Glue, and not in a good way

I lost it over glue. No, not in a hot, painful low-temp glue gun disaster, but in a cold, white, messy Elmer's sort of way.

I faced the New Year with the longest list of resolutions I have ever created. Go big or go home, right? I searched the Internet for self-help tips and books and ordered my way to a new me from Amazon. As quickly as a book arrived, I devoured it, gleaning truths from people who knew better than me with regard to parenting and finances. Armed with my new personal organizing notebook and fridge calendar--filled in!--I set out to make today THE day to put all my plans and dreams into action. (Well, except that diet thing...) I read the first two chapters of Philippians before the kids woke up, and I was humbled and inspired by the Apostle Paul's advice to the church. I was ready to teach today!

Then the kids woke up. Sick. ish. Sickish. Sick, but not sick enough to give them a sick day. Determined, we plugged on through the morning. The kids did great. Then Dad came home. He was helpful in working with Em, and I really appreciated him, but he threw off my groove. It could have been the incessant and ridiculous humming/singing thing he does (which he is doing right now as I type) of just humming/singing 1 tiny part of a song. "How much is that doggie in the window? Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. The one with the waggly tail? Oh please is that doggie for sale? (Yes, I just typed that from life. Someone shoot me.)

I digress. Science involved cutting and gluing. Yep, we are finally to the glue part. Fresh out of safe, kid-and-Mom's-sanity-saving glue sticks, I brought out the old-fashioned Elmers. I thought my instruction of "just use a little dot of glue" was sufficient. Um, no. Three kids and lots of glue everywhere later, I lost it. Not pretty. Definitely a far cry from the Moms I have been reading about in my self-help books.

I had another hissy fit later over something random. Then I realized that the meat I had set out to defrost was still frozen solid. Then I sat in a funk for a while. All my fine plans unravelled in an instant. I realized I was at a crossroads. I could give in and get take-out for dinner which goes against the Moms advice I've been reading, not to mention the Dave's financial advice, and continue the cycle I have been trying to break, or I could get off my butt and figure something else out for dinner. At home. Now tonight's dinner is still cooking, and I refuse to divulge what I am feeding the family, but it is homemade. Um, sort of.

I'm still cranky, but strangely elated. It is like I am on the cusp of something big and the powers that be don't want me to succeed. I can either approach today as a failure or a springboard. I can either give in and get take out, or charge ahead with those crescent-wrapped hot dogs. (oops) I think the direction my parenting and even financial life will take hangs on these little crossroads. What doesn't kill us, or give us indigestion, or glue us to the kitchen table makes us stronger.



Edited to add--my new books really are helpful as long as I don't use them as tool to quit or beat myself up. Self-help, not self-destruct. =)

New Year's Wisdom from Yoda

"Do or do not. There is no try."

As I looked over my alarmingly extensive New Year's Resolution list, I started to panic. There are so many areas in which I need to improve, along with other areas that I'd like to improve. Fear and the need for perfection have always hindered me. I give something a half-hearted try because I know that I will fail or that my efforts will not be good enough. I've written before about being committed but not submitted, and this cycle leads me right back where I don't want to be. Like Luke on Dagobah, I sense fear, pain, and failure. Luke had Yoda to set him straight in the story--I have someone infinitely better!

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Philippians 4:13).

The AOP devotional today referenced Revelations 3:15, reminding us not to be lukewarm. (No pun intended to my favorite Jedi warrior!) This cycle I have been in for so long is lukewarm. Ineffective. Unsustainable...as long as it remains MY list. Through prayer and Bible study, I can have the perfect help of Christ who strengthens me and will help me do all things I need to do according to God's will. Perhaps not all of my list will make the cut. Perhaps there will be more added.

