Health, and Other Adventures after 40

This story begins on March 17.

But no, I've already gotten something wrong, because it really starts a week earlier, on March 10.

On that day, Jeff was scheduled to donate blood, so he took himself to the donation center and proceeded to stretch out his arm and give the gift of life to someone like he does every eight weeks.  Only, this time, he was rejected.

The reason was simple: to be accepted, the donor's pulse needs to be 100 or less.  Jeff's was 102.

That's not that far over the limit, but rules are rules, so Jeff came home with all his blood still inside him and told us what had happened.

We wondered what had caused the fast pulse, something that had never been an issue for him before.  He started paying attention to his blood pressure and realized that was running on the high side.  And about that same time, Benjamin's asthma was acting up, so we got his nebulizer out of the box and proceeded to give him some breathing treatments; and in the process, we found our pulse oximeter in the same box.

Well, that was just too much fun.  ;-)  We all, kids and adults, started using it to see our pulse and oxygen saturation; and lo and behold, Jeff and I both discovered that our heart rates were fast--abnormally so, we thought.

To jump ahead in Jeff's story before I return to my own, this seemed to trigger a wake-up call in Jeff; and he began to pay more attention to his health.  He has the most determination of anyone I know when it comes to losing weight when it's his decision and he's not being coerced into it, and he immediately changed his eating habits and made some radical sacrifices to get healthier.  So far, he's already dropped to 10 pounds lower than he was at his heaviest, and he was able to return to the donation center and give blood two weeks after he was denied.  And that time, his pulse and blood pressure were fantastic.  I'm incredibly proud of him.

But back to March 17...

That was the date of my appointment to give blood for the first time in a very long time--maybe even a decade?  I used to give regularly, but life got busy, I spent a considerable amount of time pregnant or nursing or having little ones at home that made it difficult for me to slip away to give blood, and that particular act of service fell by the wayside for me.  I was very much looking forward to getting back to it.

I felt cautious, however.  Knowing that Jeff was rejected for a fast heart rate, I kept tabs on mine during the week between his appointment and mine; and I realized it was continuing to run fast.  I also had my blood pressure checked and discovered it was high--something that wasn't really even an issue during my pregnancies when high blood pressure can pop up in women that didn't previously struggle with that.  I decided to give up drinking soda and coffee, in an effort to give my heart a break and lower and steady its rate.  I was really hoping and praying that I would be able to have a successful blood donation on the 17th, so I made sure I ate something healthy that day, drank water to bleed faster (I was a notorious slow bleeder back in the day), planned my trip to get to the donation center early so I would have time to just sit and relax--all in an effort to make sure my pulse and blood pressure were low enough to give.

I guess those things worked, because when I got signed in and they checked my heart and blood pressure, they were fine!  Great news!  But then the nurse stuck my finger to check my iron.

"Hmmm," she said.  "Your iron needs to be 12.5 in order to give, but yours is 9.1.  I'm going to have another nurse come in and stick a finger on your other hand and test that."

Which is exactly what happened; and as the new nurse pricked my finger, I asked her if the numbers usually came back the same (I assumed they would!).  "No," she replied, "they are often a little different."

In my head, I thought that was good; and I assumed my next number would surely be higher than 9.1.  

It wasn't.

"8.9," the nurse announced. And then in a concerned tone, she began to ask me about my health and express her thoughts about my anemia.  I had to laugh a little when she queried, "Have you been feeling tired recently?  And sluggish?  And maybe a little dizzy?"

"Well, yes," I told her, "but I thought that was just because I'm a mom of six kids!"  :) 

And then she basically told me that even though she couldn't really tell me that I had to see a doctor, I really needed to see a doctor. 

So out the door I went, wondering what in the world was going on, and eager to talk to my favorite doctor--my dad, of course!

After I had explained the situation to him, he agreed with the second nurse and urged me to be checked out by a doctor, including a thorough blood test.  "We really need to figure out why your iron is so low," was his verdict. And so, I made an appointment for the following Tuesday, March 23, with one of the midwives at the women's health center that has been such a huge part of my physical care ever since 2006.  But to tell you the truth, the only time I've been consistent with doctor's appointments is when I'm pregnant or having a 6-week postpartum visit.  Other than that, I basically avoid the doctor--not an unusual situation for women, since many of us put the needs of our children above our own health needs.  I was convinced though that it was time to start paying attention to my own health, starting with that appointment with the midwife for an annual (cough, cough...not exactly annual in my case) exam, blood work, and my very first mammogram.

