Today's Challenge

Today was one of those days that challenges even the most even people. The type of day that starts out with minor issues such as no milk for your coffee, or the missing shampoo. Our household is no different than any other. There are always things missing from their rightful places throughout the house. They seem to sprout legs and run to hide from their owners at all the inopportune times.

Most families relate to this with a screaming baby on one hip, while they are crawling around on the floor blindly thrusting their hands under furniture in the hopes that somehow the missing binky is miraculously playing hide and seek under the couch. We think that if we angle ourselves closer to the furniture and try not to look-- that the leprechaun or poltergeist that managed to wrestle the priceless pacifier from the baby's mouth with grant us the gift of finding it in the nick of time as the baby is about to come completely inconsolable and unglued from its absence.

Sadly, the reality is-- it ain't gonna happen!! Not for all the tea in China. The slow boat going there also ate the missing sock or shoe of the 3 yo. who suddenly is screaming to go bye-bye at the door. No matter how carefully we return the item to its appropriate spot---viola' - it has disappeared.

You can bet this is going to happen with 50% of all the permission slips, please excuse notes, letters to the teacher, etc. My all time favorite item to lose is the prescription you carefully folded and put into your wallet or checkbook at the reception desk of the physician's office and try to refill. No luck!!! because in all your responsibility you have put it up so safe that it is lost from your mind!!!! Not that you are crazy-- just a tad crazed.

The reality of being a mom of 1-20 kids is that things are always out of our control. A well known fact to most of us, but much less popular in its acceptance among us. We live in a society of primary control freaks. We feel better if we believe everything we do and have contact with is within our control. We are time maniacs-- everything within a schedule. You have 15 minutes leeway either way. We write things in our agendas- put things in our PDAs. We even place sticky notes on our children and their books and lunches.

I realized I had left a poor example of how hard I was trying to control our lives with notes when I walked into the room of our then 4 yo daughter. I was first angry at the three digit number of sticky notes that were lined across her mirror, her dresser, the wall and the headboard of her bed. Each one had a small mark or picture on it. How dare she take them from me to put in her room as toys or playthings. She had them so precisely laid out end to end on every surface. Each one with a slightly different picture or mark-- but connected to the previous one. It was a stroke of luck that I had taken a step back. From the corner of my eye, as I was about to yell for her to come explain herself, I caught a glimpse of my room.

Down that long and narrow hall you could see the headboard of our kingsized bed. Next to it the small table with the phone, and message center where I tried to make all business, bill, medical calls to keep everything together. Oh was I stopped dead in my tracks. Struck by my daughter's view into our room. There they were. Several different colored lists and notes on sticky notes lined up end to end perfectly across my headboard. The one or two on the lamp beside our bed. The stack of notes where they always were right beside my phone. There the two pens were. My favorites lying beside the pads.

I walked into our large master bedroom and turned to the dressing area. To my left was the 4x7 mirror above the double sinks. One for her father and I. Each side with 2 - 10 index cards of bible verses, more sticky notes and reminders, pictures, and stickers from children. Each one had been carefully chosen for its meaning. Each one had a special place and time it was meant to answer. We had them out in plain sight. We sometimes re-read them with all the concentration and energy you give an exciting story. We read them sometimes with half-hearted energy because of our own doubt or disappointment. We would refer each other to them in times of joy and anger. But they were always there as badges of honor worn on a uniform.

I had to come face to face with the behavior we had modeled. We had taught our family to place before themselves the words and things they valued most. Some of them pictures, some of them words. Each of them symbolic of what they could control in their lives.

I called our daughter to her room to ask what all the sticky notes meant. She at first was reluctant to share them.... afraid that she would be punished for wasting them. Although that had been my first impression, I was past that. I wanted to know what she saw in her post-its. She took a long breath and began to tell the story of her writings and pictures. Each picture telling another page of her self-made book of her life. I could see when she wanted me to be serious about the story and when I could laugh at her thoughts. I tried to be very attentive and ask the right questions about the story.

There were times when this was the hardest to do. But what I learned from my daughter was how much she wanted to control her world. To have a handle on the everyday things that happened to her. To play and sing and dance whenever she wanted. As I listened I realized we were very much alike. For her at that age, that was a good thing, even comforting thing.

I try to remember how much she worked to control the things she could control in her stories and life. I noticed she struggled then. She struggles now to hold everything she desires and tries to do in a schedule and order for her life. I have chided her to allow things to happen as they can. To enjoy the journey as she arrives at her destination. All the while knowing that she learned to hurry and get there from the family, from myself.

I see her plan and plan. Re-arrange her current school schedule. Mull the advantages and disadvantages of a class or course of study over and over. Questioning each decision and each turn for every moment. She also learned how I agonize over most decisions, scarcely able to sleep while I work to make the best and perfect decision. I taught her to second guess her every move. I tortured her with the possibility that there could be a better way. Not by criticism, but by hypotheticals. The ever challenging thought of something better, something more.

It is hard to write your failures-- but this one is mine. One of the greatest. I have taught my children that working to be perfect is a vocation. That challenging your decisions over and over is the litmus test for good decisions. I arranged to make the acceptance of the "best decision at the time" to be the greater effort of sacrifice. I wrestle to accept things each day as they are. I strive to control some of the smallest things with the greatest efforts. At times I look quite silly. I have grown to accept more of my own mediocre ways of doing things.

Hopefully I am setting a better example of acceptance of the reality of everyday living. Ultimately it is the example of the happiness with ourselves and our choices. Living in the moment rather than in the future or the past. I want my children to see the beauty of experiencing each day and smelling the roses, rather than the struggle and despair of controlling less and less of their lives and the disappointment of failing to do so.

The Encountered

Most of my musings have been about the family, the farm, and my struggles with raising rambunctious children-- but this will be different.

Our lives have been very chaotic. They have been beyond down right busy-- they have suffered from sleepless nights, too many bills, sick kids, endless juggling to make ends meet, and every other imaginable stress. We have sat back and dedicated time to causes, charities, school programs, soccer, baseball, softball, church, health issues, helping friends, going to relatives, and the endless list could go on. None of which included work, which is an evil and necessity to our existence of substance.

