tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40347801822639911032024-02-22T03:29:56.065-05:00The MacKenzies Go AdventuringBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-67693837578358947922014-06-22T21:59:00.000-04:002014-06-22T21:59:57.279-04:00Ordinary LoveI've been listening to that U2 song, Ordinary Love, a lot lately because I'm trendy like that. I've also been thinking rather a lot about Ordinary Time in the liturgical calendar. And, then, we offered the alter flowers this week at church and that means you also write a little blurb that goes in the announcements telling what the flowers are in remembrance of or celebration for or whatever and, so, with all that stewing about in my head and sandwiched in between the Target and grocery runs, I contributed this:<br />
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In celebration of the many miracles of summer; blinking fireflies, crashing thunderstorms, gentle night breezes, blooming flowers and 14 years of ordinary love.</blockquote>
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This apparently left some of the congregation rather nonplussed. <br />
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We were married on June 17. It was almost too hot. We were not quite too young. We really didn't have everything figured out. It was rather a lot scary and I only knew how to make 4 main dishes but we did it anyway. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwARaH_hu0_tvxkKrPykutzXrGTIN8cTNqsGx7IhTHWXAvrhuexF33YI0pjK6m3yIjO47r9wZlqMjA4c0webJH37bX_mAfVRlQNR0A2gMv18lYoMxPvqL62-mKklhjtvg-IHwfpZL118e5/s1600/IMG_3187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwARaH_hu0_tvxkKrPykutzXrGTIN8cTNqsGx7IhTHWXAvrhuexF33YI0pjK6m3yIjO47r9wZlqMjA4c0webJH37bX_mAfVRlQNR0A2gMv18lYoMxPvqL62-mKklhjtvg-IHwfpZL118e5/s1600/IMG_3187.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From this year, at the beach, our wedding was before the digital age</td></tr>
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When I wrote that little blip for the announcements, I was thinking about how extraordinarily important ordinary love is in a marriage and how it's strongly implied in the vows and, for that matter, in the liturgical calendar, but not so much spelled out. For sickness and in health, for richer or poorer... those can come off as so dramatic but it's really just all about for better or for worse. It's not the pits of despair juxtaposed against becoming independently wealthy. It's colds and migraines verses quite well rested. A good deal of a fairly stable marriage is partly cloudy versus mostly sunny. There are peaks and valleys but too many of them make the stuff of soap operas, not a relationship you can actually grow within.<br />
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That cup of coffee Allen makes me every morning is the height of mundanity. Folding Allen's socks and underwear is the stuff of endless purgatory. Being sure the bills are paid and the trash is taken to the curb on the right night, every week... yawn... Huge Yawn. But, think of what a marriage is without that. Without the passing glance, absent the habitual smile, missing the bits and pie<span id="goog_261180875"></span><span id="goog_261180876"></span>ces that are an ordinary life filled with ordinary love, it's not simply a slightly less full life, it's is an extraordinarily lonely one- even within a marriage. <br />
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There are moments for crash, bang, boom. There is a time for extraordinary, miraculous, courageous love but there is also an ordinary time. I adore those moments when I said "Yes," and "I do," and "We're going to have a baby," but I also adore the many very small moments of ordinary; of coffees and hand clasps and all those times when it's just that he showed up.<br />
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And, so, last year I wrote about my husband's heroic efforts and this year about his ordinary ones and I really can't tell you which make our marriage the richer.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XC3ahd6Di3M" width="560"></iframe>Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-57649425498723073342014-06-03T23:36:00.003-04:002014-06-03T23:36:35.114-04:00Embracing My PeopleI made my first foray into the south when I went to college. For 5 years, Nashville was my somewhat surprising home. I earned my Bachelor's and then my Master's. I met my husband and welcomed his proposal. I found friends. I learned about protective coloring. While my roots wander deep into southern Missouri and Illinois and the part of Florida that is more boats and gators and drawls than it is princesses and fairies, I was unprepared for pretty much all aspects of southern society done proper. I wouldn't say I mastered the skills but I did learn the value of a good set of pearls, a well placed "sugar," and the power of lipstick and mascara. Then I moved to Ithaca, New York, the only place I have ever felt that I was just shy of a tea party holding conservative.<br />
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But, we wandered back and now, here we seem set to stay, in Virginia. <br />
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Montgomery county is far enough into the mountains to be more country than southern. It's a fine distinction but important. It's farming and God and country and Pentecostals and snake handling and cool summer nights and winter snow. It's towns nestled in hollers and wondering what to do now that the textiles are gone away. It's trailer parks but not too many tornados. It's hippies hiking the Appalachin trail. It's pride in being a Lee of the Robert E. variety but also having more than a sprinkling of McCoys (see Hatfield and). It's towns too small to hold all their poverty and need but far too big to simply disapear.<br />
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And, nestled in, amongst it all, is the shining beacon of hope, Blacksburg. And, within, a subset of those who are most definately <i>southern</i>. While I suspect that few would be able to hold their own against that holy trinity (at least from my time) of Kappa, Theta, and Delta, I was well served by my hard won social graces when we arrived and I found myself in the thick of women 40 years my senior, valiantly working on my needlework and discussing the relative merits of homemade v box mix lemon squares. (I actually like the boxed quite well)<br />