I survived the appointment ;-) and eagerly awaited the results, especially of the blood work.  Meanwhile, before I heard anything back from the office, Jeff went in to give blood, two weeks after his initial rejection.  He was relieved when his pulse and blood pressure were great, but shocked when he was told that his iron was too low to give!  That doesn't normally happen with men.  Fortunately, one of the personnel decided to retest his blood, using a different machine, and that time, it came back perfectly fine for iron, leading the staff at the donation center to realize that the first machine was malfunctioning--and had been doing so for quite some time!  He overheard the nurses expressing their frustration that so many people had been tired away for low iron, when in reality, it was an error of the machine!

When he told us that, of course we were excited, thinking that perhaps my iron level was not low at all!  And so my eagerness to hear the results of the blood test grew, along with my expectation of good news.

I got the call on Thursday afternoon, March 25.  A friendly, competent nurse (who rattled off numbers a little more quickly than I could jot them down, so I had to ask her to repeat herself sometimes) told me that the results of the blood test showed that I was very deficient in vitamin D ("30 is good," she said, "but 50 is better; that's what we like to see. Yours is 16.3.") and very anemic ("Your hemoglobin is 7.8; 11 or above is ok. Your hematocrit is 28.4; 34 or above is ok.")  She told me she'd call in a prescription for me for a high dosage of vitamin D, and she told me how much iron I should start taking.  "Great!" I thought, "I'll start taking these supplements, and then start feeling better in no time!"

But then she said that I should wait for a referral from our hospital system for an appointment with a hematologist.  "Ok, no problem," my brain said.

When the referral came the next day, it was for an appointment within our local oncology center; and let me tell you, it is a little disconcerting to see "oncology" mentioned in connection with this!!  My brain says, "It's no big deal; that's just where the hematologist happens to have his (or her...I'm not sure) office, so quit worrying."  :)  But another part of my brain can't ignore the fact that when I did a quick Google search about "causes of anemia," words like "leukemia" showed up then.

That's not to say that I have cancer--not at all.  There are any number of other reasons for anemia, and from what I've heard, some people discover a cause, and some never do, but live with it anyway (as they try to combat it with supplements, etc.).  But like my dad said, "We need to figure out the underlying cause," and the nurse said, "Hematology will help you figure out the underlying cause," so now I'm waiting for the magical appointment on April 27 that will--oh, I hope!--help me figure out the underlying cause.

I go back in my thoughts to the questions of the nurse at the blood donation center.  "Have you been feeling tired? Sluggish? Dizzy?"  Of course, I have!  But I thought the underlying causes were as follows:

~ I'm getting older.

~ I'm out of shape.

~ I'm carrying around more weight than I should.

~ I have a busy life.

~ I don't get enough sleep.

~ And as far as the dizziness, I remember my mother getting dizzy spells as she got older.  She kept a cute little tin of high-powered ginger drops in her desk drawer and would, if I remember correctly, put one of those under her tongue when she was feeling dizzy.  I don't have any ginger drops, but when I feel dizzy, I just stay still for a moment or two until it passes; and, most of all, I'm not shocked by the dizziness.  If it happened to my mom, there's a pretty good chance it will happen to me, too, right?  ;-)

Now that I know I'm anemic and have an appointment coming up to try to determine why that is the case, I find the battle is two-fold: first, not giving in to worry about all the "what-ifs," of which there are an infinite number of troubling possibilities that my mind can imagine if I let it.  And second, fighting the mental battle between the part of me that says, "You're tired. There's a reason for it. It's called anemia and vitamin D deficiency. You should rest. Just stop what you're doing.  Go lie down. You don't need to work so hard. You're exhausted, after all." and the other part that says, "Mind over matter. You're just as capable of accomplishing as much as you used to before you knew about this. Don't let anemia be an excuse! You come from a line of strong women who didn't give in to physical hardships. Be tough. Stay on your feet. Get going." Frankly, I don't know which side to listen to!

Meanwhile, I got the results from my mammogram, and they were excellent (my dad wasn't worried about that because as he reminds me, I breastfed six children, and the incidence of breast cancer goes down in women who breastfeed).  I'm choking down iron pills, taking a once-a-week high-dose vitamin D supplement, eating more spinach and red meat and raisins (preferably with chocolate covering them) ;-), trying to carve out more time to be out in the sun, going to bed earlier at night (well, not tonight, but other nights I have been!), and waiting.

