What My Parents Did: Teaching Kids to Manage Money

When I was very little, we got a small allowance along normal lines - my older brother and I had piggy banks and we would occasionally get dollar bills or coins to put inside.  Really, the excitement was more with the piggy banks than it was with the money.

But when each of us reached an age when we could do basic addition and subtraction (usually around 6 years), we switched to the "register" system.

The register system was rather an adult way to do things because all our money was imaginary.  None of it ever actually crossed our hands (a sneaky way for Dad to keep full control of the actual spending!).  My dad gave each of us a check register, which we kept exactly how you would keep a checkbook.  Each month, my dad would add our allowance.  Any purchases we made (we were taught to religiously keep receipts until they can be logged in - I still do this obsessively, and passed that little habit on to Josh) were subtracted from the total.

Story of my Childhood

We got an allowance on a graduated scale based on our age, but it was substantially larger than that of our peers - I didn't like telling other kids what I got because they would inevitably open their eyes saucer-wide and say, "Whoa, that's not fair! I only get five dollars a month!"

There was a catch, however: we were responsible for buying everything.  We were responsible for managing our money to buy clothes, toys, sporting equipment, athletic fees, attendance to camps and clubs, birthday and Christmas gifts, shoes, etc.

One of my friends complained profusely about her "tiny" allowance.  "I'm so jealous!" she said.  I, on the other hand, was busy gaping at the biggest Beanie Baby collection I had ever seen, and drooling over her American Girl horse to go with her three AG dolls, complete with bedroom sets and every accessory ever.  What exactly did she use her allowance for, I wondered?

Obviously, we didn't have to pay for everything: food, rent and utilities, and school supplies/activities, but if we wanted any special treats or supplies, those came out of our discretionary income.  We also paid for our misdeeds: windows we had broken, lamps that were shattered, lights left on during vacation, chores left undone (we eventually had to do them anyway, but were charged at Mom's pay rate for her time disciplining us).

We learned the value of money pretty quickly.  The ice cream truck lost its appeal when we realized that we could buy an entire box at Costco for the same price.  I took horseback riding lessons for a summer, cleaned out my life's savings in three months for the privilege of mucking stalls, and promptly switched to a cheaper sport (running).  My brothers, more attached to their sport of choice, learned that taking good care of baseball bats, cleats, and mitts helped them last longer.  When we got our licenses, we discovered the joy of car insurance.  If we went out with our friends to dinner and a movie, we'd ask Dad for cash.  Inevitably, it was already subtracted by the time we got home.

The system taught a lot of life lessons at once: how to manage a check book, how to budget for savings and tithe and gifts, and how to prioritize activities and costs.  For big desires, we learned to wait until Christmas or birthdays.  I was lucky, with a summer birthday; my brothers with December birthdays waited all year.

Bonus lesson: we were also allowed to lend money to our siblings.  Interest is great- when you're on the right side of it!  And we learned that borrowing from family and friends is wrought with potential conflicts.

I envision us using the same system for our kids.  We'll take the amount we budget each month for the kids and pass it on to them to handle.  One big change though: I think we'll buy them a few wardrobe basics each year. Anything they want beyond that - accessories, trendy clothes, extra shoes - will be their responsibility.  I know that occasionally my unwillingness to buy new clothes caused fights:

"But I thought you gave us this money so we could manage our needs!"
"Yes, and I've decided that you need new clothes.  You may not wear jeans with holes in them!"
"Okay, well, these ones are fine.  And I don't need a new shirt."
"No, those don't fit well.  Try these ones. And you do need a new shirt because you can't wear the same three shirts every single day."
"But Mooooom!  These ones cost twice as much!"
"But they don't make you look like a ragamuffin!"

Yeah.  I think we'll definitely be buying some wardrobe basics for our kids.  But I don't think my parents anticipated me being quite so...uninterested...in clothes.

So. Kekoa and his possible future siblings are unwitting future victims of Dad's register scheme.  I wonder how he'll feel about it when it's his grandchildren learning about scarcity of resources?

Either way, I know they'll learn one thing quickly: you can always look forward to birthdays and Christmas.

Just a few things.