There is something wonderful about New Year's Day. Today is a new day, in a new month, in a new year--a day of renewal that millions are using to improve themselves. But, I don't have to wait. I can have renewal every minute of every day. Praise God for that!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I'm not doing this on purpose

Pre-Christmas blues? Maybe. I was searching the web for home ec lessons, and I stumbled across a blog about simple living which led to another blog about intentional SAHMness. That got to me. To be a SAHM is one thing, but to embrace it and fill the days with intentional activities is quite another. Case in point--it is 2:20 in the afternoon, and I am still sitting here in my pajamas...that I wore all day yesterday. At least yesterday I put a bra on before the AT&T tech came over to fix my TV. Today, um...

During the school week, I stay pretty much on top of things. I feel like I have a purpose, even though I am not doing all the things I would like to do with my kids because of my own rigidity. I think I am afraid that if I veer from the schedule printed in a random book of curriculum that I will never accomplish anything. Which leads me to this computer on a Tuesday during Christmas break still in my jammies sans bra.

Does purposeful SAHMness mean scheduling every activity and giving up my unorganized, slobby ways? Yep, pretty much. A messy house, full of stuff does not make me happy or fun to be around. The kids could have fun at an insurance seminar provided they had a few basic tools--paper and crayons for Em, a couple of stuffed animals for Bean, and a magnet, or electronic gadget, or a hand blender for The Boy. If they can be happy living so simply--and they are (*see my note), why can't I strip down to the essentials and be happy too? (I do wish bras were non-essential, but that is not my lot in life since I just can't seem to defy gravity all by myself.)

The new year seems to be the natural place to start a year of purpose. Parenting on-purpose, finding contentment in what I already have, and loving each precious day with three beautiful children who insist on growing up too quickly for my liking. To stop letting life drag me by the hair while letting go at the same time. To live simply, on purpose.

*I walked in the living room today to find all three kids snuggled up in a chair together watching a movie. There was no fighting or shoving--just three little kids enjoying a moment of closeness with each other. Simply happy.

Committed, not submitted

I freely admit it. I struggle. The very word "obedience" is odious to me, and the word "submit" gets my panties in a wad. What do you mean submit? Modern Girl here does not likey that old-fashioned word. For the record, even though I am happily married to my first and only spouse, a homemaker, and a homeschooler it is all because of my CHOICE as a woman to do so. No outdated ideals here, unh uh. Nope, none at all.


I am a committed person. I am committed to Christ, to my husband, and to my children. To commit means to put in charge or to entrust. I am in charge of the home. I am committed to that, and sometimes burdened by that. Girl Friday? I started this blog because I was overwhelmed by the commitments that being in charge of the home made on me. Girl Friday also implies being second to someone. When I chose the title, I didn't realize that a true Girl Friday leads a committed, submitted life for the glory and edification of someone else. Do I struggle because I have not submitted or because I refuse to be second?


What is submission anyway? Several online dictionaries define it as the act of submitting to the power of another. This definition is followed by a quote from early 20th century activist Simone Weil, "Oppression that cannot be overcome does not give rise to revolt but submission." Yikes. No wonder the word makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up! Weil was committed. She walked, talked, and starved herself for her convictions in a time where her definition of submission was embodied by the Nazi regime. Is submission an outdated word for simple-minded, broken people? I see something else in a the second definition of submission: meekness. Okay, okay. Yet another term, another definition. What in the world, then, is meekness? Being meek means one is patient, mild, and easily imposed upon. A Girl Friday is a meek person.


Meekness is not a quality honored by today's society. In those pesky online dictionaries meekness is exemplified by a dog "quivering and abject...abasing itself before its master" (Jean Rhys). Rhys apparently chaffed under patriarchal society, evidenced by her writings and life, and it is no wonder she equated meekness with weakness. How does a modern, Christian woman allow herself to live by such words as obedience, submission, and meekness? More easily than I could have ever imagined.