Waiting on April 27, and whatever the next chapter in this health-after-40 adventure will be!

Shav's Thing

It's not as if we planned for it to happen this way; but as it turns out, all of our children (the ones that are old enough, anyway) participate in the Shenandoah Valley Children's Choir, and then they each have another extracurricular that they're involved in--something that is their own particular interest.  For Josiah, that's NCFCA.  For David, gymnastics.  For Tobin, riding horses.

But what about Shav?

For quite a while, I've pondered something: what is Shav's thing?  And Shav himself has wondered about this, too.

I'm still trying to figure him out.  Shav is tenderhearted, extremely kind, plays very well with his little sister, would rather stay home than go along to run errands or similar excursions, gets along well with his big brothers (although he does tend to be a tiger cub--"pouncing" on them, but then shrieking and withdrawing when they "pounce" back), is a good buddy for Tobin and always has been, is creative with LEGO building and has had a long attention span and great attention to details with them since a very young age.  Shav is amazing.

For the past few months, when I've hugged and kissed him goodnight, I've often had the thought, "I wish I had had more time to spend with Shav today."  Fact is, I want to be with him.  I want to learn more about who he is.  I want to figure him out and discover what makes him tick.

He's still somewhat of a mystery to me.

As this summer approached, Shav and I were talking about what special thing he might like to do; and he announced that he'd like to try soccer.  I pushed aside my suspicion that soccer is not really his thing (my first clue it's not his thing? at home, he never grabs a soccer ball and runs outside to play) and agreed that I would keep my eyes open for an opportunity for him to do soccer.  When the local parks & rec department was offering a one-week soccer camp (an hour and a half each morning), it seemed like the perfect chance.

He's played soccer before, when he was much younger and he and Tobin could play together on a team, so this wasn't an entirely new experience for him.  He was so excited about this camp and had an unfailing good attitude each morning, even though he had to wake up earlier than normal to get to soccer camp on time.  The weather was great all week, but hot; and he would be covered in sweat when I picked him up, but he never complained.  Each day he reported what new skill he learned that day, as well as anything else of interest that happened.  His coach was friendly and encouraging, and it was a good experience all the way around.

The best part?  It was something that Shav did on his own, without following in the footsteps of any of his older brothers.

Don't get me wrong: it's a wonderful thing to follow behind people like Josiah, David, and Tobin, and Shav plays that role beautifully.  But for this time, it was fun to have this be Shav's activity--just Shav's.  

I loved the drives to and from camp with him, and I loved seeing his joy.  He is so very dear to my heart.

On the last day, I took along my camera...

At the conclusion of the camp, the coach gave each of the participants a bag/backpack that they could either decorate with Sharpies or have their teammates sign.  While they were doing that, my other kids took advantage of a playground nearby.

It was bright and hot, and Benjamin wasn't a huge fan.  He is, however, a big fan of David.  :)

Coach Long, whose first name is Shav's middle name!  :)

On the last day of camp, we used some coupons that a friend gave us for free ice cream at McDonald's and went there to celebrate.  :)

I'm so glad Shav got the opportunity to participate in this camp, and I know he is, too.  At the end of it all, I still don't know what Shav's thing is; but I do know this.  Shav isn't quite eight years old, so there is plenty of time to develop his own particular interests.  And through it all, Shav is developing the most important thing: the character that will build him into a God-honoring, people-loving man.

He's well on his way.  :)

My Latest "Profound" Thought

OK, now I can talk.

I was extremely honored to have the privilege of speaking to a group of women last evening at a nearby church, and it was a delightful experience; but the time spent there and the times of preparation during the past however-many-days meant that I was silent here on the blog.

No matter.  It was a worthwhile trade-off.  :)

But now that it's over, my thoughts have turned again to the things I want to share here in this space, and my fingers have found their familiar places on the keyboard as I punch the keys to capture some of the workings of my mind.  It's nice to be back.  :)

The title of this post is a little bit tongue-in-cheek.  I'm not sure how profound my thought really is, but it was revelatory to me.  :)  

To set the scene, I have to go back in time and place to the years we lived in Israel.  One day in the early 2000s, my good friend Irina and I were standing alongside Allenby Street in Tel Aviv, looking out toward the Mediterranean, and discussing how many children we might possibly end up having.  At the time, we each had one--my Josiah is exactly 6 months younger than her David, and they were great little buddies.  

