Tag: Family

Book Review: The Carp in the Bathtub

Harry and Leah have a problem. There’s a fish in their bathtub, but that isn’t the problem. The problem is that the fish is dinner.

Mama’s special Passover dish is gefilte fish, special fish balls made from a carp. The best fish always sell out early, and dead fish spoil quickly, so the carp has to live in the bathtub for a week waiting to be cooked. Harry and Leah love to feed the carp, and especially appreciate that as long as the fish is there they can’t take a bath.

But Harry and Leah cannot bring themselves to eat gefilte fish. Who could eat a friend? And thus year’s carp is extra special; he is smart and friendly, and his name is Joe. They have to think of a way to rescue Joe before Mama turns him into the Passover meal!

The Carp in the bathtub is a delightful story about understanding and responsibility. For my children it was also an introduction to a time and traditions different from ours while demonstrating that children everywhere and in every age are all the same. By the way, Harry and Leah still don’t eat gefilte fish.

Balanced, or Teetering?

Parenting often feels like walking a tightrope. Without a balance pole. Meeting physical needs of growing bodies can alone feel like an insurmountable challenge. That pair of shoes you just bought last month that already don’t fit. The three hundred dollars worth of food that didn’t last a week. Then there are the emotional needs, theirs and yours. Because in the middle of all the midnight wake-up calls you might lose your sanity. One of the most difficult juggling acts of 21st century parenting is the seeming war between the digital world and the physical world.

With digital technology at the center of almost every occupation, and surrounding every aspect of our lives, we have an urgent need to teach our children how to use it, to wire the areas of the brain stimulated by its use to employ the digital world without becoming sucked into it. At the same time, all the skills previous generations possessed to interact with the physical world must also be preserved. Not just the skills of interpersonal communication without the aid of a keyboard, but basic skills and knowledge of the earth’s practical workings. Its a lot of information to cope with, and often the two worlds seem so opposite that they cannot be reconciled.

So, like everything else, these become family affairs. Minecraft wars with Dad become the preferred recess activity. Old phones get wiped and become tablets filled with games, music, approved video content, and books. Always books. Screen limits don’t apply to reading. Imagination runs wild and ingenuity is trained in the midst of shouts of laughter and good-natured competition. Technology usage becomes irrevocably connected to memories of family and lessons learned gently.

When school is over, with the sun at its warmest and responsibilities fulfilled, the outdoors calls. Those creative connections teased by the digital world are tested against the physical one. The flotsam of the passing winter becomes the building material of childhood games. Sprouting plants will be examined, tested in mud pies, and transplanted into fairy gardens. Fallen branches will become the tools of the trainee woodsman, deadwood and rocks a boy’s rickety fort which will fall down and be rebuilt more securely from the mistakes of the first. Emerging insects and amphibians find temporary homes where they are studied and cared for until the dusk brings release.

Tomorrow it will rain and there will be no outdoor afternoon play. Perhaps they will be lost in the digital world longer than today; perhaps they will transfer their creative energy to dolls, legos, or art. Maybe we will use the extra time for a more thorough cleaning day. Another day will be too beautiful for concentration, and not only the digital world but physical responsibilities will be discarded, forgotten for the joys of dirty hands and outdoor adventures. The acrobat teeters from one side to the other, almost plunging to the ground below with every step, yet using the swing back and forth to stay balanced on that tiny wire that connects us to platform from which our children will be able to stabilize themselves and begin on their own tightrope walk.

Black and White Summer

This flash fiction was inspired by a photo prompt that I unfortunately don’t have the right to share. You the reader get to imagine the scene for yourself this week! Enjoy! *********************************************

Gramps kept the old black and white postcard in his wallet, folded up neatly to fit in a card slot. Sometimes he would take it out and gently unfold it, smooth it with a caress of his fingertips the way he touched Gram’s hair. I asked him once what was so important about a gray picture of a boat and trees. He gave me a long look and then handed me the creased and worn card.