We, Barry and I, were entering the limit of what we could address as a couple. We love our children. We love our families. We love our church and friends. But we were no longer content with our lives. Part of why we moved to Troy started that path. I was no longer content to live among a greater number of neighbors. I was frustrated by neighborhood "rules" that indicated how the yard or house should look. We were not willing to stay in town and have limited storage and small spaces for the kids to kick up the noise and enjoy things.

We still needed more. We have spent many years apart lately. For Barry to travel and work elsewhere had become a strain. We weren't working as a couple. We had become married singles. Two people living their lives in the union of a marriage without committing to the beliefs and actual dedication of marriage. We got up in the morning rarely saying three civil words and went on our individual ways only exchanging logistic information for the children. We were EXCEPTIONALLY good at it.

It is not so hard to make decisions without the help of someone who is out of state. It is easy to forget to make a phone call to address the current small crisis. Neglect to identify what the next major purchase is going to be-- just make sure the change is paid for and installed as you see fit. Why wait to buy Christmas gifts as a couple-- just send an email that the list is done. Ask for input about discipline, but think better and handle it your way-- despite the agreement to do it differently. Say "yes" or "no" to the child who called to circumvent the other parent-- not an intentional slight; but it sends the same message. Mom and Dad are not on the same page and they are easy targets for manipulation. They recognize it and readily use it.

All these small things added up to the slow and purposive disintegration of our marriage. We were living single. Angry at ourselves. Angry at each other. Angry with the children who guilted us into silence as we would be hollering above the clanging voices of each sibling as they demanded their time for our attention.

We would leave the house for work exhausted and frustrated. Steaming in the car, wanting more time to solve the current problem. All the while knowing it was a symptom of the reality we had created. We were lost.

So far lost that every attempt to quietly work things out resulted in one screaming match after another. Hoping that we could drive the other from our presence so that we could be alone and left in peace. Our personal perception of having "won" the battle. But there were NO winners. Everyone was losing. The children, our friends, our church, and lastly, ourselves.

Together we became accomplices of lies. We supported the illusion that the blame was the other person. That the money items were tearing us apart. That the distance kept the silence. That once we had this or paid for that the pressure of our loneliness and despair would be relieved.

We were quite comical and sad. So sad, that mutual friends would be afraid to ask how things were going, because they prayed we had been able to make a change, but saw the patterns of hate were becoming comfortable tracks that we rode daily without fail. They saw the sadness on our faces and heard the desolation in our hollow voices. We were shells of the couple we had been when we were dating.

For most couples, the arrival of their first child can be the most traumatic. They can be driven apart by the demands of the bundle of joy that has no other choice but rely heavily on the energies of their parents. We were not that couple. We seemed to thrive with our first child. We clung to her and developed more of a relationship. Neither of us was anxious to "get away" from the baby. People would have to literally pry her from us so that we could go out and do adult things. We shared her with family and friends, but didn't really desire to be away from her.

Actually, we were like that with most of our children. We were criticized that we spent too much time with our children without getting out to enjoy ourselves. Rarely would we go to dinner or a movie using a sitter. As the family grew the opportunities lessened and lessened for us to go out. People were definitely intimidated by the sheer numbers of our children. We had fewer and fewer times to go out. There was less and less money. Then we began to have small medical issues with the kids that again limited the pool of babysitters. We hid away from each other and the silence we suffered when there was no one else there but us. We busied up.

We learned to do without going out. We began to sneak time together during naps and short encounters while a DVD played. But we rarely noticed how the other felt. We were running at each other with empty tanks, hoping twenty minutes alone would recharge our batteries enough to keep us moving.

We spent more nights in a family bed than a marriage bed. We originally thought there was a season of this. The seasons grew to years. The time we spent together focused on each other became limited.

We soon began to overlook holidays, anniversaries, birthdays. I drew the line at Christmas, only because I wanted the children to see someone else deserve and receive a gift. But our hearts weren't in the giving.

Barry and I had created the most lonely existence in a crowd that could exist. We had friends we liked, but given up on having people over and sharing with other people. We had become everything we hated. We were lost to ourselves and to each other. Both of us could hear the distress in each other's voice and basically walk away as if it did not exist.

Last weekend we took back our marriage. We once again returned to something we knew could work- but the question remained would we allow it to work? We had done a Marriage Encounter Weekend about 23 years ago. (Okay that DOES make me feel old!) We remembered the time commitment. We also remembered the activities. Barry was still willing to go and eagerly told me to do the registration.

Ironically, we fought with such determination the entire week before- we nearly did not go. We were so consistent, that we arrived late. Held up the start of the first meeting. Entered the hotel with a cloud of anger, frustration, and disbelief in a process that we both had determined was one of the last hopes for our marriage.

From that first session on Friday, to the last circle on Sunday we were blessed. God and his workers helped us to once again remember why we were married. We surprised each other with how close our plans, our thinking and our dreams for our family had come full circle. We were more blessed by the couples we met. We found ourselves with others who realized why they were there and could count on what they had received from their time.

Two nights in a hotel without interruption has a calming effect on most people. But we were energized. We found ourselves playing and laughing at things we had as our secrets back when we first were together. We encountered who we were and still are.

There are many things we brought home from the weekend. Mostly, we brought a better protection of our marriage and of each other. We once again brought back our commitment to the marriage and Christ in our marriage.

We were asked which Marriage Encounter was the best for us. I can say that it was this one. We were young and selfish the first time. We tried to attempt to complete the dialogues and daily connections, but I was the harsher of the two of us. I wanted us to be perfect and keep things in a fairy tale bubble. I was naive and unrealistic.

My only regret is that we waited so long to do it again. I cannot change yesterday or my choices, but I stood before everyone on that Sunday and said, "Don't make our mistake. There are too few days to take back what you may have given away. Make the step to come back to another encounter. Remember that you have the most essential basis for your marriage, Christ Jesus. With Him and through Him, you can have the marriage you have always wanted."