After talking for a while, Irina and I, with laughter in our voices, agreed that since one child was taking up all of our time, two children or more couldn't possibly take up any more than that, so we might as well go ahead and have as many children as we wanted because, regardless of number, all our time was going to be occupied anyway!  :)

As it turned out, she ended up with three and I, of course, with six; and although I haven't talked with her for quite a long time, I'm confident her days are still busy and full.  Mine certainly are.  :)

But here is what I realized recently--my "aha! I never thought of it this way before!" moment.  If you take one day in my life as a mom of six and compare it to a day in my life when I was a mom of one or two or three or...well, you get the picture...you might not notice much difference.  When I just had Josiah, my hours were spent, by and large, on him.  Obviously I did spend time with Jeff, and I did household tasks, and I had a little time for myself; but caring for Josiah consumed many hours of my day.

After David was born, I did spend time with Jeff, and I did household tasks, and I had a little time for myself; but caring for David and Josiah consumed many hours of my day.

I could--but won't, thank goodness!--repeat the same refrain after the addition of each of my children.  It's still accurate today: I spend time with Jeff, I do household tasks, I have a little time for myself, but caring for my children (and now obviously homeschooling is a big part of that) consumes most of my day, every day.

As I juggle the needs of all six of my children now, I sometimes look back to the earlier me and think, "Surely I had more free time when I only had one or two children!"  But somehow, the needs of children expand to fill the available time, and I really don't think I had an abundance of unoccupied time, five children ago!  ;-)

But here's the thing: one isolated day in my role now versus my role a decade ago might not be much different, but the number of years that my time will be filled with the needs of my children will be vastly different.

If God had only given me two children, I would be on the downhill slope of the time-intensive, hands-on phase of mothering; but by continuing to have children, I kept jumping back to the starting line and beginning the marathon of parenting all over again.  I'm nowhere close to the finish line!  And believe me, I am OK with that!!  This post isn't meant as a complaint--just an observation.  :)

In my case, having six children means that, for 14+ years straight, I have been changing diapers every day (we've never gotten our children fully potty-trained before the next one was born).  It means that, for 14+ years straight, I have almost certainly heard some crying every day.  It means that, even as I'm discussing with my firstborn which colleges he might want to consider attending, I'm wondering when my baby will ever decide to crawl, or scoot, or somehow locomote on his own.  (Not that I'm complaining about his lack of movement.  It's much easier to set him down and know that he'll stay basically in one place!!)  :)

It means that, instead of this labor-intensive children-at-home phase of life being a proportionally short part of my life, it is quite a long part.

You know what?  I wouldn't have it any other way.  :)

My brother David and his wife Lori have three wonderful children whom they adopted back in 2003.  Since the children were ages 7, 5, and 3 when they got them, they are now in high school and college; and David and Lori were facing the prospect of having an empty nest by the time they were in their mid-40s.  Now some people would rejoice at the thought, and there's nothing wrong with that!  But David and Lori decided that they weren't ready to sit around in an empty house yet, so they went back to the starting line and are adopting three more children.

My respect and admiration for them has always been high, but it soared even more when I realized that they are sort of like marathon runners who get close to the end of their 26.2 miles...and then say, "Hey, this is so meaningful and fun that we think we'll keep going and run a second marathon!  Why not??"  :)  They just pushed their parental finish line waaaaayyyyy down the road (and of course, I realize that parenting never ends; there is no parental finish line, but just go with me here).  :)

If Benjamin "leaves home" when he's 18 (although for goodness' sake, I hope he comes home often to visit!!), I will have spent 31 years of my life caring for my children at home.

I have some friends who, as their children have gotten older and less demanding of their mothers' time, have turned their attention to other pursuits--not to the point of neglecting their children at all, but simply enjoying the chance to put to use some of the other gifts and talents they have.  It's been fun to talk to them and hear what they've passionately pursued, after the being-pregnant, giving-birth, nursing-babies, watching-toddlers stage.

I'll get there, too--one of these years--and when I do, I'll be ready for it.  I think.  ;-)  But for now, I'll continue to give thanks for my busy, pour-myself-out-for-my-children days that turned into busy, pour-myself-out-for-my-children years that are stretching into busy, pour-myself-out-for-my-children decades!  I'm not much of a runner, but if I have to run any kind of marathon, I sure am glad it's a mothering one!

