Hope Farm Housewife

Noisily, it slid shut, raising my awareness that the automatic van door was slowly approaching death. I sped out of the Montessori school parking lot, hit the red light, and mentally replayed the morning.

Why did the morning seem like such a battle with the kids?

Why was I feeling a brick of heaviness in my chest?

Why did I play on facebook last night instead of doing laundry? The house is a mess and it’s Monday.

I have pending work that trumps the housework!  What should I do when I get home?  Run, pray, clean house, work, write?  After all, I only have three hours.

I could feel the avalanche of self inflicted insults coming down – they would soon bury me. I recognized the pattern and knew I had to get a shovel to plow out of the approaching mental disaster.

I asked myself the questions; What do I need to do for myself ?  It was a no-brainer indeed: de-stress… slow down.

Going home and tackling a to-do list, overly focused on productivity was my plan, but I soon realized it was the…

While pondering what to do I heard something with my heart’s ears: “Go to the beach.” I argued with the idea, critiquing my self-indulgent motives, but spontaneously shifted into left lane and onto causeway, heading towards my favorite spot.

I grabbed the empty coffee mug and ran towards the sun that rained sparkles across the water – the sand felt warm and relaxing as the sound of crashing waves stilled my thoughts.

I started to drop beautiful found things in the empty coffee mug. Hurricane Irene made sure the beach was full of treasures.

I prayed, skipped, waded in the water and breathed deeply.

Heading back down the beach I felt like a new woman. The heaviness was gone,  I was livelier, healthier and most importantly I had perspective on the day!

The morning was such a healing agent for me that I convinced the whole family to go out after 5 p.m. to collect interesting items. We scoured the crevices of driftwood beach for treasures.

It was just what the doctor ordered.

In reality it didn’t actually turn into a throw-down but it could have….

For weeks I had been looking for the “right” bunk beds, scouring craigs-list, newspaper ads, and yard sale postings. We were ready to bunk our boys in a shared room.

One Thursday evening I saw a yard sale ad that mentioned bunk beds, the sale was on Friday morning, naturally I arrived bright and early, ready to purchase those bunk beds. Delighted, I  drove up and saw that they were red and very pottery barn-ish. To add icing to the cake, the price was right – $50.00 – AND they converted to twin beds. My mind was made up: these were the perfect bunk beds for me!

I expressed intention to purchase the beds to the seller who seemed thrilled to have a buyer. I then called my husband to make arrangements to pick up the beds when a lady drove up in an SUV and began to unload her stuff. As she walked past me, she seemed very interested in the conversation: she eagerly listened as I described the bunk beds to him.  I hung up and told the seller my husband would come pick them up and started to write a check when the lady walked up and firmly told me she (here-to-fore referred to as – named so by my husband – “Bunk Bed Tyrant” or BBT) was already planning to purchase the bunks from the seller. I looked at the seller questioningly and she seemed very surprised. The seller kindly pleaded with her but the BBT would not hear it.

Overcome with a strong desire to LEAVE – the ladies were starting to argue and I wanted no part in it. I kindly walked over and said “It is no problem. You can purchase the bunk beds – I didn’t know anyone else was interested in them”. The owner of the beds apologized profusely. I could still hear them arguing still as I drove away. Some fun they were going to have selling their stuff after that kind of start!

On the drive home I rolled over and over in my mind what had just happened. It didn’t seem real, then again it seemed so normal: how often do I feel like I have found the perfect purchase, opportunity, friend or job only to watch it slip right out of my fingertips. Those bunk beds looked like a pottery barn boys room had come to life and the price was exactly what i wanted it to be – exactly. Following my drive-home pity party, and a very quick coming-to-my-senses, my conclusion was that if God wanted me to have those bunks I would have them and it was not worth fighting over.

Fast forward to several weeks: I was – of course – still on the hunt when I saw an add for bunk beds. I was excited, but then an image of the cute red pottery barn beds rushed through my mind, and disappointment filled my heart. It seemed impossible to find another set of beds like those.

Lo and behold, I followed the address and I am shocked as i drive up to the same house where the previous sale was and the red bunk beds are STILL staring at me.

I strolled up the driveway, reluctant to look at the bunk beds: part of me expected the BBT to be lurking nearby – in hiding – ready to pounce on me for looking at her property. To my surprise the original seller said “I am so glad to see you, I really I wish I could have gotten your contact information”…,she went on to explain, that at the end of the day the lady decided she did not want to beds.

Really?

Are you kidding me?

The Bunk-Bed Tyrant had talked to me as if she was ready to fight to the death for them.

I couldn’t believe what i was hearing: the bunk beds were mine and this lady even lowered the price, for good measure. I called my husband to tell him about the bunk beds, he hesitantly asked “Are you sure?”, remembering the last incident. I assured him I had purchased the bunk beds, he came out and we loaded them up.

They are perfect!  I had so strongly felt the bunk beds were for me, only I had to wait and show patience and trust. I had to resist the right to fight and claim what I knew was mine. The bunk bed story is one I remember often. I return to the story anytime I feel there is something we need or an opportunity we are waiting for what has not quite become ours.

While we are waiting, there is so much growth we can do. We can trust him, praise him and rely solely on him while we wait. We can resist the urge to blame, sulk, become self centered and lose hope. We can wait with hope and expectancy that our God is a good father.