So I would say to you as you read this-- Have you ever been encountered???

The Greenhouse

I was blessed with knowing a man by the name of Ed Elliot. I owe quite a bit to this wonderful, generous and holy man. When we first met, we both knew we would somehow be friends. There was a connection that we could not explain. I was drawn to his bright eyes and looked forward to that part of my day that I could share with him. His easy smile always brightened my long and sometimes trying days.

I was first struck by his faith. Ed truly believed and practiced what it meant to be a Catholic. He attended mass and vigil. He prayed daily the rosary. He tithed. He spent much of his unattended time in meditation and wonder of the Lord. Often, I would come upon him and find him in deep meditation. He would tell me he was talking with his guardian angels. Other people may have doubted him, but I knew by the glow of his eyes that he was in the presence of an angel. He did not claim any great miracles or predict any events, he just knew things.

Often we would find ourselves talking about God or our faith. He patiently would answer my questions about how his beliefs were developed or what the Catholic church believed about specifics we might be met with. Ed not only spoke from his own experience, but he could answer me based on his encounters with Father Angelo.

The story of Father Angelo should be saved for another time, but it can be stated that Father Angelo sits in the presence of angels with great regularity. He and his faith are recognized as local authority of the Catholic church without question. He has served his home parish for many years and near lifetimes faithfully and without any reservation.

The subject of the greenhouse came about during one of those times I spoke with Ed about what his life had been like when he was younger. At those times, he would lean back and smile as he recalled his life with his love and helpmate, Verna. Ed would talk about how he and Verna planned each year the number of plants they would grow and how they worked side by side. Each one with their schedule of jobs and duties. Both important to the task, not one more significant than another.

He spoke with pride as he told me he sold poinsettias to most of the churches throughout Miami county. Shyly, he would describe how he decorated the altar of the church with the blooms. The bright red color of the leaves shining against the walls and wood. He spent hours on the task.
I spoke with many people who recalled the beautiful plants at Christmas. There would be so many that the altar appeared to float on the leaves.

He spoke with authority about how to best trim and cultivate the plant to create more blooms or generate a larger plant. He again with all his patience, would demonstrate where to trim a plant to grow starts for a new plant. Using his thumb to find the joint, he would tell of where the cut should be made and how to place the end in root developer as you placed it in the soil.

Many hours were shared in the task of passing down the knowledge and the hope of growing another year of poinsettias. We laughed at my foolish ideas. He challenged my silly plans or ambitious thinking. But he supported the idea that this plan could take root.

The most daunting part of our plan has been the moving of the greenhouse. Not only is is large, but the commitment that comes with it is also large. There are many ribs of the house. The spans of metal are connected to make a seventy foot long side with twenty-seven feet of width to be filled with potting tables, growing shelves, fans and watering systems. Heat is another issue to be tackled for early plants for the first part of the growing season. Ohio winters and springs are far from predictable.

Once the frame is taken down, it must be carefully re-assembled close to the barn for electricity and water. Far from the animals and their renegade escapes. Then the sheeting needs to be attached to withstand another year of rain, wind, and generally unpredictable weather. Exhaust fans need hung, the wood burning stove needs vented. The work seems monumental.

Barry sees this as a mountain. His right and left hands, our oldest boys, both either gone off to college or busy with plans and auditions. He struggles to be supportive with the vision, but is daunted by the task of details. There is some fear. Another way for our family to risk more time and money. We need this to be successful. We need it to ground our family business. To make our lives more solid in our home and our community.

Ed and I shared the blessings of what this could mean to our family. It means work and hard work at that. It means a chance to have and continue a business that once worked well to provide for Ed and his family. It gives Ed a chance to pass down what his patience and dedication gave to him. There is a sense of calm and worship in his story. There is the wonder of God's glory in the plants and their blooms. There is the blessing of being able to serve his church through giving back his means of making a living in the most visible way possible.

I hope that we can serve our community, our church, and our God with the same dedication. I pray that God will give us the strength to create a clean slate as we develop this dream of our business. It has been odd how we know that this greenhouse is the beginning for aspects in all of our lives.

Our eldest daughter, Lyndsay has once again discovered her love of plants, shape, and form. She has always used them to create a quieter, more beautiful world amidst the chaos of growing up and becoming a woman. She loves the dirt and the opportunity to watch things grow from sticks and seeds. Each thing growing to bloom at the encouragement of her hand. This greenhouse will be another part of her way of carving out her next steps in life.

It is not just a greenhouse, it is a house of new life.

You Grow Them and Then They Leave You

We are about to graduate another student from our brood of imaginative and occasionally challenging children. They are quite the rambunctious bunch at times with thoughts and energy beyond my small little mind. They can tend to run circles around us at the busiest of times.

Someone told me that it would get easier to watch them grow up and develop their personalities and different interests. They encouraged me not to look back, but forward to embrace the rapidly passing days and the ultimate time in which they leave our house. I can say it most definitely does NOT get easier.

I struggle with their maturation. Not that they should always be little children in need of our guidance. But that they want so desperately to be grown before their time. They want to cut and burn the apron strings that held them to us, rather than slowly untie them. The kids don't understand that those strings are not to tie them up so tight they cannot leave, but rather to slow their descent in case they should lose their footing. A safety net as it were.

I understand that after the age of say, 12 years, they have developed a sense of right and wrong. They should have the foundation of beliefs we have in our home. That somewhere amidst their own form of rebellion, we still are a part of their lives - even though it might not be apparent to either of us from the outside.

Seniors and juniors are faced with so many seemingly life and death decisions about school, their education, and their futures. They are overwhelmed by the enormity of the decisions and the endless group of deadlines. I cannot keep them straight. I do not know how they can. I am supposed to be the keeper of time and dates, and plans. I am overwhelmed.

My level of overwhelmed begins with wondering if I did a good job. Was I the mother they needed me to be? Will they feel we prepared them well enough to go their own way? Are they running away? Can they plan their next few years with confidence or with fear?