The Death of a Saint

Two weeks and a day ago, I sat in our church service and listened as one of the men in the church, Travis, gave a talk before we took communion.  He fought back the tears as he talked about his dad's death earlier this year and told us how, on the day he passed away, Travis was sitting by his bedside at 6:00, thinking that his dad was going to get better--and then at 6:05, he died.  Travis encouraged us to be intentional in how we live our life, treasuring our relationships and, most of all, making sure that we are ready at any moment because death comes without warning and you just don't know when it's going to be your time to die.

One week and a day ago, I sat in our church service--a "normal" service--and saw our brother in the Lord, Travis, for the last time.

Two days ago, I sat in that church building during the funeral service for Travis; and the tears flowed as the news of his death, which had so shocked me--almost to the point of disbelief--when I heard about it, at last became real.

Travis was born the same year as Jeff (he wasn't old at all), and he and his wife Chrissy were married the same year Jeff and I were (1997 wasn't that long ago).  And yet death doesn't just visit the old; it also sneaks into the houses of middle-aged men and knocks them down, collapsing those who seemed so mighty and leaving their loved ones absolutely stunned.  So it was with Travis.  His heart gave out without warning, and angels carried him home to heaven.

We were out of town when it happened, enjoying a family get-away up in the mountains of western North Carolina.  We didn't have any internet or phone service where we were staying, so it wasn't until Wednesday morning when we were driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway and came to a spot where there was enough clear, unobstructed air for us to get cell phone coverage that the news came to us.  Jeff checked his email, read about Travis, and made some exclamation that alerted the rest of us to the fact that something horrible had happened.

At first, he didn't tell us what it was, not wanting the sorrowful news to steal the joy of our special family time (although he did assure me immediately that it wasn't any of my family); but as we rolled along the Parkway, he began to speak to me--in Hebrew to keep the kids from understanding.  He expressed that it wasn't the leader of our church who had died, but that it was one of the elders.  In my Hebrew (which has gotten rusty in the 11 years since we left Israel), I asked sorrowfully, "The old one?"  No, it wasn't him.  Then I asked in greater surprise, "The man who was at our house on Sunday to eat?"  No, it wasn't him.  And then, with immense incredulity, the thought came that it might be Travis.  No, surely not him!

Yes, him.

It was impossible to believe what I was hearing.  Most of the time, it still feels that way.

As the knowledge of Travis's death soaked in, we realized that it would be better to tell the children, rather than leave them wondering what the bad news was (had something happened to Grandpa? had our house burned down? what was it??), so Jeff gathered them around and, surrounded by some of the prettiest scenery in God's creation, he told them what had happened.

Their immediate concern was for Zac.  Zac, the son of Travis.  Zac, the one who was having a birthday that very day--the day after his dad died--and was now 11 years old, David's age.  Zac, their friend.  Zac, who was now fatherless.

As our trip continued, our thoughts often flew over the mountains to our home area in Virginia--to Chrissy and Zac and the rest of the family, and to our other friends in the church who were grieving such a sudden departure of a treasured part of the body.

Various memories of Travis came floating through my mind, but the most vivid was from the day he was ordained as an elder.  April 12, I believe it was.  Just over a year ago.  I remember the oil from the anointing glistening on Travis's head (he didn't have much hair to soak it up or hide it!).  :)  I remember the serious air he had as he stepped into this significant role in the church.

Most of all, I remember his humility--surely one of his most outstanding traits--as he knelt down on the floor and gently washed the feet of some of the children in the church.  My Shav...

...and my Moriah...

...were two of the ones who received this blessing from him as he demonstrated his willingness to serve the flock that God had placed under his care.

He had such a heart to serve, even to "the least of these."

The time he washed my children's feet is the memory that is most vivid to me, but my most recent memory of him comes from eight days ago, his last Sunday on this earth.  Two things stood out to me.  The first was how, during a time in the service when the congregation can ask for prayer for various people and situations, Travis reminded us to pray for Julia, our minister's wife, who was leading the singing that morning and had gotten emotional and obviously had some things on her heart that were concerning her.  Out of all of us, he was the one who saw her need and urged us to pray for her right away.

The second memory is from after the service when I was walking towards the back of the sanctuary on my way to the car.  Travis stopped me and jubilantly showed me his wrist.  He had had a patch of bad eczema there; but a few days before, his wife Chrissy had stopped by our house and had picked up a tube of the ointment from China that we are using for Benjamin (and have gotten such amazing success from).  We had told them where we ordered it from, but since it takes a while to come all the way from China, we wanted him to begin to gain the benefit of it as soon as possible, so Chrissy took it home to him and he started using it.  By Sunday, he could tell a big difference; and he happily showed me that.  We were both so pleased.