“My brother was eighteen that summer,” he said. “I was ten. Wasn’t much we did together anymore, but we did like fishing.” Gramps put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair, staring into the distance with a half smile. “That summer he told me to pack my camping gear, we were headed upriver for a week. We threw sleeping bags, fishing poles, and a frying pan in an old boat he’d scrounged up and caulked and set off for a boy’s heaven.”

“Did you catch lots of fish?” I wondered.

“Enough to fry every day,” he chuckled, “but mostly we swam, chased each other up and down the bank, and slept in the sun. It’s a wonder the snakes didn’t carry us off; mosquitoes sure tried. Once, the boat sprung a leak. Not a bad one, but we were taking on water. Jack showed me how to stuff moss in the crack and caulk it with mud.”

“Did it work?”

“Well… not too well,” Gramps admitted. “But we were having too much fun to care. I’d never spent so much time with Jack, just the two of us.”

He sighed. “He enlisted the next day, headed to the Pacific. We were dirt poor and there were no photos, but I found this in a drugstore a week after Pearl Harbor. It may look like a boat to you, but to me that’ll always be Jack.”

The Family That Works Together

It’s a lost art, families working together. Here and there you will find a small family owned business that includes the kids, but thanks to child labor laws that is rare. Our family doesn’t work together because of business. It’s our life.

Our lifestyle is somewhat non-traditional. My husband doesn’t work a traditional job; he is supported by a relatively small congregation to preach the Word. That means he gets to be around all the time, part of the daily dynamic of our household! We homeschool our kids, which means that they are also always around creating the daily dynamic of our household! I don’t work outside the home; I clarify that way because I can assure you that I do indeed work! I choose to stay home with my children because I know God gave them to me for a reason, and my family is my number one priority. We don’t live in a large, up-to-date, fashion-plate mansion (although I certainly wouldn’t argue with the space!). Being a one-income household means that we have what we need, and we have learned over the years what need really means. We never go without and often have extra for some things we want, but by now our wants are actually pretty small.

We do not have central heating/AC in our small, rather ramshackle house, which means that inthe winter we crank up the wood heater. We are blessed to have access to family-owned property where we can cut our own firewood, which saves us hundreds if not thousands of dollars in heating bills every year. Cutting firewood, however, is a big job, which is where the whole family comes into the picture.

That’s dad out in front, setting the example of how to work hard and efficiently. Everyone has a job to do. Dad carefully chooses and fells the trees, cuts them into manageable logs, and makes sure we fit as many of those logs in the wagon as it will hold. The kids fetch and carry, then push and pull. Mom supervises the fetchers so that no one breaks his or her back trying to pick up something too large or tries to get away with carrying less than they are able. (Believe me, both have been attempted. Often.)

These winter afternoons of working together have created some of our favorite memories of family time. Movie nights, game nights, family dinners, and other “normal” modern interactions are all more enjoyable becauseofthebonds and lessons that are built from thise memories. Our kids get along better because those family jobs teach them the skills involved in cooperation. They learn to be observant of other people’s movement in the space around them so they don’t fall over each other or cause injury. They learn to assess a task and figure out the best way to complete it. They learn to communicate with each other in order to work as a team.

Lest you leave this blog thinking that all this gives us perfect children, let me assure you that no one has cleaned off the dining table today and there are toys all over the floor. And you haven’t heard my six year old’s ringwraith screech of fury or seen my four year old’s crocodile tears. As you can see from the photo below, capability does not always equate with desire. That might bother me if I wanted perfection, but I don’t. My children will grow up with values of hard work and family instilled in them both by example and experience. That’s a goal worth taking the time to fulfill.

The Christmas Gnome

Ellen switched on the light in the cluttered garage and sighed. She had put this off as long as possible but with the house being listed in a week there was no more time. Maybe she could just load all the boxes and junk without opening them, haul them to the dump, be done.

She ran her hand over the dusty top of the nearest flimsy carton, lifting the well-wrinkled flap in spite of herself. A flash of shiny red caught her attention, and carefully she unwrapped the tiny gnome from his torn tissue. A ragged smile played across her face as she rubbed the little fellow’s flowing beard.

