am still a bit uncomfortable, but this really is nothing to complain about considering that the above mentioned things have put me in a much better state of mind than I have been in. I really do think the number one change in my mood has been my trip to Kentucky. There is something about the shade of the mountains and the people and the taste of homegrown tomatoes from my family's garden (yum.) that restores me to my previously inspired self. Everytime I visit my hometown, I get so many new ideas for writing projects and so excited about sitting down with a pen and writing things down. I'm not really sure if this has more to do with the fact that I get a sense of home from being in the place where I was born and grew up, or if it has more to do with the beauty and laid back atmosphere of the specific place I am from. I tend to think that the inspiration I draw from the Appalachian Mountains has more to do with the history of a place which was able to hold on to its unique stories and food and ways of living much longer than most other places. There's something magical about a place where a writer or a painter or any other kind of artist can walk into her grandmother's kitchen and hear the same tales and songs that have been told and sung in that grandmother's family for hundreds of years. Call me old-fashioned, but that's pretty darn cool to me. Makes me want to write.

And I will write. This is me telling myself that I will make time to write, even if it means I will not sleep so much or if I need to find some other clever way of carving out time to be creative and live in the world of my characters. There really does have to be a way to make this time, because I am the kind of girl who, when inspired, will likely explode in some unattractive manner if I do not get out my inspiration by putting words down on paper.

Oh and while on the topic of writing, I'll also note that I have a goal to write down all the silly little smart things my daughters are saying on a regular basis now. I have to write down their funny statements or else I will be so sad one day if I cannot remember to tell my oldest that she called my dad an "ol' stick in the mud" or that my younger daughter finally decided to use complete phrases just so she could tell her daddy to "wait a second" when he told her to do something.

If a trip to Kentucky and clever little girls fail to inspire me, then I don't know what would. This is going to be a much better month.

Bored.

I am bored, very, very bored with lots and lots of things to do. But the things I have to do are not things that are fun. They aren't things I am looking forward to. So I am looking at my two toddlers. I am wondering if they are bored, too. I sure hope not, but sometimes when one or both of them get frustrated and start asking to do something but can't tell me what it is they want to do, then I start to think they are bored. Bored, even though they have a ridiculous amount of toys. Blocks and dress-up clothes, puzzles and My Little Ponies. There are dolls and stuffed animals all over their room. Princess toys, musical toys, and a bunch of random toys fill up bins in our living room. We have tons of craft supplies. We go on outings regularly, but I am still considering the possibility that my two little sweethearts are bored. Doesn't seem to make much sense, but oh well.



So here's what I'm thinking. I'm bored because I'm tired of doing the same things over and over and over again. When they start to act frustrated and ignore the things they have to do at home, maybe they are just tired of doing the same things over and over and over again. Sure, it seems silly. I mean, how could you get tired of relaxing in a kiddy pool when you have no responsibilities? Yet, everyone, no matter the age could benefit from a little change now and then. So, I've decided that tomorrow we'll just trade. My kids can dress up in mommy sweatpants and do the dishes and fold laundry, while I build a castle out of alphabet blocks then take a nap. Problem solved.



Or, maybe we'll just do something different tomorrow. Together. I'm thinking we might make bird feeders out of cardboard, peanut butter, and birdseed. It's a cheap, fun, craft we can make together, and they'll like it because it is messy and edible, at least partially.

Who is this Girl?

I am the kind of girl who visits the mailbox multiple times a day when waiting for a package or some news. I am the kind of girl who cannot focus on anything else when there is a pressing or exciting matter unresolved. I am the kind of girl who sets a goal, and always reaches it, though usually at the expense of every other little thing in my life. Or at least that used to be this girl.

But here I am with a completed novel and no agent. Two agents have requested the full manuscript and have it, but I am somehow staying calm while waiting on word from them. I have final essays to grade this week, not to mention other teaching obligations. There is more laundry to do, a dishwasher and dish rack to unload, and there are so, so many other chores that need to be done. Cheerios are everywhere in my house they should not be. Yet, I took my kids to the zoo and then out for a treat at a coffee shop today. Somehow I am not stressed at all about my unpublished novel or my ever growing to-do list. Who is this girl?