I like warmer weather and all, but a part of me mourns the winter days when missing a spot while shaving doesn't matter.  Also, toe nail polish.  I really dislike painting my toe nails.

~~~~~

As I write, the child is eating...raw onions.  He's an odd one. Maybe I need to stop trying to get him to eat beef and chicken and need to start giving him things like liver and headcheese.  He seems to prefer really strong, almost obnoxious flavors.

~~~~~~

Really, this whole kinda-sorta-vegan is a lot more fun that I thought it would.  It's been amazing enough that I think we'll stick with the low dairy diet even when/if he outgrows his allergy.  If we do eat dairy, it will probably be yogurt.  I always blamed produce for being too expensive, but actually without dairy products eating up our budget we have produce coming out of our ears.

But note: don't just cut dairy cold turkey.  Either cut back slowly or go through a full detox diet.  We all got pretty sick.

~~~~~

In my generation it's very trendy to be creative and do your own projects, cook your own food, alter your own clothes (or get them from thrift shops), etc.  I think that's a great trend.

What I don't think is a great trend is the compulsive need to post every single little outfit/meal/DIY project on Facebook/Pinterest/Instagram.  It makes me wonder: do we actually value creativity, artistry, or frugality?  Or do we just want the praise for doing the trendy thing?

I understand it for small businesses and blogs dedicated to a particular thing, but we seem to have an inordinate need that our work be applauded.

