Christmas Confessional

Posted on December 27, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

I’m pretty sure we have way too many Christmas ornaments for the rinky-dink tree we currently own. Not to mention for the 2.5 small children we have. This year, David knocked the tree over just once … but he’s still pretty small. Next year he’ll have a mini-helper!

We took it down tonight, which seems very early to me. It’s not that I am super eager for Christmas to be over. But I’ve felt all my inadequacies jumping out of the furniture at me this December. I’m ready for a little bit of normalcy again. Not to mention the space in the living room!

Here’s my Christmas confession: we only did about 7 days of Truth in the Tinsel. I was admittedly unprepared, but we could have made it work with the craft supplies we had. I just did not feel like I could make the effort most days to coerce my whiny 4-year-old into listening to a Bible story. She likes the crafts, but without the story, what is it?

We also didn’t make Christmas cookies, we didn’t eat the candy in our Advent calendar every day, and we watched entirely too many Christmas movies.

I forget about what pregnancy does to my body until I find myself there again. I really feel like I turn into a grumpy octogenarian for nine months, and birth is the only cure. The year I was pregnant with David, I think I gave myself more grace since Libbie was still very young and I was 9 months pregnant, not 6.

I found myself a big mess of disappointment last week about how our December had progressed. I called my mom and sobbed. She talked me off the cliff, but in my heart I still felt hollow. I want my children to know the magical Christmases my parents created. When I am pregnant, it’s just not going to happen for us.

But you know what we did do?

Cuddled and watched The Polar Express until 9 p.m. Made salt dough ornaments. Read a Christmas book every night that the kids got to unwrap, and they loved that. Talked about baby Jesus and Mary and shepherds and wise men. Decorated the tree together, and undecorated it together too.

The only thing that’s going to keep my kids from thinking this was a great couple of weeks is me.

Making Christmas Memories …

Posted on December 10, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

Sometimes I wonder if I’m trying too hard to create memories that my children will be too young to remember. Does that sound silly?

Saturday night, I thought it would be fun to take them to look at Christmas lights. I looked up some places online and found at least one location where there was supposed to be a house with lights and music. I asked Mr. V if he’d take us out to dinner first, and we promised Libbie that if she took a nap she could stay up and watch a movie on TV.

We had just strapped David into the high chair at the little Chinese restaurant when he started screaming bloody murder for “SOMETHING EAT MOMMY PLEASE” and wriggling relentlessly. So Mr. V quickly decided on dinner and left with David to walk around a store next door rather than make the small Saturday night crew of kung pao-eaters listen to his wails.

The kids ate minuscule amounts of lo mein, I forced down some just-OK pork while blowing my nose and trying to pretend this cold wasn’t getting worse.

We got back in the car after wrestling David a little more and telling Libbie if she didn’t stop crawling under the table we would make her eat a mushroom. (Somehow I don’t think threatening with vegetables is probably a good parenting method.) I said something to the note of “we are going to have fun whether you like it or not,” which may or may not have influenced David’s cries of, “WHEE! SO FUN!” and choruses of “Happy Birthday to Mommy” while we drove.

source: fredthechicken

One unsure turn and some dark roads later, we found the neighborhood we sought … and some gently-lit houses and lanterns. No gaudy lights. No music. We drove around a little more, and the kids were truly happy to see blow-up snowmen and blue lights on houses. We didn’t find anything extravagant, but it was OK.

We drove the 25 minutes home, and David’s “whee” had become fussing and fighting with his sister. We put him to bed, and Libbie did get to stay up and watching Despicable Me with Mommy and Daddy, munching on pretzels and cuddling. She loves those movie nights.

But it all caused me to question, am I trying too hard? Do I remember anything from being 4? I certainly want to make a warm, loving home and establish some Christmas traditions … but maybe it’s too early. Maybe dinners out and long drives are for older kids.

Or maybe I just spend way too much time in introspection.

What do you think?

A Self-Righteous Christmas?