Really, I don't know. I don't know if I have stressed myself out for so long that I am now numb to anticipation, disappointment, excitement, anxiety, and all those other feelings I have always known so well. Or maybe God has granted me a day off from my usually crazy self. Or it's possible that motherhood is mellowing me out. Who knows? Not me, and you know, I don't even need to know. See what I mean? This is Mellow Brittany.

The Power of Words

I have been in love with words since I was a little girl. The way they can be moved around and placed together to form a beautiful or clever or meaningful statement has fascinated me from the time I first began filling up journals in elementary school. I remember sitting in my Kindergarten class stressing over a basic test because I saw that the words we were being tested on had many different meanings, and so it was really an impossible task to only circle one picture for each word the teacher read aloud. I could make up a story in which each word could fit every single picture my teacher put in front of me. The way words fall on my ears is important to me, and the way they look on paper is something that can drive me a tad bit insane. Now not only am I a lover of the written word, but I am also a Bible reading gal, which let me tell you, brings me to a whole new level of word obsession. There are only so many "red letters" in my Bible, and so it is only good and natural that I really take time to ponder how they were placed together, and not just in my language, but in the original language they were written in. I mean, would I only study Shakespeare in Spanish or German, when I could look up the original words of the writer? Okay, so there you go...I obsess over words. I think about words a lot, and I do not think they are things to just throw around in a casual way as we go through our day. Sometimes, most of the time really, people should think about what they are saying, hearing, writing, and reading. But, alas, this is such a strange concept for us in this texting while watching television age.

Now, I am actually ranting about words for a reason here. I happen to think that children are wonderful gifts. There really is not a sweeter gift to be entrusted with here. Sure, being a parent can be stressful, but that's just part of the "saltiness" of the deal (see my first May blog post for clarification on "saltiness"), and stress does not take away one itty bitty ounce of the special blessing a child is. So, why oh why oh why, do people in the grocery store or at the park or a gas station or wherever tend to comment on how crazy a mother is for having another child? "You're expecting another? Have you lost your mind?" "Another girl," they will say, "Well, you are gonna have your hands full." "You'll have three teenagers all at once? I don't envy you!" "Just wait until those little girls grow up and the boys start calling and coming around and wait until they don't want to listen to you." And then the stranger in the pasta aisle will say, "Enjoy the time you have with them now because they won't want anything to do with you when they're 16."



In what world are these statements appropriate to make to a woman in the grocery store you do not even know? And in what world is this the best choice of words for even your closest friend? I mean, I know that parenthood will grow into a more and more challenging role for me, but come on, people. I also know that I hope and pray and expect the best out of not only my children, but also myself. I know that what I want to be for my family is realistic, yes, but also optimistic. I want to expect great things for my children, and not to have my little girls hear from the mouths of strangers over and over again just how difficult they are going to make my life. Because then they just might grow up to be difficult, and they just might learn to hate themselves a little for believing themselves to be nothing more than a nuisance to the people around them. Why not be what is expected of them? Of course teenagers have a tough time and so do their parents...I mean, look at this broken world they are trying to grow into. But calling out toddlers and babies still in the womb for being stressers and trouble makers and nothing beyond curfew breakers and bathroom hogs? Seriously, adults in the world, stop pointing your fingers at my tummy and name calling and complaining about the life you and your own situation created for yourself.



So the next time I see a pregnant woman at the grocery store, I will not say, "Oh, honey, what are you thinking bringing a child into this world?" I will say to her, "Oh, congratulations!" or "This is such an exciting time for you!" Or you know, I might even pray for her unborn baby...pray that he or she will grow up to be a light in this world, rather than just another wailing infant who will grow into a wailing teenager.

Don't get me wrong...sometimes mommies need to take a breath and laugh and cry about the chaos that is often their lives, but I think I will also spend my time surrounding myself and my husband and my children with words to encourage us and strengthen us, because as I am so often reminded by frank, tummy-touching strangers in the check-out line, we're going to need all the strength and encouragement we can get.



If this post seems a little meaningless to you, then think about the words from your past. I bet you can remember some of the moments in which you heard the kindest and also the coldest words about you in your life. And these words probably shaped you in some way. Maybe they helped you love something about yourself, or hate something about your family, or maybe they convinced you of something about your life. Words often have real power behind them.

