Work or Love?

I read an article yesterday that my friend Katie posted from the Huffington Post.  In it, the author, a mother of three young children, articulated why she so despises the countless times that people in public places will, in one form or another, tell her to “Carpe Diem,” or cherish the time that she has with her small children.  She makes the point that we can’t actually cherish every single moment of every single day (if we try to, we will drive ourselves nuts), but rather we can look for certain brief moments each day that are “cherishable.” 

In the way that this woman hates being told to “Carpe Diem,” I hate hearing the quote, “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life.”  This is pure crap.  I can accept that there probably are, somewhere in the world, those unbearably positive, optimistic individuals, who may actually feel this way about their jobs, but for the vast majority of us who don’t live with our head in the clouds, a job is still a job.  Work is still work.  Even if you love it. 

I am a teacher.  I know that this is the job that best fits my skill set.  As a Christian, I know that this is the place where God has called me to be for this season of my life.  It is a job that is fulfilling and rewarding.  I leave each day feeling like I’ve actually accomplished something (not always as much as I would have liked, but at least something).  Yet, it is still work.  Hard work, at that.  Anything worth doing is hard, at least at certain points or in certain ways.  It is the kind of hard that makes me go home in tears some days.  It is the kind of hard that keeps me up some nights.  It is the kind of hard that makes me question whether or not I am doing it well enough.  Despite all of this, I still know it is the job that I am supposed to be doing and that I am designed to do.  It is still fulfilling and rewarding.  Yet I struggle to say, “I love teaching.”  So when I hear people say, “Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life,” I wonder several things: Why don’t I feel this way?  Is it because I don’t love teaching?  Why don’t I love teaching?  If I don’t love teaching, knowing that’s where I’m supposed to be, what do I love?  Do I love anything?  I don’t think I love anything!  At least, not in that kind of way.  Not in the “do this and it will make you enough money to live off of but still not feel like work” kind of way.  I love my family, but that’s not exactly a “thing” or a “job.”  Those are people.  And even if we’re talking about the job of being a mom and raising a family, there again I find myself back at the point that the author of the “Carpe Diem” article mentioned, which is that parenting is HARD WORK.  It will still feel like work, even if you love it.  So, why do I have such a hard time saying, “I love teaching”?  I was unbearably encouraged in the “Carpe Diem” article to read a quote from an author that was being interviewed.  He was asked, “Do you love writing?”  He answered, “No.  But I love having written.”  I don’t know that I ever would have thought to express it that way, but I think this fits how I feel.  Do I love teaching?  Not always.  But I do love having taught.  I love the result, the product, the change, the impact.  Do I love the process?  Not usually.  I hate getting up in the mornings.  I hate having to be to work on time.  I hate when lessons don’t go as planned or students don’t behave as expected.  Am I pretty decent at managing these issues?  Sure.  Does that make it “easy” or “non-work-like”?  No!  But it sure feels worth it when the end of a science lesson about the elements on the periodic table is cut short and the kids shout out, “Oh man!  We were just getting to the good part!”  (Are you kidding me?  Elements?  That’s what gets you going?)  Or when I’m reading an incredibly well-written book to the class, and they moan at the end of a chapter, “Oh please read just one more!”  This I love.  This is what I drag myself out of bed for.  Do I love teaching?  No.  But I love having taught.

A Real Woman

I have been thinking and meditating on Proverbs 31 a lot recently, specifically since the passing of my Mema.  There is something fascinatingly beautiful about that passage of scripture to me.  I don't know if it is the innate home-maker spirit in me looking for self-justification and self-worth, or, more realistically, the reality that some of the most influential, most powerful, most spiritual women I have known have fallen pretty clearly in line with the character sketch laid out in this chapter.

^10-31 A good woman is hard to find,
   and worth far more than diamonds.
Her husband trusts her without reserve,
   and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously
   all her life long.

I hope with all my heart for this to describe me.  I hope to always be worthy of being treasured by my husband.  I hope never to treat him spitefully, but always generously.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
   and enjoys knitting and sewing.

The idea of providing for my family something that I have made with my own hands delights me. 

She's like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
   and brings back exotic surprises.

I like to read this line as, "She experiments with weird ingredients in the kitchen and serves cheeses whose names you cannot pronounce."

She's up before dawn, preparing breakfast
   for her family and organizing her day.

Yep.  While this is a part of my life, I can only hope one day to do it with the kind of hospitality and generosity of my Mema.

She looks over a field and buys it,
   then, with money she's put aside, plants a garden.