~~~~~~

My pastor posted an article (sorry, I can't find it) the other day.  I really appreciate that he passes on really great thoughts each week.  This particular article was written to parents; essentially it says that we are the guardians of our child's cyberpresence.  The pictures and statuses we post may not go away. So don't post anything that you wouldn't post if your 13-year-old child was standing over your shoulder.  That was a little convicting.

~~~~~

Avocado.  Oh my goodness. I made chocolate avocado pudding the other day, and it was AMAZING.  One drawback: it looked horrible.  I wouldn't ever serve it to a guest because of the look.  The recipe I used didn't include almond milk, though, so maybe it would be creamier and smoother with the milk.  So what do you think: would you try something like this?

and I never knew... (part 1)

Dear Mom,

I always knew you weren't the worst Mom in the world (even those frequent teenaged days when I was pretty sure you weren't the best), but I never knew for what and how much I should be grateful. 

I always knew labor was no fun, but I never knew that I should be grateful for the heartburn and pressure and itching and swelling of pregnancy.

I always knew babies had to be fed and cuddled, but I never knew that "sleeping through the night" once didn't mean the baby would always sleep through the night from that point on.

I always knew toddlers required constant attention, but I never knew how tempting it is to let little things slide to avoid the fight.

I always knew parenting had to roll with the punches, but I never knew how many punches there were.

So, thank you.

Thank you for rushing home to get me in my crib for my nap every day. Sorry I was such an inflexible little squirt (still am - you and Josh can sympathize on this one!)

Thank you for saying "no" to me often and quickly.  Thank you for disciplining me even when it would have been easier to let some things go.

Thank you for not saying "no" to everything.  Thank you for allowing me the freedom to bonk my head and make a mess.

Thank you for making me laugh ten thousand times.  Thank you for loving my baby smile.

Thank you for putting me in the sling, even when it made your shoulders ache, and letting my spirited-but-shy self enjoy the view without the dangers.

Thank you for saving my life from a well-meaning two-year-old on the basement stairs.

Thank you for giving me the freedom to destroy what was mine, rather than controlling my possessions.  Six years later, Claudia's smooth bald head was still a comfort to me.

And most of all, thank you for not being so tired of me that you put the brakes on having more kids.  The best gifts you ever gave me were my brothers-turned-best-friends. 

(well, and the hockey sticks were pretty amazing, too).

Happy Mother's Day.  < 3

How to Post About your Kids on Facebook and Not Have People Unfriend You

Disclaimer: clearly, this does not refer to blogs.  When people come to blogs, they are giving the blogger the floor.  So don't go scolding to me about how many of my blog posts contain the word "poop."

EDIT:  How do you know is you should go through this list before posting?  Here's the test: Are your only two Facebook friends your child's two grandmothers?
     YES - post it, poop and all!
     NO - go to 1.

1.  Is this your first post or picture about your child?

     YES – then what are you doing puttering around here for?  You obviously have a newborn and should go post pictures!

     NO – go to 2.

2.  Does your post include the word “Poop” in it?

     YES – go to 3

     NO – go to 5

3.  Does post include a picture of this poop?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 4.

4.  Have any of your last 50 posts also included the word “poop”?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 13.  Then come back and go to 5. 

5.  Is this post an album with fifty pictures of your baby in the same pose with subtly different facial expressions?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 6.

6.  In your last fifteen posts, do any of them not talk about your child?

     YES – go to 7

     NO – don’t post it.

7.  Is the purpose of this post to brag (implicitly or explicitly) about how advanced your child is for his/her age?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 8

8.  Does your post include complaints about your child’s misdeeds?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to  9

9.  Is this post about how tired you are?

     YES – go to 10

     NO – go to 11

10.  In your last ten posts, have any of them been about how tired you are?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 11

11.  Is this a naked baby picture?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 12.

12.  Does your post refer to the graphic details of pregnancy and/or childbirth?

     YES - go to 13

     NO – go to 14

13.  Are there friends on your friends list who you are trying to convince to have children?

     YES – don’t post it.

     NO – go to 14.

14.  Wait 30 minutes.

      GO TO 15.

15.  Was it so cute/adorable/memorable that you still remember it?

     YES – post it.

     NO – don’t post it.

Finis

P.S.  This should be a flowchart, I know.  But I made it approximately five minutes into the flowchart making process before I gave up. 

Last week after Kekoa's doctor appointment I was feeling kinda sorry for myself.  We were talking about some recent difficulties, and the doctor turned to Kekoa and said, "Gee, you're making your parents work hard!  Being a tough kid is NOT the way to get siblings!"

I had been handling all of the strange quirkiness that is Kekoa's digestive system fairly well, actually.  I hadn't thought of it as too much work, like things were spinning out of control.  We're adapting.  In fact, we're even enjoying some of the changes that are increasingly attachment parenting.