My eureka moment came when I was reading an assigned book for my latest class. In the book, Spiritual Leadership by Henry and Richard Blackaby, the authors describe the difference between being committed and being submitted: "There is a significant difference between a personal determination to try harder and a complete abandonment of one's self to God's purposes. The former rests on people and their commitment; the latter relies on God and his sufficiency." Commitment is like a pledge. I can say the words and follow the motions, but I can also secretly rebel and derail. Submission is surrender. I can yield my entire self, all that I am and all that I can be, to the cause of Christ. That act will guide me in all the areas of my life. Truly surrendering, submitting, makes all the petty internal arguments moot. No longer me, me, me...just Him.

The Very Literal Boy

For Mother's Day, our church made videos of cute things that children say about their Moms to show during the service. In one part, they asked each child, "Who is boss at your house?" My son said, "Mom is boss during the day, then Dad is boss at night. Actually they are both boss." Ah, political correctness starts early. I love that boy!

However, that was the only comment of Alex's that they were allowed to play in church, as I found out last night.

At a potluck, our pastor's wife was telling us about her adventures in taping the kids. She thought it would be cute if she asked the kids, "Where do Moms come from?" Cute until she got to Alex. When she asked him this question, he got a funny look on his face and replied, "Well, the egg cell joins with the sperm cell..."

The Very Modest Boy

I had to have a talk with the kids yesterday about why we don't walk around undressed. "Even outside?" Emma asked. "Especially not outside," I replied as I managed not to laugh. I explained to them about modest dressing and how modesty shows others that we respect them and ourselves. Laura was wearing a shirt that she insists is a dress and which I insist should be paired with leggings. Using the shirt as an example, I told her that in our house, modesty means that we don't show too much leg or wear "dresses" that show our undies when we bend over. I told them that in the olden days, women couldn't even show their arms! We all giggled and agreed about dressing modestly.

This morning, Alex came out in a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. Without even a hint of sarcasm, he asked, "Mom, am I showing too much leg?"

Embracing the dark furniture stage

I wanted to lighten and brighten my living room. So, I perused copious decorating photos and settled on one that highlighted crisp white slipcovers. The Mom-Turned-Designer of that room gushed that she might have 9 kids, 5 dogs, and 3 long haired cats in her house, but keeping the slipcovers crisp and white was as easy as doing the laundry.

I...should...have...stopped...right...there.

Doing laundry easy? Easy? EASY? For a woman who awoke to the sound of her poor husband Febreezing yesterday's socks, I know that easy and laundry are incompatable. But, when has that ever stopped me?

I bought crisp, white slipcovers for my Ikea couch and chair. Kept them on for 1.5 days. After I lost my voice gently reminding my family not to touch them, I realized that white probably wasn't practical outside of fairyland. Hmmmm, I thought. Dilemma. What to do? What to do? Ah, yes, Rit dye. Easy peasy. Thinking to start small, I bought 2 boxes of a sunny yellow for my chair. Apparently sunny yellow means different things to different people. But, still, I could wear sunglasses until I found another color to cover it up. Undaunted, I moved on to the sofa. And the chair again. In a nice, safe tan. Jason decided to help. After the sofa cover went into the washing machine, I told him that I didn't think I should add the chair cover. He was determined all of it was going to fit--that gleam in his eye should have warned me, but again, when has that ever stopped either of us? Crammed full of dye and covers, the washer did its thing. What came out was a splotchy flesh colored mess. Not attractive. Still undaunted, I got four more boxes of tan dye and went to work again. This time, I was much smarter. I decided to just do the sofa, and I called the Rit people for help. All I had to do was use color remover and then re-dye the cover. Simple. Now instead of a blotchy flesh colored mess, I have a used peanut butter frosting colored, blotchy mess that for some reason glows in the dark a bit.

I had to face two cold, hard truths. One, I will never die, er, dye again. Two, we are in the dark furniture stage of our lives. What the heck was I thinking? White slipcovers? Three kids? A man who needs a bib when he eats? A fluffy white dog who steps in non-white, foul-smelling things that he tracks all over my house including on the furniture? Even in the used peanut butter frosting color, this sofa cover is an endangered species.

Of course, I could always dye it black...