While marriage is teamwork, I also strive to have the kind of independence that gives me the boldness to make well-thought-out decisions for the benefit of my family.  And I'm dreaming of the day when the gardening part is a realistic option.

First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
   rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.
She senses the worth of her work,
   is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.

I have to work at the "eager" part.  I find that I have to remind myself that the worth is more than monetary.  My work is significant, both for the lives of the students with whom I come into contact, and for my family so that I can help provide for their needs.

She's skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
   diligent in homemaking.

I'm trying to be.

She's quick to assist anyone in need,
   reaches out to help the poor.

Marriage has been the biggest catalyst for hospitality and generosity for me.  I love that our home is a place of ministry where we can entertain, comfort, feed, counsel.

She doesn't worry about her family when it snows;
   their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
   and dresses in colorful linens and silks.

Okay, so us Floridians don't have to worry too much about the snow, but I do attempt to stay on top of buttons that need reattaching, hems that need repairing, and old clothes that need repurposing into new clothes.

Her husband is greatly respected
   when he deliberates with the city fathers.

While my husband would be well-respected without me, I certainly hope that I always am an additional cause for respect, rather than shame, to be brought upon him.

She designs gowns and sells them,
   brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
   and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.

One day, I will sell my wares.  For now, I will attempt to face each day with a smile.

When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say,
   and she always says it kindly.

Being an introvert, this comes a bit more naturally to me.  In general, I try to make my words worth-while.  I try to make sure they matter.  That if someone hears something I said, it was because it had value.  I live by the "economy of language" rule: why say in eleven words what can be said in four?

She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
   and keeps them all busy and productive.

I will not micromanage, but I will keep my household active in the fulfillment of responsibilities.  My daughter will be self-sufficient.  She will not rely on others to complete tasks for which she is capable of completing.

Her children respect and bless her;
   her husband joins in with words of praise:
"Many women have done wonderful things,
   but you've outclassed them all!"

While this statement is lovely, I adore it in the New King James version: Her children rise up and call her blessed; Her husband also, and he praises her: "Many daughters have done well, but you excel them all."

Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
   The woman to be admired and praised
   is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
Give her everything she deserves!
   Festoon her life with praises! 

Festoon?  Really, Message translation?  Who says "festoon"?

Head and Shoulders

My daughter likes the song "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes;" however, she always skips the shoulders part when doing the motions (and often the knees, too, but she's working on that part).  Tonight, as I was rocking her before bed, I was singing "How Deep the Father's Love for Us," as I typically prefer hymns over lullabies.  [Have you ever really thought about the lyrics to the lullabies?  They're disturbing!  Babies falling out of trees, and what-not.]  When singing the second verse to Aubrey, I sang the line that says, "...my guilt upon His shoulders," and Aubrey promptly jumped in with the hand motions: shoulders, knees, toes, and back to the head again.  She cracks me up.

In Good Hands

As November has begun, I have been reminded of the importance of expressing thankfulness on a regular basis.  It should not be just a Thanksgiving Day activity, but rather a habit that is exhibited in my life, day to day.  I have found myself in these past few days being made aware of the enormous blessings that I have been given.  The biggest blessings by far are my loving husband and my amazing daughter.  I can't imagine what my life would be like without them, and I could never fully express how full my heart is because of them.

My daughter, as I mentioned, is amazing.  She really has become the light of my life.  She delights me in ways I never could have imagined.  I am in awe, almost daily, of the new things she is learning and doing, and it reminds me of the wonderfully intricate way in which we are designed by our Creator.  At 15 months old, her language is impressive.  She signs and speaks, sometimes independently or in combination, quite a number of words and concepts.  (sign and verbalize: please, thank you, milk, eat, cereal, Mama, Dada, baby, ball, hat, bye-bye, hi, bath, blanket... verbalize: go, up, door, magnet, Boss [dog's name], rock-rock, diaper, blocks, apple, pumpkin, banana, puppy dog, book, shoe, sock, flower, cheese-toast... sign: friend, kiss, play, bed, sleep...)  She follows many verbal instructions, and, almost more impressively, knows when she is not supposed to do something, indicated by her proceeding to do said-thing while staring at the nearest parent/adult to see what reaction it will get.  As impressive as her intentional behaviors are, the thing that has most struck me has been an almost-involuntary reaction that I have seen in her.  A few days ago, she and I were sitting on the living room floor, playing with toys.  Our dog suddenly began barking loudly at a passing dog on the other side of the window.  My daughter's gut-reaction was to scramble across the two-foot space of floor separating us as quickly as possible so that she could plant herself in my lap and cling tightly to me.  No one taught her what to do when she was scared.  No one sat her down and explained (or demonstrated) how she was to react when startled.  She just knew, through experience, that her mama's arms are safe.  And when circumstances seem unsafe, you get to a safe place.  I understand that this is normal behavior, but for whatever reason, on that particular day, it really stuck with me as significant.  It made my heart fill with joy, knowing that, for all the mistakes I may make as a parent, I have instilled in my daughter at a very young age the knowledge that she is loved and cared for and protected.  I pray that, for years and years to come, I will continue to make this the overriding concept that I communicate to her. 