Posted on November 27, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

You know when you see something on Twitter and worry it’s directed to you? I think it’s quite possible a friend’s Tweet was. It was about getting self-righteous about our choices at Christmas. And it made me think long and hard.

Last night I wrote this post on ParentLife. I knew what I wanted to talk about: giving charitable gifts during Christmas. But obviously I wasn’t sure how to get there. It didn’t feel right as I was composing the post, but I let it publish anyway.

And now I feel kind of awful.

No, we don’t do Santa. We don’t buy a lot of expensive presents. But do I care if you do? Not really.

Here is what I know about myself: it is VERY easy for me to get wrapped up in materialism. My love language is gifts. Add to that my firstborn, semi-perfectionist, people-pleaser history and you can probably see that I can get obsessive about buying gifts for others. IT HAS TO BE PERFECT. IT HAS TO BE JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT, SHOW LOVE, AND MAKE THE PERSON HAPPY FOR THE REST OF HIS OR HER LIFE.

Yes, I realize that might sound goofy to most of you. But it’s the reason I’ve really had to step back at Christmas. Is that the attitude I want my kids to have? My only desire is that they will truly be able to separate Jesus Christmas from “Santa Christmas,” that to them Christmas will be more about giving and loving and knowing Christ than it is about perfectionism and cookies and – most of all – what toys they circled in the Toys R Us catalog.

source: davidking

As with most things, it’s an area where we can be driven by guilt. My biggest struggle during Christmas is worrying how others perceive our minimalist attitude. I’m pretty sure some days that my parents think we are Evil Incarnate for depriving our kids of Santa. Whenever someone asks Libbie what Santa is bringing her for Christmas I want to cry when she answers, “Santa doesn’t come to our house.” I’m embarrassed.

It’s easier to put up a defense of self-righteousness, isn’t it? To Facebook about my hatred for Elf on the Shelf and make a big deal of only reading Jesus-y Christmas books? (By the way, the first book we opened? It’s Christmas, David, which is jam-packed with Santa and sillyness.)

I think this is what I want to say: whatever you choices are – about Christmas, about parenting, whatever – don’t let them be driven by guilt or what others think. I don’t want to buy a bunch of gifts for my kids and I try not to let 8 million commercials and gift guides and peer pressure influence that decision. With everything, I want my decisions to be influenced only by God’s desires for me and my family. I am only held responsible for my children – not yours.

So this Christmas … make your decisions. But may they be driven by a desire to please God and not played out in a self-righteous fashion. I promise I’ll do my part to do the same. I hope talking about how we “do Christmas” around here will never make you feel guilty, accused, or angry.

I Don’t Think Being an Introvert Is a Bad Thing.

Posted on September 4, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

source: sadsadsadie

I heard a talk show on the radio recently where they were talking about introverts and extroverts. And it really bothered me. One of the speakers talked about being an introvert “but getting better.” The host used the word philosophical about 18 times in the span of 2 minutes as a way to describe his introvert ways.

Basically they came at it from the viewpoint of extrovert good, introvert bad. Being an introvert obviously means you hate people, being around people, and have to force yourself to talk to people.

I really don’t think this is true at all. I’m certainly no expert, but I do have 30 years’ experience in introvert ways. I think it all comes down to how you process.

source: tekbassist

Introverts process internally, while extroverts process externally. Introverts recharge with alone time, while extroverts recharge in a crowd or group of friends.

Are either of these things inherently bad? I certainly don’t think so.

Both have their ups and downs, in my opinion. Sincerely needing alone time is difficult when you’re a parent of small children. I think that’s why I can get so frustrated after a day at home alone with the kids while some moms may be able to carry on for days without a second thought. When I can’t collect my thoughts and spend time considering why I am angry, why I react the way I do, etc, the frustrations really build up.

What I want people to know, though, is that being an introvert does NOT mean I hate people or dislike being around people! I strike up conversations with people at the grocery store or the park. I love to dig down and hear people’s real stories.