But that comment made me feel like gosh, aren't I just the most put-upon mother in the world?  And the attitude just went downhill from there.

In the middle of the mopeyness, I was reading If, by Amy Carmichael.  And here are a few of the tidbits she offered:

If I put my own happiness before the well-being of the work entrusted to me; if, though I have this ministry and have received much mercy, I faint, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I am soft to myself and slide comfortably into the vice of self-pity and self-sympathy; if I do not by the grace of God practice fortitude, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I myself dominate myself, if my thoughts revolve around myself, if I am so occupied with myself that I rarely have "a heart at leisure form itself," then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If monotony tries me, and I cannot stand drudgery; if stupid people fret me and little ruffles set me on edge; if I make much of the trifles of life, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others; if I let them think it "hard";...then I know nothing of Calvary love.

And so it goes.  I feel like the trend right now among young mothers is to admit how hard it is to be a parent, rather than trying to put on a face of perfection. That's a great, necessary thing. Let's free each other from the judgmental push to adopt my parenting philosophy.

But I must acknowledge the difficulties in order that I may encourage others, not to gain a free pass to self-pity.  No matter how sleep-deprived I am, sin must be mortified in me.  I must trust that God gives grace as I need it, that I have no more claim to sympathy than anyone else.

Is parenting easy?  Heavens, no.  But does God give grace to fit the need?

That's a question I must answer in faith with a resounding "yes".

What's in a word?

We tried an experiment a couple of weeks ago.  We tried to not use the word "good."  And boy, was it hard.  I never realized how often I use that word. 

"How was the meeting?"  "Good."  

"This is good food!"

"You pulled yourself up - good boy!"

"Good job eating another spoonful of carrots."

"It's a good day."

It got rather ridiculous, trying not to say it, because it punctuates every conversation.  And instead of a rich, deep meaning - because after all, God is good -- it's become a catchall term that can mean almost anything.  Pleasant, convenient, okay, fine, nice, tasty, strong, nondescript.  

In 1984, language is whittled down to remove most adjectives.  And "good" becomes a catch-all term that prevents people from thinking too much, feeling too much, desiring too much.  It's almost as if absent from words to describe them, deeper meanings can't exist.

I'm not really an alarmist or conspiracy theorist when it comes to language.  I'm not the type of person to freak out when someone wishes me a "happy holidays" or when a teenager apathetically mumbles "whatever."    But I do think language enables thought.  It allows the transportation of ideas.  

But more on the practical level, what does it say to Kekoa when I use "good" too often in my parenting?  That he's an upright boy for eating his vegetables.  That upper arm strength wins favor.  That "being good for the babysitter" means that as long as one behaves well, he is on morally stable ground.

That's legalism. That's teaching him that outward behavior is equal to righteousness, heart condition notwithstanding.  

Of course, not using the word "good" could also equate to legalism.  Anytime you're busy complying a list of "don'ts" that will enable a better/more successful/happier life, you're probably engaging in legalism on some level.  

BUT I want to use language as it was intended - to convey meaning.  So I'm trying to consciously describe my thoughts rather than lazily relying on the easiest term to come to mind.  For example, "be wise and calm" rather than "be good."  "Sunny and warm" instead of "good weather."  "I'm proud of how hard you worked" instead of "good job on your exams."

It's rather interesting - I find myself being much more specific in my praise.  And isn't that when I like when others praise me?  Don't I prefer "This soup is so creamy!" to "Good food"?  And isn't "you've been so patient!" more helpful to a kid to hear than "you've been so good"?

In the end, I find that when you strip away all the cheap meanings of "good," it opens up the rich, divine mystery of a moral, righteous, good God. 

A Little Perspective

Kekoa woke up last night.  Crying.  At 3am.  Again.

I think the hardest thing to deal with as a mother to an infant is sleep regression.  I mean, the first couple months are hard, but you expect to be sleep-deprived, so you grit your teeth and bear it.

But being blindsided by a baby who's capable of sleeping well?  Who's accustomed to sleeping well?  Who knows he's supposed to be sleeping well?  But for whatever reason, he doesn't.  Those are the times I feel the frustration welling up -- at the baby, at the sleeping husband, at the world.  Would somebody just make things be the way they're supposed to be already?

"Supposed to be."  What exactly does that mean?  Am I supposed to expect uninterrupted sleep?  Am I supposed to believe that the nighttime hours are mine, to be jealously and selfishly guarded for myself?

I picked him up, muttering under my breath to him to just be quiet, and wondered what he wanted this time: to eat? to talk? to practice crawling or walking or screeching?  Babies wake up for the weirdest reasons.

No, none of those things.  The moment I picked him up, he stopped crying, clasped his pudgy hands around my neck, and nuzzled his chin into my neck.  I felt tension just draining out of his body.  I didn't rock, sing, pat, walk, nurse, or rub him back to sleep.  I just sat there while he hugged me.  Then I lay him back down and he drifted back to sleep.