Communication

One of my favorite things about being a mom is watching my daughter learn and discover new things.  It has been clear for some time now that Aubrey's receptive language skills are developing well and she is starting to understand many of the things we say to her.  However, only just recently have we really been able to see a huge step forward in her expressive language.  While she is very verbal, she rarely says anything that could be classified as actual (understandable) verbal communication, but she has started using several signs to communicate her needs.  I am aware that she is by no means the first baby to successfully communicate in this way, but because she is mine, it just delights me!  It started with simple touch-correlation signs, such as me saying "where's your head" or "where's your belly" and her touching the appropriate body part.  (Those are the only two that she accurately identifies right now.  We are working on "toes.")  After that, it was as though a light bulb went off for her, and she started to realize that she could get me to understand what she wanted if she did the right motion.   She now regularly signs "eat/food" and "bed" and "teeth" (when it's time to brush her teeth) and "all done / all gone" (finished).  She will sometimes sign "milk" and I think is starting to pick up on "water."  She will sometimes still identify her head and belly when asked, although that trick is old news now and she isn't always interested in responding.

I really am just delighted when I watch her.  She is so wonderful.

Big Girl

After making it through the birthday weekend, Monday was officially ditch-the-pacifier day.  Baby Girl was only using it during naps and at night anyway, but after talking with the pediatrician about the way it was affecting her teeth, we decided it was time to quit cold-turkey.  A friend mentioned this weekend that my blog would be a great resource for new parents because "the Stone's have it all figured out."  But really, I think the truth of the matter is that the Stone's have a really fantastic baby who makes parenting pretty easy.  All that being said, project Ditch-the-Pacifier has gone surprisingly well and far less painful than I imagined.  Monday's nap started with ten minutes of mad baby, and then she passed out cold.  Bedtime was about the same.  The only down side was that normally when she wakes up in the mornings, she self-soothes and lays in bed for quite a while before insisting that we come get her; today, as soon as she woke up, she needed company.  The early morning wake-up, however, meant that we got two naps in today.  First nap started with only five minutes of crying.  The second nap, there were only about two or three minutes of crying, then she started singing along with her musical toy that she went to bed with.  It was stinking adorable.  (She did manage to find a pacifier that had been missing in her bed, so she had that in her mouth at the end of her nap, but I don't think she had it for long, based on the singing.)  The bedtime reaction could barely even be classified as a cry.  It was more the sound of the last-ditch effort of fighting sleep.  I'm really proud of her for adjusting so quickly.  Part of our plan, other than saving her teeth from further spreading, is to have her weaned from the pacifier prior to starting childcare later this month, and that is looking like it will happen!  All in all, a good day.  (Also got another "Tuesday Craft Day" project done with my pal JL, so it was good all around.)

Parenting, etc. (with a lot of etc.)

Today marks the end of mine and Rob's first full year of parenting.  This year has, by far, been the best year of my life.  Completely and altogether different than any other year, but still, by far, the best.  Our daughter is amazing.  She is beautiful and funny and well-behaved and smart... and she's only a year into this life of hers. 

As for the birthday part of the day, it was relatively uneventful.  I mean, really, what do you do with a one-year-old for her birthday?  We did birthday pancakes this morning and then played around naps.  This evening after she went to bed, I got all the decor in place for the party on Saturday.  I also did some Susie-Homemaker-ish things around the kitchen.  Then, I got sucked into the black hole that is the internet.... and that's when my mental wheels started turning.