But I do NOT make small talk easily. I don’t just talk to talk. Which is probably why being in a huge crowd of people I don’t know is enough to make me want to go dive under my covers. I have trouble making friends, I think, because maybe I come on too strong. I will tell anyone anything.

Which is probably why I blog. I can process first, or as I write. And I can tell you anything without any notion of small talk. So there.

So yeah. Some days I wish I were a little more extroverted, but not many. I think it’s OK to be an introvert, and I’m sorry there are people out there who don’t think that.

What do you think? Are you introvert or extrovert?

Introvert’s Ode to Quiet

Posted on August 19, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

I’m not sure I ever understood those moms who still had time for the slow arts once they had children: knitting, crochet, cross-stitch, painting.

Too much bustle and hustle. Too many small hands to take apart the work you’ve done. Too many other things to take care of during any downtime.

At almost 4 and 20 months, Libbie and David are starting to go off and play on their own. As long as there aren’t screams I’m generally not too worried. But it doesn’t make for quiet or peace. As long as one of them is awake, it’s almost always loud here. Little voices, singing and shouting and make believing. TV blaring. Lots of asking and demanding and crying.

So when there is any down time, I crave quiet.

I think it’s why I’ve shied away from blogging recently. When I have 10 minutes, I don’t desire to make social connections, Tweet or Facebook as much as I have in the past. Most of the time, I just want to close my eyes and give into the fatigue generated by the grape-sized being in my uterus. And if not, I just want to sit. Recenter my introverted self.

So lately I’ve been drawn to some of those same crafts I’ve eschewed in my mothering years. I used to crochet quite a bit. Yesterday I picked up some new yarn and a pattern for the first time in ages. It’s a baby sweater … likely a gift. Time intensive. But seeing the beauty come together from simple yarn and loving finding a sunsoaked corner to sit in and craft quietly makes it completely worth the effort.

I’m training myself that even when they’re awake, I can steal a few moments to single crochet, a pretty mindless endeavor. Again, the recentering. The few minutes of still instead of laundry and dishes and who knows what else. Everything needs to be done. But I need to think.

It’s much easier to see the glory in every day when your mind has some places of quiet, isn’t it?

Free to Be Me

Posted on July 16, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

I’m glad to say that, 3+ years later, I feel even more comfortable in my own skin. And also that I text now … not for the need to be more connected, but because sometimes that’s the only way to get people to answer.

_________________

As I was coming home from the gym last night (and yes, it’s the first time in months I’ve been able to say that. I swam some during my pregnancy, but that was it. It’s one of my bigger regrets and next pregnancy I will try to stay more in shape. Not that I was in shape in the first place.)

Um, where was I?

Oh, yes. I was driving home last night, feeling a throbbing pain on the back of my left heel. I’d worn my ankle brace because I have this tendency to hurt myself, particularly at the Y. My ankle is still healing up from its last sprain and I really did not care to wipe out on the treadmill in front of those bodybuilding guys who I am SURE are always laughing at how fat and out-of-shape I am.

I am an Observer by nature, and although I spent my time on the treadmill watching Good Eats (really, WHO watches Food Network while working out? I’m an idiot), I was also watching those around me. The guy beside me holding onto the side rails of his treadmill and doing a funny walk. The skinny elliptical girls. In my plain sight were two girls doing stretches and ab exercises on floor mats–and taking breaks to text on their phones. (Texting kinda baffles me. I don’t feel the need to be that connected to people, I guess.)

Anyway, the drive home. Right. I was annoyed at myself for wearing a blister into my heel. Earlier last night, I looked down at my foot and said, “I’m bleeding.” I didn’t know how it happened. I’m constantly noticing bruises on my legs from unknown sources. I fall down. I guess I’m just a klutz.

I wondered, driving, what it would be like to be somebody who did not do these things. Someone “cool.” Maybe an elliptical girl, skinny–which I have never been–and someone who doesn’t go to bed at 9 p.m., doesn’t feel like she always wears the wrong thing to work, and doesn’t randomly hurt herself on a consistent basis.