With each child that leaves our house, a piece of my life and heart goes with them. There is no practice in saying, "Go and lead a good, productive christian life." It is something that must be said and prayed in practice. They have heard me say over and over that our job is to raise strong, responsible Christian adults who leave our home to create strong, Christian homes and families. But that thought has a sense of heartbreak. They no longer live here among us.

They visit, but they are somehow seperate from us. They are forging their own lives away from us. But we cannot help wanting to make their lives somehow better, despite our own limitations.
We cannot heal every hurt. We cannot make better every hard road they travel. There are times we would desire to remove the trials of everyday studying or work loads that plague their journey to being accomplished adults. But it just is not possible.

I dread the decision making of what college? What major? How much money is too much money or where is too far? I hate the inquiring questions of other parents so that they can share the decisions they have chosen for their children. Some only for the opportunity to brag, others solely for need of seeking solace from another struggling parent.

My heart aches as the senior year ends. Was this the best year or was this the year to be endured? Did the choices we made this year make things better for going away? Or should we have somehow done it sooner?

Once again in raising our clan I am left feeling inadequate and unsure. No matter how many times I have been on my knees and asked for guidance I know I am ill-equipped to say good-bye at the right time. My heart will again break.

Where are All the Servants?

Tonight has ended another long week of work. It has been several long weeks in order one after another filled with many patients and much work and drive time from place to place. Not all of the time is mine, however. But the time is time away from the house and away from the needs of the family.

Guilt!!!! overwhelming and never ending has crept into my mind as I watch the younger ones shy away as they hear my voice state the obvious undone items as I walk through the house trying to shed my work hat and clothes in order to put on the sweats of being home as mama. They know the strain in my voice when things are undone and left out of place. That is not the favorite side of mama they had hoped would meet them at home.

I work to settle into the more relaxed Friday night routine and find myself struggling with a slow computer connection and the missing "I" key of my laptop. Piece of mail after piece of mail is opened to show me that I have not found a solution to several issues that needed tied up this month. I still have work to do for myself and for my job.

Despite being good at my job, I no longer enjoy it. I am not happy with the paperwork and the second guessing of the day. There are many issues that make each day a tiny bit more complicated than the next. There is no one to delegate the frustration or small details to --- I am that person. No assistants. No fellow therapists. Just me and today I am not enough.

Home has this sense also. Where are the extra hands that scoop up the laundry on the floor of the single bathroom shared by 11 people everyday? Who is the monitor of the toilet paper, water salt or tissues? Where is the person who folds and puts away the laundry left in baskets after loads are switched out from the washer to dryer?

The flow of a household generally requires everyone to pitch in. In some circles this is referred to as "slave labor" for the children. I am intrigued that that same level of commitment and completion is not seen as being slave labor when provided by a parent or other adult. It is accepted practice.

Balance. Our lives are to create a seamless dance from work to home that has no glitches of turmoil in our own minds and in the lives of our family. As mothers, wives and workers, our lives are to flow effortlessly one identity into another. Only when we "allow" the interruptions of our day do we, ourselves, destroy the flow. We dam the waters of the stream. We stop the success on all fronts.

What a calling we have?!! We must work to control the uncontrollable. From child to impatient adult we are greeted with the demands of needy relationships. Some of them of our own choosing. Others are thrust upon us due to position or circumstance.

The solution? Oh that is the million dollar question. Is it the extended vacation or the elimination of the greatest stress? Where do we place our trust in the solution? Who has the magic to cut the strings of responsibility?

I don't have those answers. I know just a few things. We are called to have the hearts of servants. For most of us the calling distracts us from ourselves, our lives and our other callings. We desire to give more. Sometimes beyond our own reach. We do that in answer to falling short in our own eyes in our every day lives.

We need to teach and lean on the servant hearts of our families. What happens if the laundry isn't done our way? What are the implications of unfolded laundry vs dirty laundry? Does every task need to be completed the day it was asked? What happens when everything waits until the weekend?

We need to show who we are, how we feel and where our energies are best spent. Martha spent many hours waiting on Christ and the men at the tables in her home. Mary dared sit at the feet of Christ to learn whatever she was able to learn. Was one better than the other? Only if your goal was eternal life. But Christ remained gentle and explained to Martha what she needed to change. We need that servant heart to teach our children and ourselves.

The Christ we ask to be in us is the Christ our children see. When we are called to use our hearts and hands for Christ we are doing His good purpose. We are Christ incarnate for our families and for our jobs. That level of super human strength comes from a place deeper than we ever imagined.

So the sleep I need is to allow me to work again for the good of my family. The purpose of my job and the wisdom to draw lines of containment to allow me to do both jobs without feeling overwhelmed and taken advantage of.

Just One of Those Days

I hope every family has those days where not everything seems to go perfect. It somehow begins with a late start. Then things you thought were ready or finished were found undone. There are loose ends for another project. You struggle to get out the door and find yourself at your destination with more undone and unanticipated delays.

In my line of everyday work, half or more of the work related delays are due to human nature. The patients also have sleepless nights, additional or unexpected pain, late meals and are waiting on the over worked and under appreciated busy staff member struggling to go from door to door to meet the needs of everyone she is assigned to. Add administrative duties and paperwork- the well planned day can go awry in the literal blink of an eye and somehow grow to a 12-hour nightmare with overflow into the next one or even two days.

The trick here is to live on what I call "Plan B thinking". Always have an alternative idea to make things work better. The business world calls this "thinking out of the box". The mother and household manager of any size family can tell you substitution is the solution to most problems.

I work with cognition or ways of thinking - our buzz word is "re-framing and problem solving". My professors thought they were part of a new and upcoming innovative field of thought for the management of lost thinking abilities. In reality, they projected common sense and "Plan B thinking" as the most innovative solution to re-learning thought recall and problem solving. Most of them should have talked with mothers of large families. We accept missing information and needed resources which are absent as everyday simple occurrences. We look at the end goal and make due with what we have. Normally and without apparent distress, we make things look easy.