The gnome had perched on the thick oak branch over the front walk every Christmas for as long as Ellen could remember. Once, when Ellen was about four, she had asked why, and Mom had told her he was the Christmas guardian. Nothing could steal the spirit of Christmas love as long as he watched over them.

Only when Ellen and her brothers had grown and gone did she ask Mom why the gnome still guarded the house. It wasn’t as if any children remained to believe in magic. Her eyes filled with tears remembering the gnome’s real story. Dad had given him to Mom their first Christmas, just days after they became engaged. The tiny presents held something that real packages could not; his vow to never leave her.

Dad had died when Ellen was two, a stupid construction accident. Mom set the gnome in the tree at Christmas, when her grief was deepest, to honor the promise. If she hadn’t died, he would be perched on that branch now, holding Dad’s love for her where she could see it. Ellen carefully closed the box and carried the gnome to the front walk. Dad would have wanted it this way, she thought. When she walked away, the gnome perched cheerfully in the stiff snow on that same old branch.

A Beautiful Mess

Last night I made pumpkin sweet rolls to surprise my kids for Thanksgiving breakfast. I only do things like this for one reason – the reaction. The truth is that I hate cooking, especially baking. It’s tons of work, takes a ridiculous amount of time, and overheats the house. Often ingredients must be mixed just so or the recipe will fail. Cooking for a big family uses soooo many dishes! And we’re not talking about a few small bowls, we’re talking giant mixing bowls, pots, and baking dishes. I’ve never had a dishwasher worth having, and handwashing all those dishes takes forever. Ingredients get everywhere, like the flour all over the counter in my picture, even under countertop appliances which then must be moved for cleaning.

But despite being such a huge part of cooking, none of that is really what it is all about. Something about good food reaches all the way to the soul with power to change, create, and connect. The look on my kids’ faces and their excited squeals, the joyful conversation as they stuff their faces with sticky goodness, the gooey hugs and kisses, all outweigh the things I hate about cooking. The mess becomes as beautiful as those sweet rolls, filled and drizzled all over with delicious joy.

Not Normal

As anyone who follows my blog knows, I have been silent for several weeks. This was not by choice, but by circumstance. I want to try to explain why because I hope to encourage others to embrace who they are in whatever situation they may find themselves.

Life is not one size fits all. Every person is an individual with unique characteristics and needs. When individuals are combined into families, the combination of however many individuals are involved becomes a new and unique personality. That sounds complicated enough, but as individuals within the family grow and change, the family personality grows and changes. Puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly one day fit differently the next.

Our family has an extra unique personality. For starters, there are eight of us. Consider the standard occupancy limits on things like vehicles or hotel rooms if you want to grasp how unique that is. In addition, we homeschool all six of our children and have from the beginning; our days are full of living books, hours outside, family projects, and conversation. To add another difference from “normal,” my husband is a preacher, so is present and involved in most daily life instead of only nights and weekends. And on top of all of it, as a family we manage extreme personalities, emotional disorders, and behavioral disorders.

We’ve been growing this family personality for twelve years (longer counting the time my husband and I dated), but it has been four years since the last addition. Until this year. This year God blessed us with our sixth child, a precious boy who needed a family. It was unplanned and unexpected, so the adjustment period has been consuming. We went from officially homeschooling three last year to officially five plus a preschooler thus year. We went from knowing every person in the house intimately to learning how a whole new individual fit into our family personality. Adjusting to the new family personality that individual helped create.

In short, our life has never been “normal,” and the last few months made us even less so. For many, this fact makes us unappealing, even crazy. For others, it makes us a novelty. The truth is that not being normal makes us awesomely normal. There is no such thing as normal; it’s an imaginary construct that we as individuals and families constantly stress ourselves out trying to achieve or at least pretend we have. In our stress and our pretense, we miss out on the beauty and variety of “not normal.” We miss out on everything different individuals have to offer each other.

Because we are not normal, I had to take a break from this aspect of myself as an individual. I had to focus on adding new elements to our family personality. I had to find our new normal. It won’t be the last time our life brings change. It won’t be the last time I have to step back and learn something new. It won’t be the last time I get to experience the beauty of “not normal.”