He only wanted a hug.  He only wanted to know that he wasn't alone in the world, that mommy was still there, that she smelled, felt, sounded the same.  Maybe he had a bad dream or an unexpected noise startled him awake or...maybe not.  Maybe he just needed to know that I wasn't going anywhere.

I lay on my back in the darkness and remembered the first few weeks of having him.  I remembered worrying about whether his belly button was ever going to dry up, worrying about how many diapers he was filling, worrying about whether he would ever learn to latch correctly and what if he didn't?

It seems so funny now that that I wasted time worrying about those things, which seemed so ominous at the time but lasted just a couple weeks and seem like a distant memory.

Sometimes I still worry about little things, though.  Sometimes I worry that night wake-ups will become a habit if I don't nip it in the bud.  That if I nurse him to sleep, he'll want to be put to sleep that way forever.  That he won't learn to be independent, that he'll become a snacker if I feed him too often, that maybe if I were a little stricter in routine he would sleep better and be happier.

But then last night I thought about Someday, when I'll look at him and think, "My goodness, my baby's a man-child."  And then not too long after that, I'll drop the "child" from the description.  And then I won't see my baby at all, but a man who seems a stranger to me ("could he have come from me?") and yet impossibly familiar.

It will seem so silly to me then, that I worried about whether he nurses to sleep or whether I carry him too much.  What's the worst that can happen?  That for a year, maybe two, he'll wake up and ask for mommy?  That he'll need a middle-of-the-night snuggle to ease his precious baby mind?  Years that will seem like such a short time in the long run.

Sometimes changes are needed NOW for sanity's sake.  That's fine - we make those changes as necessary. But I don't want to parent out of fear for the future.  If we're all happy with an arrangement, I don't want to miss the precious moments with my baby today because I'm afraid of...what?  That I won't want those precious moments with my baby tomorrow?

For now, I want to snuggle my baby just a little bit longer.  And if that means he wants an extra snuggle tomorrow...that's fine by me.

These are the broken days

There used to be a name for days in which at least one member of our household cried.  We called them bad days.

Now we call them normal days. 

There's a new kind of day now.  They are the days where the baby wakes up choking on his own congestion and we pin down all four of his flailing limbs and suck the snot out with a bulb syringe.

The days when dad barely makes it two steps in the door before the baby is thrust into his arms and the wife is clinging to his neck.

These are the broken days.  The exhausting days.  The fridge-is-empty-because-no-way-was-mom-going-to-wake-baby-up-for-grocery-shopping days.

We have the stereotypical romantic days too, holding baby in the rocking chair as he gazes up adoringly.  Plump baby hands grasping fingers.  Sloppy baby kisses on the cheek.  Waking up to baby coos and gurgles (dear manufacturers, why is that not a programmed alarm feature?)

But I've come to realize:

That the easy days are a manifestation of the love I build up on the broken days.

I don't choose to love him when he nestles secure in my arms.  My love for him isn't growing.  I'm simply feeling.

I choose to love him when I'm siphoning the snot out of his nose at two in the morning.  And believe me, it's not a feeling.  It's a cold, hard reality. 

I love him, and it is hard.  I love him, and sometimes I wish it wasn't quite so much so I could give away the awful responsibility of a mother's love.

I think I love him most on the days when I'm so broken I'm just not sure how I'm going to make it through the day as his mommy.  Let alone four more kids. [or just one more.  At some point impossibility has no degrees] 

Someday, he'll be an adult holding his newborn son for the first time and I will reminiscence and tell him how much I loved his own little baby self.  And he will think I loved rocking him, holding him, tickling him. 

He will be right, of course.

But he won't realize that in my mind, I'm thinking of the baby whose nose was always running and whose little legs were simply too skinny to create a tight diaper seal.  I don't love him in spite of the broken days.  I love him because of them.  Because they force my love to grow enough to overcome, sacrifice, withstand.

The broken days cannot be separated from the lovely.

To Teach a Mind

Tonight there was a thunderstorm.  A huge clap shuddered our third-story apartment and woke Kekoa up.  He cried.  I comforted.  He cried some more.  I picked him up.  And he fell asleep in my arms, as I read on the couch.

And as I lay him back so I could pack Josh's lunch, I looked at his sweet sleeping face.  I love when he sleeps.  It is then he is the universal ideal of what a baby should be - adorable, innocent, sweet, cuddly, pudgy.  Reality when awake, of course, is noisy, awkward, lovable, messy, and demanding.

And as I looked at his face, with a little dribble of drool trailing out of the corner of his mouth, and his padded tush, and his dimply little elbows, it hit me hard, all over again.

I am responsible for feeding this little boy's soul.

He will grow up and meet his sin nature and meet my sin nature and Lord willing, meet my Savior and welcome his Savior.  He will learn to read and Lord willing, he will learn to love.  He will watch my face, my tone, my actions and he will make them his face, his tone, his actions.  And then he will be a teenager and he will do the opposite, for a while.  And then he will choose.  He will choose the way he perceives to be better.