Sometimes we do that all on our own power. Other times we recruit the strength and time of our spouse or children to accomplish the needed goals. I will put in print and deny my belief, that the fact one or more of the teenagers in our family now drive and can transport to many locations and appointments, has provided me with a level of freedom that nearly approximates having a nanny again. They even help remember sports equipment, fees, homework and permission slips! Plus they are known to volunteer just to be able to drive. Wow what a help and what an occasional worry as they still are young drivers.

But even with all the help and shared responsibilities of the older children and my husband, the "one of those days" pattern can show up at any given time. It is always worse when it involves money and lack thereof. When you thought things were covered and discover that somehow you missed something. It is magnified by sick children and upcoming deadlines.

Mothers of large families seem to take this to heart as their ultimate failure and weakness. We don't need reminded that we are behind with less critical payments, we already know. We suffer great amounts of guilt when we discover the shoes of a child rub blisters, or their pants don't accommodate a five inch growth spurt. We suffer when we see the look of disappointment when the new dress does not meet the wow factor of the tween child.

It goes without saying some days that the necessary paperwork does not always make it in by the deadline and the piles of reading and information sent to the house nearly stops the sun from entering a bedroom window when stacked for a week or two because you couldn't sort it all.

It is not a money issue, it is not really a time issue. More likely it is an overall resource issue. A sign of our busy and complicated lives. The live demonstration of not being able to remember and juggle every minute of the day and every detail of the moment. We become numb to the outside influences and even become staggered by the inside situations when we are tired and overwhelmed by every aspect of our lives. Once we hit the wall of overwhelmed - the plan B thinking we are known for seems to fade and leave us without our handful of re-framing tools and opportunities.

No longer can we call our difficulties challenges and put a positive spin on them. We have little or nothing to use as a means to provide a workable solution. We feel like failures. Our greatest error of thought is to believe our own fears. We are capable. We do manage. Most of all, we can find the right solution given time to think and ponder the alternatives.

So stepping back, taking a deep breath and looking away from the problem can be the best answer now. Resting and coming back to the issue with wise counsel can allow the solution to develop. Trusting our abilities and our choices generally lets the problem solve itself. Let's hear it for Plan B thinking!!! It puts the "One of those Days" pattern back into perspective so that it stays only One of those days.

You Know You Are in the Country When

Most people wake to alarm clocks and the possible light of the sun peaking in your window as it casts its glow on your face. You know you are in the country when you hear at least one crowing rooster and the mooing of the cows calling you to the barn for feed.

The average household requires cleaning of the front porch of the leaves, possible loose trash and accumulation of outside equipment. You know you are in the country when the porch has "mud" or other globs of goo lurking across the steps, there are at least two pairs of tall rubber boots thrown helter skelter across the porch and at least one piece of equipment has a long handle that may be mismatched. You see piles of buckets, and pails full of chicken scraps and there are bowls of cat or dog feed. There also is an outside hook where barn coats and winter overalls are hung once the work is completed and you don't want to get yelled at dragging barn yuck through the house.

You know you are in the country when you have to call about the chickens getting too close to the road. In the city you worry the dog may have gotten loose.

You hear traffic and car noise in the city. You know you are in the country when your house shudders as the semis thunder past the house early in the morning and late at night with their head lights beating through the drapes of every window from a half mile away.

Night sounds in the city may be the music of the next door neighbor, the sound of an outdoor party, the boombox of the neighbor's kid as he cruises the neighborhood or the scream of an emergency vehicle racing to the site of the next news at six report. You know you are in the country when late at night the sound of crickets singing lulls you to sleep, or you hear the cry of the coyotes calling to each other in the fields. The ultimate sound of the country is the quiet of the night as the full moon rises high in the sky as night blankets the earth with silence.

You know you are in the country when a John Deere tractor is the only toy a boy wants and he isn't sure what a gameboy is. When farm clothes with the John Deere logo are the best loved clothes of your boys rather than American Eagle or Gap. When Carhart overalls mean more than a leather jacket. When work boots mean that steel toes beat dress tennis shoes.

City living looks for every piece of porch furniture to match and color coordinate with a theme in the house. Country life allows your great aunt's table to have its honored place on the porch so that every picnic reminds you of family gatherings on her screened in porch and the value of porch swings.

City life means fashion and design can sometime beat function. Country life means that function is occasionally lucky enough to have fashion and design.

Country life is loud and obnoxious play and work, with some foul smelling by-products. City life is the ultimate scent of today's marketing ploy from the tv commercial to create an ambience.

You know you are in the country when you are waiting behind a large piece of farm equipment and the farmer doesn't seem to notice there is a long line of waiting traffic behind him as he works to make his living. Living in the city you hear the horns and insults shouted at the driver that slows the progress on the road for each important individual inconvenienced by their road interruption.

You know you are in the country when you hear kids talking about tractor races, chasing cows that broke through their fences or just plan lighting a bonfire of collected brush to share with their friends. You know you live in the city when the talk turns to going out cruising, sitting in the park waiting on friends or going to McDonalds as the meeting place.

You know country life when you accept dirty windows as a part of life and the occasional smell from the barn as a sign your efforts are about to be worth it as you stock your freezer with the fruits of your labor. Your city dwelling life lends itself to corporation smoke and the occasional pollution. Your nose sometimes smells exhaust and barbecues, while the only thing that stocks your freezer is what you bought at the grocery stores.

You recognize the country life in the kids who worry more about the type of animal or farm equipment over the city kids who may only recognize the fancy cars and stereos. There can be a greater sense of responsibility for the animals, the crops, and the equipment from the kids on farms that kids in town may not have the opportunity to learn and develop.

The country raised child learns in most houses, that money buys the next piece of equipment, the latest trial of farm animal and the feed to keep the livestock alive. They always seem to see the juggling act that occurs in order to keep everyone, livestock and family included, fed and sheltered. Kids raised in the city tend to see only the struggles of feeding themselves and keeping a roof over their heads.