Really, most of the time, I’m OK with being plain old awkward me. I just wonder what’s it like to be on the other side. Do you know? Maybe nobody thinks they’re cool. Maybe everyone deals with the same sense of insecurity.

I’m learning. Learning to be me. Learning that it’s not so bad after all. Mr. V loves me the way I am, all kinds of crazy and everything. Libbie seems to like me (or at least my, ahem, chest). I have great friends, wonderful family, all who don’t seem to run away when I come near them. And most of all, I have a Father who seems to adore me no matter how much I screw up. In fact, He promises it.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

Photo courtesy of Garrison Photo via Stock Exchange

Make Love Happen

Posted on July 3, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

I’m reposting this from September 2009 to see if anyone’s met their spouse in the last almost-three years or has a new online dating story they want to divulge. I hope you’ve never been as stupid as I was at 17.

This past Saturday, Mr. V and I invited a few of his fellow teacher-friends over to our (basically unfurnished) house in Chattanooga. He had connected with some of the other new teachers at a conference they all had to go to in July, and he was eager for me to meet them.

Being old and married, I had to giggle when the conversation turned to something I am completely unfamiliar with: online dating sites. Apparently there are more than I had ever dreamed of—not only match.com and eHarmony, but also okcupid and plentyoffish and christiancafe, just for starters.

It made me very thankful to be married. Mr. V’s friends repeatedly told us that we were very lucky to not have to be dating, and I wholeheartedly agree.

Many, many moons ago, online dating was just a spark in someone’s head and meeting people from the Internet almost assured you’d be found somewhere dead, cut into pieces, and stuffed into a shoebox.

Which is why what I am account to you is one of the stupidest things I’ve probably ever done.

One of my best friends in high school, Cynthia, and I worked together in an aftercare program at the daycare at our church. One day she came in and said that she was going to get together that night with her Internet boyfriend and she wanted me to come along. Her guy would invite a friend for me.

It was a little daunting, but we would drive separately and meet them in a public place, so how bad could it be? Plus I had had a sum total of maybe two dates all of high school. So, I mean, really.

So we went to wherever we were meeting them, and they were going to follow us to the movie theater. Which is when we noticed that one of the tires on my car was nearly flat.

Oops.

So Cynthia and I let them drive and we all went together. In a car. With guys from the Internet. (My dad may kill me for this NOW, 11 years later.)

The sad part is, it was fine. And I really liked the guy they set me up with. And he never called me again.

Not even guys from the Internet liked me.

But now, I’m happily married, and I hope that guy is looking for dates on RednecksConnect or something.

I wonder if, 20 years from now, everyone’s parents will have met on the Internet. There won’t be as many cute, saw each other across the room stories. But it is interesting, people connecting (somewhat) for personality more than looks. (Maybe? Again, I’ve never done any online dating site stuff.)

I have to know: Have you ever met someone from one of these sites? Your spouse? Spill!

When You Can’t Bring Yourself to Throw Away a Scrap of Paper

Posted on July 1, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

source: awhiskandaspoon

We’re in the midst of moving once again, and in the repacking I just found a tub of miscellani that definitely had not been unpacked since we moved from Nashville, two and a half years ago.

Which of course begs the question: when is it time to let go?

It was mostly framed pictures, a few from our wedding and a few of friends not spoken to for years. Falling-apart frames and ones with itty-bitty pictures glued around the outside. Frames proclaiming the year 2004 and “i do!”

No longer newlyweds – our 8-year anniversary is in July – is it time to let these things pass on to younger thrift-store shoppers? I removed some of the pictures from frames, tucking them into albums, posting them to Facebook for a smile.

Some photos caused me to pause, like the one of my best friend’s mother dancing with exhilaration at my wedding. My friend is marrying in July – I am in her wedding as she was in mine – and her mom won’t be there. She succumbed to ovarian cancer three years ago.