Holy cow.

For a moment I was crushed under the serious weight of responsibility.

And then the weight was lifted as I remembered:  I am only the feeder.  I am by no means the shepherd.  

I am responsible to teach and show him the way of goodness and truth.  But I am not responsible for whether he follows that way.  I am responsible for loving his soul. But I am not responsible for saving it.

Because heaven help us if I was.  Guilt, fear, pain would reign supreme in my life.

And grace would not.  Because if I were responsible for his life direction, then how could I forgive when he veers from what I believe to be right?  How could I not hold it against him when his very actions scream to me, "You failed as a parent"?

This weekend a couple who had met Josh's brother for the first time were talking to us about our upbringings.  "You come from a good family," they said.  "You both do."

I smiled and thanked them.  It's true.  We do.  But if the perception that we come from good families are based solely on our actions, then what would be said if we were not mature adults?  That we come from a bad family?  That clearly, our failures as human beings were due to our parents' failures as parents.

No.  Parents influence.  But God determines.

The quotation at the top of my blog is from The Chosen by Chaim Potok (if you've never read it, I HIGHLY recommend it.  That book touched my soul).  I will do everything in my power to help my little boy's mind understand the state of his soul.

But in the end, I am free.  My child's soul does not depend on me.  But no fear, no guilt.

Only grace.

From the time a little girl is about nine years old, the world finds it necessary to inundate her with talks, articles, lessons, and lectures on body image.  So of course every girl grows up hearing "you are beautiful no matter what you look like," which of course makes her wonder what she looks like and why everyone would question that she finds herself beautiful.

And so, most young women spend their time in their prime trying to achieve the perfect look.  Hint: a post-baby body is not the ideal.

Theoretically, a young mother should be at her most vulnerable.  Stretch marks.  Hair that's never neat because it's a perfect grip for little hands.   Abs that have forgotten that they're supposed to be muscles ("tone?  what's that??).  Red-rimmed, sandpapered, sleep-deprived eyes.

And after all the hard work of getting back into shape, you realize that you can lose the weight...but you will never be the same.

But gosh darn it guys, I *grew* a human being.

Kekoa is at the age where he can have preferences, and now that he is able to roll, scoot, and grab things, he can even express them.  And I find myself immensely gratified at how much he depends on me.

I'll put him on the floor for tummy time and lay down nearby to read.  And before I know it, there's a little baby snuggled into my side, reaching for my face.

I love the way he grabs my neck or arm at church as he socializes with all the ladies coming to coo at him, as if to say, "I've got my anchor.  Everything will be okay."

I love his post-naptime haze where he's trying to decide whether he likes the world again, and he burrows his face into my neck.

I love when  he's laying on the bed or couch as Josh and I talk.  He'll hook his foot up on my leg, or grab tight onto my fingers, and just watch.  And smile.

How can you have poor body image when you -- your warmth, your feel, your face, your fingers -- are the center of that little baby's world?  When all it takes to calm him down from a scary experience is your hand, heavy and warm on his back?  When he sees your face walking in the door and that little toothless grin breaks out in sheer, perfect joy?

Answer: you can't.  Because you are no longer the center of your thoughts and desires.  Because you care more about your baby than about other people's opinions.

Because your baby loves you.

Too Much Good Stuff

Lately I keep reading articles online, and thinking "Man, this is so good.  I have to remember this one."  And I have to share them too.  So here's a list of my favorites this month - seriously, give some of them a read.

1)  I once did a post on why the approach to purity taken with teen girls today just doesn't work.  This is probably the best article I've seen that sums it up: telling girls to be pure for their future husbands does them a serious disservice.

  "Christ is the source of everything we need and the giver of all good gifts … but in telling people about Him, it’s possible we’ve sold them on a solution for life’s problems and not life itself."

2)  From my political theory professor at PHC, the rhetoric of a culture "war" has done more harm than good.  So how do we change the culture?

"One solution looks primarily to the political arena for redress; the other, like the Good Samaritan, takes the wounded traveler and cares for him. Do you want to change the culture? Practice hospitality."


3)  Homeschoolers in particular really tout the family as their central values.  But should it be the center?  As a brand-new SAHM, this article is really challenging.   h/t my pastor for sharing it.

"But I found myself, while he described the feelings of idolatry---the sense that this is my whole life, this is what I live for, this is what I dream of, this is what completes me and gives me significance---thinking that, for me, this is family."

4)  Also shared by my pastor, this article addresses the issue of parenting with grace that I referenced earlier on my blog.

I begin by saying, "Remember how Jesus said we were to treat one another?"

"I'm not Jesus!" my oldest responds immediately, his face scrunched up as his feet stomp the tile floor.