It was our last conversation.

It wasn't long at all after we heard the news of his death that I thought about the communion message he had shared just nine days before he died.  It was as if, completely unknowingly, he had preached his own funeral message.  The urgency of his message that day was amplified a thousand times by the passing of his own life so soon after.

Since Travis's death, the verse I keep coming back to is Psalm 116:15, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints."  At first, it seemed strange to call such a heart-wrenching event "precious"; but as I pondered it further, I think I began to understand a little bit.  If we could only look at death from God's perspective, we would see that it is but a doorway through which each of us will someday walk.  What's so scary about a door?  Absolutely nothing, unless you fear what is on the other side.  But when the other side is heaven forever, with all the pleasures and glories of being in God's presence eternally free from the troubles of this world--be they diabetes and eczema or temptation and sin or the pain of broken relationships or any number of other trials we face here on earth--there is NOTHING to fear and EVERYTHING to gain!  For God, Travis's death was an enthusiastic "WELCOME HOME!" to one of His beloved sons; what rejoicing accompanied such an event!

Seen from His perspective, of course "precious" is an accurate descriptor of such a homecoming!

Seen from this side of the door, the rejoicing is dimmed as the ache in the heart wells up so fiercely.  I think of Chrissy and Zac, and my prayers are reduced to simple cries of "Oh God, help them! Strengthen them! Be near to them!"

He will, I know, and He is.  And meanwhile, all of us who had the privilege of knowing and loving Travis look forward with unquenchable hope to the reunion we will someday have in heaven with that gentle giant.

And then, we will never say goodbye.

Lessons of 2016 #3: Parenting Differences

It's no new revelation to me that Jeff and I parent differently.  I've known that at least since June 1, 2009 (which remains one of the all-time funniest examples of the creative, innovative, results-oriented style of dad that Jeff is).  ;-)  But this year, I've pondered further and gained several deeper insights about these parenting differences.

First (and this is a generalization, of course, but with some truth to it), Jeff seeks to enrich our children's lives by bringing home something interesting and fun to them; I seek to achieve that goal by taking them to something interesting and fun outside our home.  For example, Jeff thinks, "Won't it be a great experience for the kids to get to see puppies being born and growing up?" and I think, "Let's enroll the kids in some classes at the community college this summer."  Jeff thinks, "Chicks are cute; I'll stop and get some on Wednesday," and I think, "Why don't we go to the park this evening?"

It only makes sense, of course.  Jeff spends so much time away from home because of his job that, in his relaxation, he wants to be at home; and so his preferred method of interacting with our children is here at home, too.  (Which is not to say that it's only at home--of course not!  He still regularly takes them out for breakfast dates and other outings, but again, the generalization holds true.)  I'm at home with the children "all the time," so I look to time with them away from home to be special.  As much as I love being at home (I really am a homebody), I also enjoy the chance to vary our enrichment experiences by going somewhere else.

How wonderful for our kids to get to experience both the "hey, what a fun thing to do at home" and the "let's get out and do something new" kind of enjoyment.  I'm grateful for the different perspectives Jeff and I bring to parenting and the different ideas we have for how to love and care for and nurture and educate our children--not to mention, provide excitement and entertainment for them.  But here's the rub.

The things Jeff thinks would be great for our children sometimes create more work for me.

The things I think we should take the kids to sometimes create more work for him.

Having the puppies, for example, was an amazing rich and memorable experience for the kids; but it added significantly to my work load (and I'm not complaining because I LOVED those puppies!).  My desire to go to the park for dinner last Saturday evening (blog post about that hopefully soon!) was really a request for Jeff to sacrifice his own comfort because he was exhausted after a long week of work and would have rather stayed home to relax (errr, work) in the garden!  :)

What's one trip to the park, you might wonder; but think about the fact that many of the extras we've involved the kids in (children's choir, speech and debate club for Josiah, extra choir events like a recent dinner party in a castle...blog post about that soon, too!...trip across the mountain to the trampoline park) require a sacrifice of time and energy from Jeff--often when he is the busiest and most tired.  I am so grateful for his willingness to give and give and give of himself!

What's the takeaway from all of this?  I suppose it's two-fold.

First, Jeff and I both love our children deeply and seek to bring things into their lives to teach them something new and build enjoyable memories for them.  Love is the motivation for both of us, even though we show it in different ways.