The Assignment

“Today’s writing assignment is to write a one page short story using this picture.”

“It’s a rowboat!”

“I don’t know how to write about a rowboat!”

“That’s a wooden framework, y’all.”

Now, kids, there are many elements in the picture. There’s a sunset, and water, and a boat, and you’re right, some kind of wooden building in the background. So many things to be creative with.”

“But I don’t know how to write about any of that!”

“I can’t think of anything to write!”

“Well, what does a boat on the water make you think about?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

“THE LAKE!”

“Oooh, I can write about what I did at the lake!”

“That’s right, you can! That sounds exciting!”

“Look, I wrote raptor three times! I did it, see?”

“I wrote my name!”

“Yes, you did, except that you skipped two letters that one time. And that is the most beautiful collection of M’s, H’s, and scribbles that I have ever seen. Great job.”

“Hey, I’m done! I wrote my whole story, I’m done.”

“No, sorry, you have to fill up the whole page. One paragraph is not near enough.”

“I have writer’s block.”

“Is this a whole paragraph?”

“Since I wrote my words can I go?”

“Sure, go play Legos.”

“I’m finished now! Look how much I wrote, a whole page! SO MUCH WRITING!”

“Great job, when everyone has finished you can read it out loud.”

“I only have two paragraphs. I’m no good at this!”

“You’re doing fine, just keep writing. Why are you moving to sit behind me?”

“I just wanted to lie down over here to write.”

“Sigh. Fine.”

“Is this enough sentences?”

“You can’t think of anything to tell me about going swimming except that it was hot and you were cold?”

“I said I was WET and cold!”

“…”

“Oh, I know, I can write about Daddy was there!”

“Sure, sounds great. Is everyone finished now? Who wants to read their story out loud? What? No, I didn’t get to write my own story for this assignment. Yes, you want to go first? Excellent, let’s hear it.”

Book Review: On Mother’s Lap

My babies may be just a little too big for Mommy’s lap these days, but that doesn’t stop them from enjoying the magic of this book. On Mother’s Lap is about a little boy who wants all of his favorite things to share his favorite place.

Michael and Mother rock and rock on a cold Alaskan afternoon. One by one Michael adds his favorite toys and his snuggly fur blanket. Mother’s lap is cozy and perfect, but when baby sister wakes up will there be room for her too?

This is such a simple little story but one that sweetly captures the relationship between mother and child. The beautiful full page illustrations submerge the reader (and the listener) into Michael’s world and let us feel what Michael feels. As a side note, I love how the little details in the story place us inside a world that is very different from our own while demonstrating something that makes all people everywhere the same. In a world that seems determined to divide and hate, this type of subtle connection is so important for our children to experience and absorb.

The Cafe

The Cafe was still there, tucked away in its remote little corner. The structures surrounding it had grown even older and more drably brown with time, a stark contrast to its bright colors and neat facade. In the afternoon light it almost seemed a sun unto itself.

The evening rush had not begun, and the sidewalk tables and chairs stood against the wall as if starched and ironed into perfection. The walk itself gleamed, so freshly scrubbed that dust had not had time to mar its brilliance. I smiled. Old Lydia would probably frighten the dust away anyway.

The cafe door opened and Lydia herself emerged from its dark interior, white linen towel and scrub bucket in hand. “Wouldn’t do for the tables not to gleam as brightly as the sidewalk!” I called, a wide grin spreading across my face.

The old lady nearly dropped her scrub bucket, the strongest testimony of her surprise I could ever ask for. She would have died of mortification if it had fallen or splashed onto her precious walk. “Nico!” She carefully set her cleaning implements onto the nearest table and opened her arms wide to welcome me. “How long has it been?”

“Too long, Lydia,” I admitted as I returned her embrace. Beneath my arms her shoulders, though as broad as ever, felt frail somehow. “Too long to be away from home. But with Sofia gone…” I pulled away and looked down at her. “Where else could I go but here to remember her? This place was her soul.”

The old woman’s eyes filled, and she patted my arm. “Come inside, Nico, we’ll make a cup. Sofia’s blend. She will be here with us.”