5)  As I rediscover the love of reading, this article is a real challenge.  Both homeschoolers who overshelter their children and those who are eager to read all different viewpoints can take heed of this one.  We are not to isolate ourselves culturally...but we also aren't to confuse "engaging" the culture with unqualified enjoyment of the culture.

"Second, we've gone off the rails in confusing cultural engagement with consumerism and entertainment"

6)  Finally, remember my friend who I quoted on gourmet meals?  She posted this link, which is hands-down my favorite post EVER.  I swear they just changed the name of one of my facebook friends, who practically makes these posts verbatim.

"People continue to check Molly’s posts out of morbid curiosity.
“It’s an exercise in ‘How is my life inferior today?’” says one. “If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger.”

Grace-filled parenting

Here's a not-so-"sorta" for you.  The area where passion is a must.  One that's really been on my mind a lot.

How do you emulate grace for your children?  How do you help them value integrity and good behavior without making it the end-all?  How do you provide consistent consequences for wrong actions while still avoiding legalism?

I am amazed at how many churched young people have no concept of grace.  And yet...I had a majorly convicting realization the other day.

As he usually does, Josh asked me how my day had been.  "Oh, it was a bad day.  He was sooo fussy and just wanted to be held all the time, and his naptimes were way too short."  And then I stopped.  And I realized something.

 I am already parenting without grace.  I am already basing my evaluation of my child on how well his performance matches up to my expectations.

Ouch.  Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Now if spiritual Kanani were parenting, her focus wouldn't be simply on his behavior, or even distinguishing between "good" and "bad" days..  The quality of the day would be based on my ability to attend to my baby's deepest (and not-so-deep) needs.

And one of those deepest needs is the need to know that my love of him is not based on his behavior.

But what does that look like?  It doesn't seem that complicated with infants.  They're not willfully defying you.   When parenting infants, grace means your main concern is the reason behind the performance.  Loving your baby and truly desiring to meet his needs, without getting frustrated that you're in the church lobby with an overstimulated baby AGAIN while your friend's baby happily lets mom sit through the service.  After all, he didn't choose to be overstimulated.

But what does that look like when children are old enough to willfully defy you?  You still have to provide consequences.  You still have to help them learn how to behave.

So how do you do that?

I know there are a couple core principles:

-First, I have to extend grace to myself (and my husband!) first.  If the kids see me beating myself up, they will get the idea that perfection is the goal.

-Second, I have to strive to understand why they are behaving in a particular way.  Sometimes punishment might not be the most effective way to address a hurting heart.

-Third, I have to be generous with expressions of my love for them - and when I tell them why I love them, the focus should not be on performance-based criteria.

-Fourth, when punishments are necessary, they should be based on the misbehavior itself, rather than on my disappointment with them.  Another reason to decide beforehand how we are going to address specific problems: so that our punishments do not reflect our emotional reaction to a child, say, misbehaving in front of an acquaintance that we wanted to impress.

But I still need help in what this looks like on a practical level.  I'm serious when I say that I really want (need) feedback.  How do you show your children grace without teaching them licentiousness?

The Luxury of "Sorta"

I found my new favorite blog to follow this week while doing a little research.  It really resonated with me, so I went to the "About" section to read about the author.  I don't agree with all her positions - but that's kinda the point.

And it reminded me of something that really hit me hard after Kekoa was born: the luxury my generation has to be "sorta".

It started during a conversation with one of my midwives, halfway through the pregnancy.  She asked me if I had a particular birthing philosophy that I was going to use.  I told her that I had seen a few Bradley births and I was interested in trying it out.  "Okay," she said.

Her eyes, however, hesitated.  I noticed.  And asked if she had any suggestions for a better birth experience.

"Well, Bradley can be a very effective method.  If you want a natural childbirth, there are a lot of good tips and techniques.

But...sometimes the Bradley philosophy is mistrustful of doctors.  I want you to trust me while I'm birthing your baby.  If you feel like I or the nurses are working against you, then it's going to be more stressful for you.

Also, Bradley's original philosophy is based on medical practices from several decades ago.   I'm completely behind natural childbirth, but if an emergency came up, I wouldn't want you stressing about the medical implications.  Things have changed a lot."

And to be honest, that kind of was along the lines of what I was thinking anyway.  I read Dr. Bradley's book (Husband-Coached Childbirth), and I didn't agree with a lot of his premises (for one thing, he uses "animals do it" as an argument far too many times.  Yes, and animals also pick bugs off each other and eat them!).  So while I was fine with using the technique, I wasn't sure I liked his reasons.