Second, I need to pause to consider Jeff's needs when I suggest that we do something outside the home with the children--whether that be an evening outing or an extra class or something else--and realize that my grand ideas may actually involve a huge amount of extra work for him.  Being the outstanding dad that he is, he makes extraordinary sacrifices for the sake of me and our children, and I am sure he will continue to do so.  But perhaps, once in a while (or more often than that!), I can adjust my ideas for enrichment for our children to something that will be easier for him.  Maybe--occasionally--instead of, say, driving somewhere and going for a hike, we could stay at home.

Maybe, just maybe, we could even work relax in the garden.  ;-)


For Lessons of 2016 #1, click here...and for #2, click here.

The Half of Life I Never Think About

This morning, a thought floated idly through my head: "I wonder when is the last time we had tires replaced on our vehicles."  And then the thought went on its way, not requiring either more time or effort on my part.  "Thank goodness I don't have to think about stuff like THAT!" I might have thought as it exited my mind.

It's true: I DON'T have to think about stuff like that.  I don't, because he does.

Later in the day, as I went about the many mindless tasks that occupy my hands each day, I thought about it further and came to the conclusion that, out of the multitude of tasks that are necessary to sustain life as we know it, roughly half are things I never, ever have to worry about.  Want some examples?

~ I never have to look up the number of the man who brings us wood for our woodstove and call him to ask for another load.

~ I never have to try to figure out how much we owe in taxes.

~ I never have to pay the water bill...or the electric bill...or the gas bill for the propane for our kitchen stove.

~ I never have to fire up the chainsaw and cut down trees or brush around here.  In addition, I never have to take a chainsaw apart and figure out what's wrong with it and how to fix it so aforementioned trees and brush can be cut up.

~ I never have to carefully plan the month's expenditures to ensure that when our mortgage is due, we have the money for it.

~ I never have to think about what investments are worthwhile...and which are as worthless as using money as mulch for the garden.

~ I never have to wonder what the clanking noise is under the van...and make an appointment for it to be checked...and then pay the bill.

~ I never have to think about which disability insurance would be best for us, in the tragic event that our main breadwinner would be injured and unable to provide for us.

~ I never have to think about how many miles it's been since the last oil change in our vans.

~ I never have to give the boys haircuts...or make appointments and take them to someone else to ensure that they look their best.

~ I never have to check our bank account online to make sure it is correct.

~ I never have to think about the thousand and one decisions that go into running a business--everything from personnel decisions, to what color paint should go on the walls, to hours and rates, to handling disputes between workers who *occasionally* disagree ;-), all while keeping the customers happy.

~ I never have to worry about how we'll pay for the half of beef we buy annually to provide food for our growing family all year long.

~ I never have to consider life insurance policies.

~ And best of all, I never have to worry that my children will grow up without knowing the warmth and security of a father's wholehearted, devoted love and guidance.

These things--and so much more--are items that never show up on my to-do list and never trouble my mind; and for that, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jeff, who capably and uncomplainingly shoulders the load of providing for and leading our family.

Sometimes people look at me and the roles I fill as mom-of-six, homeschooler, homemaker, etc. and ask me, "How do you do it all?"  But the ones I really marvel at are singles--whether single moms or singles without kids--who go through life dealing with ALL of it: the financial obligations, the house repairs, the work pressures, and yes, even things like when was the last time new tires were put on the car.  I take my hat off to those who find themselves in that situation.  I know some in real life who are worthy of the utmost respect.

Without a doubt, my life is easier because of all the responsibilities Jeff handles--the ones I never give a thought to.  With him as my partner, I deal with so much less than I would have to otherwise.

We're a very good team.  :)

Lessons of 2016 #2: Don't Stop on the Dissonant Notes

"Hey, Mom," my son David called to me today, "Could you come listen to this piano piece I'm playing?"  I complied, proud of him for going ahead and learning new pieces, even when I don't find the time to give him an official lesson for weeks or even months.  Despite my good intentions, piano lessons for my boys repeatedly fall to the bottom of my to-do list...and then fall off the list entirely!

David started playing the piece, then stopped in the middle.  "Is this right? It doesn't sound good," he said, playing a C with his left hand and a D and F with his right.

"Keep playing," I urged him.  "Those notes are dissonant; but if you go on to the very next set of notes, you'll hear them resolve."  And sure enough, he then played a C and E with his right hand, which sounded beautiful with the C in his left hand.