And that thought makes me cling to the pieces of the box, wondering if there will come a time when I wish I hadn’t thrown away the slip of paper with a Chinese take-out order on it in my own mother’s handwriting. What if I need that piece of her? What if I bemoan the loss of a vanilla candle, a stuffed toy, a piece of newspaper in the coming months?

Why is it so difficult to part with “stuff”?

I so long for simplicity and vapidly declare my intention to weed out half of our belongings during this across-campus move. In my head, I believe it. But tugs of my heart won’t let me toss the loopy cursive of my mommy in the trash can.

A Satisfying Life

Posted on April 18, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

I love the New Living Translation. If you feel like the Bible is a bunch of gibberish, you should really try reading the NLT. While it may not be as accurate to the original text as other translations, I feel like it makes the Word so very clear.

Yesterday afternoon I read about Abraham’s death during a few quiet moments. Not much is said about it, except that he was 175 years old and had remarried and had other children. But in the NLT Genesis 25:8 says Abraham died “at a ripe old age, having lived a long and satisfying life.”

A satisfying life. Isn’t that what we all want? I don’t want to be rich or famous. I don’t even want to be skinny or more beautiful or have unbitten fingernails. I want to be satisfied with myself and my life.

I love what Matthew Henry’s Commentary says on these verses from Genesis 25: “Whether our stay in this life be long or short, it matters but little, provided we leave behind us a testimony to the faithfulness and goodness of the Lord, and a good example to our families.”

I recently discovered that as an INFP personality-type, I am a “healer.” I want to make everything better all the time. I want to answer every question people ask on Facebook or Twitter. I want to feed everyone, because I think it will make them happy. And I live in frustration with myself because I feel like I’m not changing the world, doing good for mankind.

Unsatisfied.

I focus on all the things I do wrong in parenting instead of what I do right.

Unsatisfied.

I look at my body and come away with disgust, hating myself for doing what I shouldn’t do.

Unsatisfied.

Here is what I do right: I open my Bible and read it and pray. I gather my kids on my lap and read them stacks of books. I tell the honest truth to my friends (and anyone who might listen) about being a parent, a wife, and a Christian. I admit failures. I drink water. I choose playing outside over doing the dishes. I nurse my baby because he still wants to. I keep in touch with my family members. I love with abandon. I try to make crafts. I color. I make silly faces and make up silly songs.

All in all, right now, I feel pretty darn satisfied. Am I leaving a legacy? Doing what God wants me to do? Setting an example for my family? Time will tell, I suppose. I choose to believe that I am getting there.

I hope when I’m “gathered to my people,” like Abraham, I will have lived a long and satisfying life.

Worth the Living

Posted on April 11, 2012 by vanderbiltwife

On Sunday, Easter Sunday, we sang “Because He Lives.” And the line I can’t delete from my brain is, “Life is worth the living just because He lives.”

Why wasn’t it enough?

For one of our friends, the kindest person I’ve met, the one whom every girl was ready to marry just weeks into the freshman year of college … why wasn’t it enough anymore?

Zest for life shadowed by depression and circumstances. How could someone who loved life and others so much become so isolated? So desperate that life simply wasn’t worth the living anymore?

I don’t know.

I do know the scary edge of depression and the feelings of solitude. I know Paxil and Zoloft and they have been my friends. I know the desire to hide under my covers and sleep it all away. I know screaming and crying and wanting but not wanting to be alone. I know the what-if moments.

It’s hell to find out someone you love but haven’t talked to in years has taken their own life. To wonder what could have made it that bad and not know, have no inkling. To think, if I had called, if I had commented, if I had known …

It’s not about me and it’s too late for thinking. Only time for sorrow and flowers and tears for a ripped-apart family.

Maybe it’s not too late for one of your friends, though. Call somebody you love and say hi. It’s better to risk embarrassment at how long it’s been then to look back and have to wonder.

In loving memory of Michael James Clements, 1981-2012.