Country raised kids meet up with the reality that the work they do to raise the livestock can result in the ultimate sacrifice of life on the part of the animal to feed the family. They view the lives of their farm animals as seasons of their own lives. This is not the easiest life lesson to learn. They learn to accept death and loss through their experiences.

City raised kids are not always allowed to make the connection of this cycle of life. Sometimes they never see the sacrifice of the livestock in order to keep food on the table. They miss the understanding of working toward the goal of butchering for the sake of the family. They don't always comprehend dealing with sick animals and choosing which treatment is the most cost effective and when it is time to put the animal down.

The hardest challenge for the country household is to keep the house clean while you maintain the barn, the livestock and the gardens. You begin to accept that slightly dirty floors mean that chores got done outside today. You recognize that everyone should have a front door mat and they should check the bottom of their shoes. Country households make walking through the house without shoes a family rule, rather than constantly trying to keep the floor scrubbed during the muddiest and busiest seasons. Most city households have the no shoes rule because the carpet may get dirty.

There are many comparisons that fit the changes we made when we turned to this simple house out on five acres. We made adjustments to our travel into town for food, milk and every day items. We planned more about our everyday activities because there was more for us to do to keep up with the livestock and the gardens. I learned to allow more messy shoes, boots and outdoor clothes. I learned to laugh when I could overlook chickens tucked under someone's arm carried through the house without batting an eye.

I have managed to become almost organized and capable of doing several loads of laundry in the kitchen because there is no laundry room. I taught the girls the value of hanging clothes on the line and saving energy and money. I have found ways to store fresh vegetables and make meals with fewer store ingredients. We have developed short cuts for most everyday tasks during the busiest of times. We have learned to live comfortably with less and focus more on the end result. We are working to create the appreciation for the journey not just the destination.

The country life has its ups and downs like any other life, but for our family this change to a quieter, more simple life has made each day more complete.

The Family Meal

Sundays are referred to as "family day" in our house. Originally it was to slow the rapid exodus of older children to the farthest corners of the world and have time to re-group. We thought we might be able to plan the week, do some organizing and have some fun with the kids.

The thinking was to revisit the afternoons we had spent at our parents' homes during our first years of marriage. We spent long, lazy evenings catching up with them and their busy lives as they watched with astonishment the latest achievement of the children and babies. We always had a meal.

Food has always been a temptress in our home. Simple basics or fancy fair, the meal and dessert have held captive the minds and stomachs of our family. At one time the responsibility for the planning, shopping and creating of the meal fell on my shoulders. There were occasional days of help from Barry as he would make his chicken enchilada casserole, lasagna or barbecue. But ultimately I was the orchestrator of the meal. There must be a memorable main course, at least two vegetables and ultimately a dessert. Generally with a theme or sense of familiarity that is recognized by everyone present. Each family generally chooses their favorite dish at one time or another and begins to plan their special meal.

Because I have an unusual quirk that demands that Sundays, holidays, parties and birthdays should all have an intense memory for them, the planning can be somewhat tedious. Additionally, the stress of creating the "perfect" welcome home dinner or back from college fair has once again demonstrated my unreasonable stress and its retaliation to anyone who interrupts the flow of creation before its completion.

When we entertained Daniela Stallinger and her crew last Sunday - there was no difference in establishing the family meal. Truly, I am blessed that Kyle, our second son, has become the consomate budding gourmet chef. He is known by family and friends alike for culinary skills that would be the envy of most women and men. Very few of his creations fall short of delicious. This last Sunday was no different.

Kyle decided that he should be the Top Chef for the luncheon we planned. So off to the local grocery to pick between baked poultry or barbecued ribs. It should go without much question or worry, the ribs won. They are truly one of Kyle's greatest accomplishments. That teamed with twice baked potatoes and the kitchen became a buzzing center of activity.

We have always enjoyed having all the family contribute to meals. There are plenty of tasks to be shared. Someone to wash potatoes. Someone to make the salad and cut the vegetables. Someone to steam the green beans and asparagus. Someone to cut the fruit. Someone to bake the dessert.

Oddly enough, February/March, September and December are filled with birthdays for our family. Even Rory found a girl with a birthday in March. Celebrations for them have been low key and held off until we all could be together. So there was a distinct need to make the appropriate dessert for each celebrant. That created a smorgasboard of brownies with M and Ms for Rory, golden cake with chocolate icing for Jess,and Lyndsay's favorite layered marble cake with vanilla pudding layered wth raspberries and strawberries topped with chocolate icing.

Thank goodness for the two ovens. Every counter was full and guarded by someone working diligently on some part of the meal. Even guests volunteered to help with fruit or vegetables. Laughter and noise filled every corner of the kitchen as elbows and feet struggled to make their way across a packed room to the other side of the busy work center. Shouts of "look out" could be heard as hot plates and full hands rushed to fill ovens and stove spots.

Not to be left without a contribution, even the smallest ones hurry to find napkins, cups, plates and silverware to put at the table. As the salad was set out, bottles of salad dressing crowded the table as testament to the many different tastes and loves of our family. Little faces pushed their way to the tableside hoping to pick the best seat. Each one working to find their favorite plate and cup. As they scrambled to sit and begin eating, they were reminded to thank God for their food.

From somewhere in the bustling group a voice could be heard singing " Oh the Lord's been good to me" in an unusually low voice. The family quiets as we joined in our familiar song of thanks. Something easy for the young ones to remember and simple for the older ones to use in place of hard thought open prayers. At the end of the prayer we all looked around for who started the prayer. Gillianne chimed in to say it was her. Again good natured teasing begins to ask when she began singing baritone with her brothers, as each of her sisters struggled to carry the tune.

Our guests marvel at how the children sit and eat the food. Even green things can be found on each of the younger ones plates. Daniela, Erica and Mark tolerate the endless chatter and questions that the younger ones pour out at the meal. Aidan manages to sneak beside Daniela and corner her attention throughout the majority of the meal, as he plots his dessert manuevers. You can tell he is working to charm our guests in hopes that he may acquire more strawberries or cake.