His mistake--that pause on dissonant notes to question whether they can possibly be right--is one that I very clearly remember making when I was a child, learning to play the piano.  I'm sure that 30 or so years ago, when I asked my mom the question of whether the notes were correct, she encouraged me to keep playing to hear the resolution, just like I did with David today; but instead, sometimes I would linger on the dissonance, camping on it to make sure I got it right, repeating the notes that sounded so sour in the ear rather than moving smoothly on to the sweet ones.  "Is this really right?  Surely I'm doing something wrong!" I must have wondered.

I walked away from the conversation with David, leaving a (hopefully!) smarter musician in my wake, and having my own thoughts stirred by what we had talked about.  Oh, not really about notes on the piano, but rather about experiences in life.

You see, just as a piano piece has moments of dissonance that challenge the ears and leave them longing for something more pleasant to come along, life has moments of dissonance that challenge our whole beings and leave us longing for something more pleasant, something easier, something that doesn't make us wonder, "Am I doing this right?  Because this feels really hard!"

I've had some moments like that recently.  It's not that anything very terrible has happened; and in so many ways, I am living the dream of how I wanted my life to be.  Compared with what many other people face, the dissonance in my life is NOTHING.

And yet, it feels hard.  And sometimes my face is probably just as wrinkled up in a grimace as dear little Benjamin's is in the photo below as he played with Sheva and Sofia today!  ;-)

The dissonance, so to speak, in my life comes from temporary things like three of my kids being sick with a stomach bug during the past few days, and Josiah's participation in a speech and debate tournament last week which added a number of challenges to our family's schedule, and the 10 (adorable, I might add) puppies we have in our house that require care from us until they're ready to move on to their permanent homes.

But what's more, there is still a fair amount of lingering dissonance that comes from the adjustment to having a new baby; having six children means having a lot of needs that arise and necessitate time and attention from me.  My overarching fatigue adds to the dissonance, no surprise there!

There's a clashing sound in my head from my tasks that rush past in a never-ending flood of items on my to-do list; the discouragement that beckons to me every single day is a harsh dissonance in my internal song.

Sometimes I chide myself; after all, I am supremely blessed and shouldn't complain about a thing!  I'm not dealing with a serious illness, neither am I watching one of my children suffer in that way.  I have a loving, supportive husband who is my favorite person in all the world (the dissonance comes from the fact that we find it hard to carve out plentiful time for just the two of us).  We have a pleasant home and all the material comforts we could ever need.  Our children are an amazing blessing...and the list goes on.  With so many good things in my life, why should I hear any dissonance?

And yet, I do.  We all do.  And that doesn't mean I don't feel humbled and grateful for all the blessings I've been given, because I certainly do!  But even still, from time to time (and truthfully, every day), I land on the dissonant notes and think, "Is this right? I think I did something wrong! Surely the song isn't supposed to sound like this!"

I was reminded today, by my son's question during his piano practice, that it's so important to refrain from stopping on the dissonant notes.  Of course I understand the need to, from time to time, pause to analyze what notes are being played to ensure that they truly are the correct notes.  But then the next time the piece is played, keep moving!  Trust that the notes that don't sound lovely are preparing the ear to fully appreciate the beauty that is coming.

And how do I apply this to my life?  Simply this: when the music of my life grates in my ear and makes me wonder if I'm messing everything up, don't pause for too long.  Keep moving.  Understand that one phase of life--in my case these days, an energy-demanding, caring-for-many-needs, constantly-fighting-against-being-overwhelmed, having-a-to-do-list-the-length-of-the-Nile phase of life--is just that: a phase!  When a morning comes along that challenges me so much that I think I'll surely notice more gray hair on my head the next time I get close to a mirror, remember that the afternoon is coming, and it may be so peaceful (nap time and quiet time help a lot with this!) that I'll find myself able to accomplish more tasks than I could have imagined in the interruption-laden morning.  When a period of sickness strikes, remember that wellness will return--and how joyful we will be then as we consciously appreciate our good health!  When a week or month shows up with a crazy busy schedule, remember that months of relaxation and free(r) time are up ahead.

Life won't always be this way.  The hardships I struggle against now will someday fade into the background; and yes, I realize that new hardships will come to replace them.  But new joys will come as well.  The dissonance will resolve.

For now, the key is this: don't stop on the dissonant notes!!  :)

For Lessons of 2016 #1, click here.