So as with all things online, one link led to another, and I found myself reading the archives of a random blog that I came across.  It started off great.  (The information I was actually looking for... slow-cooker recipes that can be prepped and frozen ahead of time.)  Then, I couldn't stop myself from reading all of the back-logged posts with alluring titles, such as "breastfeeding fanatic," "42 days of pumping," "all-natural parenting," etc.  Many of these posts expressed thoughts on parenthood that I myself hold.  Then it got weird.  It wasn't the right-off-the-bat weird.  It was the slowly-ease-into-the-weirdness weird.  It started with some issues where I just thought to myself, "this lady is trying WAAAY too hard."  By that, I mean this woman clearly had certain ideas of the type of parenting she wanted to practice, and she was determined to follow through on these "philosophies" regardless of how much she had to fight and struggle against the way things seemed to flow naturally.  (She even had a post acknowledging this herself.)  Examples of what I mean:
-Mom was determined to breastfeed, despite her daughter's physical limitations to do so.  Her initial solution was to pump and then bottle feed.  Completely reasonable solution.  One that requires an unbelievable amount of personal dedication, but given the dedication, still completely reasonable.  Mom was eventually able to get daughter to nurse some of the time, but still used bottles for the bulk of the feeding.  Enter the trying-way-too-hard part: this wasn't good enough for mom.  Baby, obviously, was getting the nutrition she needed, but mom was determined (at like 10 months old) for baby to start nursing full time.  And she went to extreme lengths to try to make this happen.
-Mom was convinced that co-sleeping was the best option for their family.  (This example will be short because I think it speaks for itself.)  Baby fell out of bed at least 5 times, receiving bruises on several occasions.  Mom has resorted to putting the mattress straight on the floor, moving the night stands clear across the room, and lining the floor with pillows.  Trying too hard (in my humble opinion).

And then it happened.  The this-is-officially-weird-now part.  She decided to eat her placenta.  No, this is not the first time I've heard of this.  The thing that made this weirder than usual was that this was not an early postpartum (read: crazy hormones) decision.  No, this woman had it in her freezer FOR A WHOLE YEAR, planning to bury it in her back yard and plant a tree above it, but she never followed through on the original plan, and it all of a sudden came to her that she should eat it.  WHAT???

***

Now, switching gears, in relation to all of this, what does my current life look like?  What kind of parenting do I "practice"?  What areas could I be labeled "weird"?  Well, here it goes.

Parenting: I am spoiled.  I have the best baby ever.  I don't just say that because I like her; she really is a good baby.  She is an AMAZING sleeper, she eats well, she is generally happy.  She has made my job pretty much as easy as it gets.  All that being said, I'm sure whatever Rob and I did from day one certainly has had an influence on her being so good, even if we were just winging it as best as we could!  So what did/do we do?  It's hard to summarize a lifestyle, but here's my attempt at condensing the key points.  I breastfed Aubrey from the beginning.  We had a rough start, but I stuck to it.  I did not try to schedule her feedings.  I just fed her when she was hungry, and that always seemed to work out well.  After a while, she pretty much fell into her own schedule.  Sleeping is a similar story.  We never really tried to schedule nap time, and really not even bed time.  It just all started to fall into a rhythm.  We tweaked things here and there to find out what worked best, but it hasn't ever been a fixed schedule kind of thing.  However, getting to sleep is a different aspect than the timing of sleep.  I do not rock my baby to sleep.  She puts herself to sleep.  I really believe this is a huge part of why she is such a good sleeper.  She is not dependent on me (or Rob) to fall asleep because that is not how we have conditioned her.  We have a routine that we follow every night (which includes rocking) that signals that it is time to get sleepy, but her eyes are always open when I put her into her bed.  We do not force her eat a certain amount, or strictly limit how much she eats.  If she doesn't want to eat any more, we stop.  If she is fussing for more food, we usually give it to her.  And like I said, she is a great eater.  I wouldn't consider myself and Rob to be "hands-off" parents, especially considering a recent conversation I had with a friend about what the extreme of this looks like, but we do allow for a lot of freedom.

Home life: There are some things that I do in a non-typical way.  I make my own baby food (which these days is pretty much "normal people" food, just frozen into small portions), I use cloth diapers (which are semi-homemade), and I have just recently started couponing, using dried beans instead of canned, cleaning with baking soda, etc.  Is this "weird"?  Maybe.  Is it eat-your-placenta weird?  No.

I started this post with an all together different idea of where I was going with it.  I was going to talk about how we are in the process of weaning, and how if I didn't work outside of the home, I would probably be one of those moms who kept breastfeeding for a moderately long amount of time (not four years or anything, but probably two).  I'm a little sad that this time is coming to an end, although it isn't completely ending, as I will still nurse morning and evening.  I was going to talk about how I am having some anxiety about the idea of my baby being in full-time child care this coming school year and how many other things that has got me thinking of.  I was going to talk about my latest decision to start putting together a bunch of freezer meals that can be pulled out and cooked with ease.  But all of those ideas sort of morphed into the stuff I babbled on about above this paragraph.  Good night.