The Thing about Jane Austen, One of Them Anyway

I'm not obsessed with everything Jane Austen. Writing fiction comes more naturally to me than non-fiction. And those are two statements that go together quite well, as one certainly proves the other, and makes me not a liar, but a writer. I just cannot get enough of Austen's characters. They are so darn clear in my mind, so fully developed and wonderfully flawed. I feel I know them better than most flesh and blood people around me. And truth be told, I am not only completely head-over-heals in love with Jane Austen's work, but I am also quite smitten with the search and discovery of sequels written by other Austen admirers. Sure, some of these sequels can be a bit sappy and not remotely up to par with Miss Austen, but one must do what one must to get a glimpse into the continuing lives of characters whose stories were ended much, much too soon. When I read Pride and Prejudice or Northanger Abbey, it's the characters, not necessarily the stories, that pull me in towards another night of squinty eye reading and sleeplessness. And ain't it kind of funny that the thing I adore most about Austen's novels is the thing that has twisted around into an issue for me in my own writing? Character development just pours out of me when I write, which could be a good thing...BUT, it is often the only thing that pours out of me when I write.



Story development. Plot. That is stinking hard for me. It's just about as slow as a pesky little algebra equation. Thankfully though, I don't despise developing a story as much as I do algebra, but still...it can be tough to actually make things happen. I can sketch a character all day...100 pages of character sketch...all in a day's work. Fifteen pages of plot development, now that's a day's work, real work. It is a wonderful thing though, when I see these characters from my mind, whom I really do care about, in a scene with things happening around them and to them. They're not just sketches any more, not just word pictures, but they're active and tested, and this makes a writer, and a reader, really get them on a new level. Maybe this whole process is an itty bitty glimpse of what I'll experience when I send my kids to kindergarten or send them out in the world. I mean, I have my little ones home with me, in this protected, controlled environment, and they are just precious here. They have funny little personalities and are so special and clever and enchanting, but when they will go outside their home and experience new and different things, then I'll see them in a new light as they make friends and help people and decide what matters to them in the outside world. So there it is, the thing about Jane Austen, well one of the many, many things, is not only did she give us girls Mr. Darcy to dream of and Miss Eliza Bennet to admire, but she can reach straight out of the 1800's and make me get all dreamy and emotional just thinking about my kids going outside of my house. Now that's something. The ability of a writer to create characters who live on for centuries, and who attach themselves to a reader's mind, even when that reader is a twenty-something country girl from across the pond. I cannot even fathom what that sort of creation would feel like. I think it's pretty great to simply create a character who is real to my own mind. That simple creation is really all the power a writer needs, of course, what a writer may want for her characters is a different thing.





And here's a little fact about this ridiculous mom here: I read Northanger Abbey to my toddlers. The whole thing. And you know, they actually listened intently to at least a fifth or so of it. My little troopers.

Salt the Sugar

So I'm blogging. Me, the girl whose favorite smell is the mustiness of old books. And me, the girl who would love more than anything to be from a different time; a time without computers and television sets, and of course, cell phones. Does anyone else out there think that electrical cords strewn across a floor sort of color away the beauty of a place? Maybe not, but that's fine. After 26 years on this earth, I have finally come to a place where I can play the role of me, the genuine, quircky, old-fashioned, country, dreamy me, who God created me to be. So why blog? Because as bakers know, you should not be afraid to add some salt in with the sugar. It balances out the sweetness, and strangely, brings out the sweetness a little more. I love to write. Writing is a sweet, sweet thing for me, so in order to make a nicer place for writing in my life, I'm adding a little technology, a little salt, to my writing.

I want this blog to be a place of honesty. I'll be here to write about the toddler years and infancy of my beautiful daughters, my quest to steal away moments to write and to get my novel published. I'll comment on what I'm reading, thinking, doing that day, and also what I'm not doing...which is often a much longer list than what I am doing. Where do all these motherhood tasks come from? It's like a new chore is invented for me to do everyday? I mean, I lived 20 years of my life before I even knew people cleaned baseboards. And cleaning potty seats? Repairing favorite toys? I would be just fine if I lived the rest of my life without cleaning out another diaper bag. But there are good "chores", too. I'll braid my three year-old daughter's hair and teach my almost-2 year-old to sing songs my parents taught me all day long. Those hard chores make it possible to cherish the wonderful ones. It's that salt and sugar thing again.

So I'm blogging. Thanks for reading.