The bunk bed situation is one instance when I got it right, surrendering my will and trusting in his sovereignty in the situation. let me assure you I have gotten that same situation completely wrong a hundred times over. I am learning to wait……….

I bought my home seven years ago, drenched in 1940’s charm and laden with 56 years of  history, deterioration and antiquity. It came complete with one central bathroom – perhaps it was the black and white tile that lured me in – definitely love at first sight. The practical voice was silenced as naivete rose to the table…

…after all, if one bathroom was enough for a family in 1949, surely it is sufficient in 2004…

…after all, we weren’t planning to have a family in this house, it was our starter home…

…after all, I was utterly wrong on both of the previous statements.

Parenthood snuck up on us five months after marriage.

One bathroom + one pregnant wife = need another bathroom.

I began to walk around my small home brainstorming where the second bathroom could go. We had a large covered back porch with a tiny room attached – that tiny room held our lawn equipment, I began to poke around in there when I noticed an old rusty plumbing hook up. There were bolts in the cement where a small divide had been hung – it was rustic.  Though we both declared there once was a bathroom out there, one could hardly call it a bathroom – it was very small and WHY outside, away from the house? I had no explanation.

Until… I read the Help.

The help is a historical fiction novel which arouses many real-life memories for those who lived during it’s era. For example, my father reminisced of playing in his grandmother’s basement and noticing an old commode in a corner with a piece of plywood nailed around it. When he asked why it was there, his grandmother said “That’s the bathroom for the help.”

As we enclosed the back porch and began converting the small room back into a bathroom it was confirmed by the plumbers that there once was a commode and sink in that spot. While I lack official confirmation, the countless stories I’ve been told by my elders enforces the belief that it was common to have a commode out in your garage or shed encased by only plywood for ‘the help’. Today I visited a large home down the street that was being shown as an open house, the realtor showed me the ” the help’s quarters, a small room with attached bathroom off the back of the home. Below is a pic of the little corner that I believe was the help bathroom, this room was cinder block and it appeared that wood was bolted to the cement right beside the toilet as the indentations can still be seen in the painted floor.

Though it is humorous that the book has shed light on a plumbing quandry in my home, the book shed more light on the simple act of courage. The book is masterfully layered with varying perspectives – several maids and the women they work for – the maids employ great bravery as they share their tales of years worth of working as ‘the help’. Their actions could cost them their lives and least of all their jobs. The price to speak up was high but in the end Aibileen and Minnie – my two favorite characters – knew what they had done would bring awareness of the racial discrimination and elicit change.

This phrase in the book describes a simple truth about our differences: “We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought”

I enjoyed every minute of the book so I couldn’t wait to see the movie.  Sadly, I think it would  have impacted me more if I had not read the book first, as I was in constant comparison mode…

“Oh they added that,”

” this is not how it was in the book”,

” I wonder why they left that out”.

The girl who sat next to me had not read the book and knew little of the story: she cried and cried – overwhelmed with emotion. I secretly wished I was seeing the story with those fresh eyes – that newness.

Then again the book was an emotional and moving read for me, and I would not have turned away the opportunity to read it!

What did you think?

Goodbye!    Hello! Life is full of them.

Greetings and partings are just a part of life, & a heart wrenching degree of parenting is sandwiched between these two words.

Embracing and letting go are the essence of our years as parents – our entire lives are spent embracing and letting go. Anytime there is change, there is also a degree of grief.

This week I encountered an opportunity to both embrace and let go.

Yes,  I have entered the life of a school-aged parent.

My oldest child is attending a public school, which is something I never did. I was home schooled and, in later grades, schooled at a private, christian school. I did in fact grieve through this change.

I initially was a bit angry that we didn’t have the money to attend private school.

I explored financial aid and tried to use my bargaining skills to figure out tuition payments for private school. It was plain and clear that was not the right option at the time.

I was then worried that my parents would disapprove of my decision because they are both homeschool advocates. Thus a bit of depression was experienced.

I came to accept that I did not feel led to homeschool at the moment.

I came to accept that public education was the best decision for our family at this time.

Then the embracing began as I met his new teacher, became enthralled with the adorable vintage school that is across the street from the beach! Yes, you heard me, on the first day we could actually see waves and sea gulls while walking into school.  I also signed permission for him to go on field tips to the beach during school time. Hello, science class at the beach!

The school he is attending is absolutely precious and wonderful! I am looking forward to a great experience, and my family has been supportive in encouraging us to make the best decision for our family.

I knew there was no way he would cry or show fear: he is extroverted and very outgoing. Nonetheless, he did tell me he felt “a little shy” and he held my hand pretty tight walking down the hallway!

We posed for pictures and then he took his place, he looked up with a somber expression and said “I’ll be a good boy, Mama – I’m gonna make some good friends“. We said goodbye and then he called my name and came running to the door. I thought surely he was gonna cry and ask me not to leave – instead he said,”I just came back to tell you to have a good day and give you a kiss“!

When 2:35PM rolled around I was ready to hug my baby and hear all about his day so we went straight to the beach to ride waves and get sandy and sun-burned!

I’m not gonna lie – letting go can be painful and hard – however,  if we allow ourselves to grieve through the changes we will be able to embrace with a full heart!