The children mingle back and forth with the waves of food being carried to and from the table as the oven sends forth its creations. Kyle stands behind the stove supervising and fussing over each rack of ribs until he is certain they are cooked to his level of approval.

Each child has made his contribution. Each one has put forth his choices. The hum of their chatter fills the air. The chaos of their laughter nearly deafening as the meal progresses. Clanging dishes, and shuffling feet soon head toward the kitchen counter. The air fills with shouted thank you's to Kyle for his efforts and suddenly the room grows quiet.

Again a mass exodus has occurred into the next rooms. They have hurried to find something to keep them busy. Each one in a rush to be found too busy for the last and dreaded chore of the family meal.... the dreaded clearing of the table and dishes.

This day they had a head start. Because I could not bear to think of the clean and shining counters of the kitchen to be full of clutter, I have started to load the dishwasher. With only a slight grumble the dishes are unloaded and the next load begun.

We say goodbye to our guests and wish them safe travels. They hurry off to catch their flight Full stomachs lead us to our callng beds for quick naps. In every corner of the house, someone is asleep or resting. Quiet on family day has begun.

The Failing Mother

I have worked to avoid this post.... but it appears it cannot be ignored any longer. First let me say that I love my children. I would walk through eternal fire for my offspring. Fight endless attacks that threaten their lives and well-being. There is not much that I would not do to make their lives better.

I hate the fight to complete diligence tasks. I hate the disorder that we are left with when they are not completed. I have begun to hate enforcing the tasks, and have contemplated leaving work to come home to be the housekeeper in order to have more order in our home.

That being said, I hate the reluctance my children display to complete diligence tasks and their refusal to recognize the necessary place they have in any family, not just ours. I hate the repetitive means that are required to instill the need of diligence tasks in a family.

The purpose of diligence tasks or chores is to allow the family to propel itself forward in the daily and weekly work of existing. Simply put, it is the boring things that make homes functional and keeps them ordered.

It seems rudimentary to most adults that things are required to make the co-existence of human beings possible. The follow through of task completion of the daily chore list is rather simple and mundane. There is some sense of comfort in the simplicity of chores. They have a familiar rhythm of life. They create order. They create peace. They allow us to make peace with everyday needs.

Somewhere my children missed that understanding. Chores are odious interruptions to their day. They steal away the joy from play. They trounce independence from their family. Corrupt their ideas of fun. Destroy their sense of self and enjoyment. In the words of at least two of our children, they ruin their social lives.

Our children missed the concept of any job worth doing is worth doing well. The idea is evidently lost on our brood. I have worked this idea through endless teachable moments. Despite trying to find their developmental windows for the concept, I have failed. Speed and incompletion plague our household tasks.

There is nothing more defeating than recognizing your children cannot grasp what you are attempting to teach them. Is it the complexity of the concept? Is it the absence of witnessing the proof in their parents' work? Are the building blocks for the concept too large or clumsily presented? At each failure, I analyze and scrutinize the merits of the lesson. I plot out the next creative lesson for the goal of teaching the dreaded responsibility of being a member of a family.

Where do you look for the outline of teaching to the goal of self worth developed from hard work? I recognize that it is not a single lesson idea. It is the development of a hierarchy of steps that create the understanding of desire to complete the task well. It is that same development that allows us to accept hard work to meet the demand of the assigned task. The task creates its own sense of skill and due diligence required to fulfill its obligations to completion. There should be a sense of satisfaction of working hard. Both a relief and sense of relish at the accomplishment.

My frustration is my greatest failure. Failure to accept their selfish ways found in being children and a symptom of being young. Failure to convey the need for them to realize they are an important part of the family and the family relies on their contribution. Failure to show them their worth in the economics of the family. They don't acknowledge the "value added" feature of being the member of the organization of a family. They mistake their participation as a member for the value of life it actually holds.

Perhaps that is the most crucial place we fail. Mothers recognize the economics of the family. One person's contribution can mean the difference between no meals or meals for each day. It can allow the hands of a parent to hold a crying baby, or solve an algebra problem. It can mean that someone who just needs their time with mom or dad, can take a walk or sit in a room to share a fear or tell a story or ask for permission without interruption. It can mean that someone has their hair done for a recital or prom, while another is given the gift of a game of catch before the next play-off.

The economics of the family divides the work. It can make small, mountains of laundry and allow them to be folded and put away by less tired hands. It can load dishes without fatigue and back aches. It makes sure that there are spoons and cereal bowls for the next morning's breakfast after ice cream the night before. It shares the load among many despite the number of people who immediately benefit.

There is a give and take to every aspect of life. Sometimes that give becomes like breathing, second nature. The ebb and flow of everyday housework, laundry, transporting of children to lessons and practices, all require someone to share themselves to allow them to occur. Simple, quiet, boring jobs that make the house content and functional.

Why do children miss the concept? Because they see them as simple., quiet, boring tasks. They see the effortlessness of our movements and thought as we push through each and every task to make our children's world possible. We forget the work they actually take. We even underestimate the time they take in order to allow us to do more to make the function of our lives move forward. To commit ourselves to one more act of compliance to the family, no matter how small.

Have we failed them? Have we made the effort seem easy for us to do these tasks? Have we become too busy to divide big chores into smaller steps and follow up on the completion of them?
or have we just thrown our hands up in exasperation and done them ourselves? I know I have done all these wrongs. I have failed. I have become tired. I have lacked the consistency. I have failed even more by not asking God's help to be better at what I do everyday, be a mother.

I am not sure I can alone, be the better mother. I doubt that I have the patience, alone, to begin to fulfill the calling to teach them to "be strong and do the work". I absentmindedly look beyond my bible and my beliefs and fail my children, because I am not choosing to "be strong and do the work" I am called to do.

I have tried many, many unsuccessful ways and theories to further my cause. Some worked for a short time. Some never worked. Ultimately I found myself in the same place. I was to be a better parent. I was to seek wise counsel, I was to seek God's face and favor. I sought the answers n many well written and acclaimed works.