So...I had a sorta Bradley birth.  And I'm glad I did, because some of it was helpful.  But a strictly Bradley approach wouldn't have worked with my labor.  For one thing, I completely skipped the "serious" emotional signpost, but left for the hospital anyway (whew!  So glad we did!).  For another, coaching was only helpful to me in the car.  The rest of the time, I was relaxed. Someone trying to help me through contractions only reminded me that contractions are supposed to be painful - and therefore, they were.

If I hadn't been "sorta" behind Bradley, I would have felt guilty for not doing it "right".  Even now, sometimes I do feel guilty that I didn't need Josh more.

As I was processing the birth, this really got me thinking.  My parents' generation didn't have the luxury of taking a "sorta" approach.  Medically, you couldn't birth naturally unless you were really committed to it and ready to fight for it.

I didn't have to fight.

Homeschooling was the same way.  My parents were in the pioneering generation - you were either completely behind the philosophy or you weren't.  There wasn't the option for outside classes, etc.  They had to figure things out for themselves.

I get to chew the meat of their experiences, and spit out the bones.

And the list goes on and on.  I am "sorta" into attachment parenting, and I "sorta" use baby whisperer techniques.  Like Megan on the blog, I'm "sorta" into natural living and DIY solutions.

My generation has this luxury.  We can take advantage of the trail-blazing by our parents, and the advantage of technological and medical improvements, and get the best of both worlds.

We have the luxury of resisting the mainstream without being rebels, of making different lifestyle choices without being labeled as complete wackos.

What an awesome privilege, right?  I don't need to feel guilty because I don't agree 100% with a particular philosophy.  I can wear a sling AND have a routine.  I can homeschool AND take advantage of other classes.  I can use cloth diapers AND disposables when convenient.  I can eat healthily AND enjoy a hot dog every now and then.  No guilt.  No fear.

Thanks to "wacko" pioneers like my homeschooling parents, life is no longer either/or.

That's is not an excuse to be complacent, or to lack in passion and convictions - but it is a blessing.  It means that we can get away from the extremism that so often builds up walls - but without compromising our beliefs.

What a luxury that is indeed.  :)

Things they don't tell you about motherhood

1)  The eating like a teenage boy doesn't end - but neither does the metabolism.

In fact, if anything I have a bigger appetite now because my stomach isn't competing with a baby, placenta, and several pounds of extra fluid for storage space.

2) You can never be invisible again.

Josh noted the other day, "You know, I used to be invisible at stores and could just wander around without anyone noticing.  But now I have all these ladies coming up to me all the time and asking how old he is."  One old lady even told him, "Here, I'll give you my phone number and if you and your wife decide you don't want him, you can call me."

I think she was kidding...???

3)  You will cry.

Probably sometime between 11:00pm and 2:00am when your darling bundle won't go back to sleep.  Or possibly between 11:00am and 2:00pm when Mr. Fussbudget seems bent on not napping and all you want is lunch.  But one thing is for sure: it's probably related to sleep (or lack thereof).

4)  You will suddenly become the lightest sleeper known to man.

I've been known to sleep through fire alarms.  But one tiny baby cry and I'm jolted into consciousness.

5)  You will do anything to see that precious baby smile.


I love to put very reserved people in a room with a baby and watch them act like fools to get a baby to smile.  Then multiply that by ten for your own child.  I tried really, really hard to get a picture of the smile, but every time the camera showed up, curiosity reigned and that big toothless grin turned into a quizzical look.  But he's cute anyway:

6)  If people offer, ask for meals 3-6 weeks after baby comes.


Just as the help starts tapering off and your husband goes back to work, the adrenaline disappears, the sleep deprivation accumulates, and people start expecting you to show up to social events again.  A lovely woman from our church randomly sent us a meal yesterday.  That day, the toilet overflowed (leaving an inch of water on our bathroom floor), the shower curtain took a tumble, and the reflux monster reared its ugly head.  Throw in a hefty dose of no sleep, and that woman looked like an angel to me.

7)  You will wonder, in alternating waves, whether your child is extraordinarily gifted or whether there is something wrong with him.

Josh is convinced of the first because the baby knows how to rock his own rocking chair by kicking his legs.  I'm pretty sure the second isn't true, but at 2am, just about any explanation for why you're awake seems plausible.

8)  Poop becomes a completely natural part of your conversations with your spouse.  


Color, frequency, amount ("he had a three-squirter today").  Gross, but true.  There's a reason they tell new mothers to stay in the house for the first few week -- it's because they completely forget how to have a socially-acceptable conversation.

9)  You will still have time to yourself - but expect interruptions.


true, my expectations are low.  But I still have time to write blog posts, clean the house, and drool over online recipes.  I just never know when that time will be cut short, so I have to think twice before getting involved in big projects.

10)  Frustration is what you make of it.


You can either be completely frustrated or not even fazed when the baby doesn't take his nap.  A lot of it depends on what your expectations are.  The sling helps a lot on turning those napless mornings into great bonding moments.