Perhaps the lesson was to show me my lack of attention to my own task of diligence-- to seek God for my guidance for my family? To allow my ultimate commitment to make our family a more functional, reverent family to please God be the diligence task where I placed my energy and effort. Perhaps once again, as I sought to plug the splinter in the eyes of my children, I discovered a log in my own. We all need to focus on our calling and be diligent to guard our hearts to the ways of the Lord.

Redbook and Pandamoniam

Sometimes I wonder why I say "yes" to anything. There must be a certain level of instant insanity or amnesia that overcomes most mothers at times when they are asked if they will volunteer for anything. Maybe it is a "mom weakness" or a constant desire to please or make things a little better for someone else. Occasionally, I find that I say yes because I want some sense of having more time on my hands to do things I believe I will enjoy.

In this case, the "yes" was to what I thought would be a simple interview on how or why we had allowed our family to grow to include eleven children. Really the answer seemed simple or the task seemed simple. I just did not recognize there could be anything beyond the interview.

I wanted to sound relatively sane and normal. Not be too far left or right. Seem like everyone who only had two or three children. For some reason, those mothers and fathers seem more acceptable to the average person on the street. No one makes exclamations of "You must have your hands full!" or " I bet you have lots of patience all the time." They just don't throw out those kind of near pre-destinations.

"Regular families" seem to get more nods and smiles. They go noticed with approval. Their lives look more simple. Larger families seem to attract attention no matter how low key you work to keep their lives. Simple is rarely a word used to describe their lives.

In our case, the not so regular family with the not so regular routine as of late, came crashing into the "we need a schedule" wall very quickly over the last 3 weeks. The little interview I had, quickly grew into an interview and "photo shoot".

For most people, no worries. They do a little extra shoushing. They buy fresh flowers and exile the pets to the neverlands. They dress up after hot showers and new hair cuts. Viola!! beautiful family and house. Wonderful pictures!!!! What more could you ask for ?

In our case we had a few, shall we say, kinks in the works. First - they needed all the kids home. Well, how could I convince two college students that the ultimate weekend entertainment was coming home, helping clean, put up with my stress and have their picture taken for a national (not local) magazine? Plus- do it with as much positive spin as possible?

Next- well there is the fact we live in a 100+yo farm house basically constantly under some level of upgrading or repair. Nothing can be done one step at a time. Everything seems to have 3-6 levels of needs to be met before any project is completed. We had hit the wall with completing everything about four months ago. We were basically burnt out from working every spare moment on walls, floors, ceiling fans, electricity, plumbing, etc. You get the drift. We had a moratorium on the constant version of "This Old House" for the Coleman Clan.

Then there was the 10 pounds of paperwork that comes by mail, the tax information collecting in boxes and bags, the inundation of college intent letters piling up for both the senior and the current junior in high school and of course, homeschool work. There seems to be a private war against forests in our little corner of the world. We could heat the house two months out of the year on all the paper we sort through on a yearly basis.

Lastly, there was this small little nuisance of my attitude to pictures. I just don't do them. I hate them. I would be happy being the photographer and never be seen in any pictures -- EVER.

Funny how all of these things scream, "HALT " to the photo opportunity. But yet, I still kept the coorespondance and set the date. Made all the necessary phone calls and arrangements. Took off work. Kept talking to myself. "We can do this." "Maybe they can take pictures of Barry and the kids and I can sit calmly in the background." I was a smooth talker, I must admit. However, that is not how this went down.

We worked three days fairly diligently to assemble the house on the first floor more near its ultimate completion than ever before. We rallied around laundry piles and stacks of unmatched socks. We scoured tub, lavatories, and kitchen sinks. We painted and stained woodwork and walls. We vacuumed and scrubbed floors. Everything was at least shuffled out of the living spaces in attempt to make 1900 sq. ft look larger and accommodating.

I wish I could say I was goodness and light. I wish I could say the stress did not hurt us. I would be a liar. I was awful. Not because I wanted it so much for me, but I wanted them to see how wonderful my children actually are. I wanted them to see the life we have when I don't work too many hours and steal time from my kids to make the money we are needing to survive. I really wanted them to look at the house and not think I failed as a mother and woman at keeping my house clean and my children safe. I needed to make up for months of disorganization and exhaustion that kept me from keeping things organized, neat, and clean.

Thanks to the blessings of my husband, (who suffered at my evil tongue the most) and my children, we had a home that was met with smiles and compliments. Despite my efforts to drive them into exile with my awful fears of being "found unfit" to be included in this article.

Daniela Stallinger and her assistant, Erica, and Mark, the digital camera support, came into our home and found us normal. They found me behind and still cleaning. They discovered Lyndsay, doing some of the same. They were patient and tolerant. They heard all of Aidan's adventures told only as a 4 yo can tell them.

They found ways to overlook the unfinished and near done. They arranged people to fit the cross two-pages spread so that they were not in the fold. They laughed and made us laugh. They made it so that even I, could relax and allow her to do what she does best. Take excellent pictures.

So we sat in a group on the couch. Poor Daniela struggling to be smaller than the space between the 1 ton antique piano and the wall to get a better perspective. Some sat on the arms and on the back (with glances at me to tell them to get down). Some sat on the seats and on each other. Even the last remaining step ladder got placed into the act.

We moved the fidgety children to the kitchen and the table. Rory seemed to be in his heighth of ornery sitting beside me. Often making comments or causing reactions of his younger sisters. Some in front and the older ones in back, we arranged hair and arms and clothes, trying to make the best portrait of this large collection of individuals.

Finally, moved one last setting into the yard in front of the grove of trees. Walking, laughing, goofing around and doing the box step, we walked with purpose into the frames of her photos. She again laughed as we walked over things in the yard or accidently used children riding piggy back as jousting sticks between photos.

Once the shoot was over, we could breath. Then the fun actually began. They took pictures of the farm animals. They laughed at bad jokes. We quizzed them about life in New York and their travels and the people they encounter. All foreign to life on our quiet corner, here in southwestern Ohio.