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But, as time goes on, I find myself carving out a new spot for myself somewhere in the intersection of country and southern and the no-man's-land of Maryland (where I spent the first 18 years of my life) and the blatant simplicity of Mainah cooking my father demanded my mother master. I am slowly learning the thrifty kitchen skills my Dust Bowl grandmother could probably do in her sleep. I can whip up strawberry preserves and icebox pickles, although I admit to needing a recipe. I am learning to embrace canned milk products and am wandering towards pie crust proficiency <a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2007/11/cooks-illustrated-foolproof-pie-dough-recipe.html" target="_blank">even if it is by way of vodka.</a> I have a store of recipes under my belt to bring new mothers and another set to bring to covered dish suppers. I'm hoarding the children's outgrown jeans to turn into a rag rug.<br />
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For me, it all comes down to the food. I think that's really what it is to embrace your past; embrace your heritage; embrace your place. Knowing how to make your way through all manner of social strata and expectations is vital. Knowing when to pull out your pearls and when to throw on your ratty jeans is crucial. But, if you really want to know your culture; that bone deep culture that means home; that means your people; that means those that you will take in and that means must take <i>you</i> in? That's food. That's condensed milk and pie crust and a flakey biscuit. That's cast iron skillets and cornbread and okra. That's ham and greens and black eyed peas. And then, because I'm the product of an intricate past, it's also plain roasted carrots. It's steamed asparagus. It's clams you dug yourself. It's salt and pepper and maybe a little oil. And, for all of them, it's putting up and making do and saving a little for a rainy day. Because, for 5 years of my life, I learned to be a southern woman and for 11 I've learned to be a country woman but for 18 I learned to be a northern woman. Luckily, I don't have to choose which I want to be when I grow up and my table is plenty big enough to hold a skillet of cornbread even when it also holds baked beans.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-21155799479703993152013-09-25T07:23:00.000-04:002013-09-25T07:31:16.433-04:00Motherhood and JesusI gave the devotional at my MOPS group this week. A member asked me if I would post it so I am. The theme for the year is "A Beautiful Mess" and the theme verse is Ephesians 2:10.<br />
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If you're interested in more information about MOPS, you can go <a href="http://www.mops.org/" target="_blank">here</a>. In short, it's a mother's group affiliated with churches but open to all. <br />
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The relationship between Christ and the Crucifixion is written about somewhat regularly but my line of thought was inspired by a paragraph I read 4-5 years ago. It was another blogger commenting on yet another blogger and I have no idea where to find the original posting. But, to that mother that wrote those many years ago, when I was staring at a c-section scar and wondering when I would ever "get my body back," thank you.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">I gained insight into the power of the Holy Spirit in my early 20s. I had stuck with a college I thoroughly disliked; worked a job I grew to hate; under a supervisor who clearly was in the wrong profession all due to some sort of internally driven, willful stubbornness that this was where I needed to be even if I didn’t much like it. Through a series of decisions I likely really shouldn’t have made, I met my husband.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This sort of thing has happened often enough in my life that I have come to something of an understanding about the spiritual promptings of the Holy Spirit. Whenever you find yourself on a path that seems to defy all reason but are quite sure it is the one you should be on, if you listen closely, you can hear the Holy Spirit hollering with a slight unholy glee, “Road Trip!” The Holy Spirit is the best teacher you will encounter but the lesson plans are far from straightforward.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">Pastor Chris came and spoke to our group a couple of years ago. She touched on a number of topics but the thing that struck me was how my understanding of God had changed through my experiences of parenting. I don’t think we can ever fully understand the decision and choices our parents made and I think God is, rightly, even more inscrutable, but, as I parent I begin to understand why you sometimes say “no,” even though you very much want to say “yes.” I understand why sometimes, the process of keeping my children safe and healthy is in direct opposition to making them happy in that moment. I have experienced allowing my children to feel pain even when I want nothing more than to protect them from it. I see times when the only answer is “because I have lived longer and have seen more and have more wisdom than you and<i> <b>because I said so</b></i>.” I do not know the <i>mind</i> of God but I do feel that I am closer to understanding <i>his heart</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">But, the question we are looking at today is how we can embrace our beautiful mess. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><i>I</i> am looking at that even smaller question of what sort of growth does he offer in that moment that we take on the mantle of “mother?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">If I grew closer to the Holy Spirit before motherhood, and closer to God the Father through the many acts of mothering, what did that point in which I physically became a mother, offer?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">If anything is simultaneously beautiful and a huge mess, it would be having a baby.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">For questions as complex as these, there are no simple answers but I once read a meditation on motherhood that seemed to contain at least a piece and now I shall share what I learned with you. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">I can only speak to my own experience and I know that some of you came to motherhood from a different path. I most sincerely hope that you can find a bit of truth from my story to bring to yours. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">The author pointed out that sacred connection between childbirth and the Crucifixion. Jesus’ body was broken and his blood was shed so that we could have a life transcendent past death. He gave birth to our eternal life through pain, blood, and exhaustion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">My body was broken and my blood was shed so that my children could experience a mortal life. When I look at my scars and my stretch marks and I consider all the things that don’t work quite as well and aren’t quite as lovely as they were before I had children, I consider the gift that they represent. I was given the gift of offering life and for that I willing gave of my body and of my blood. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">While some mothers may not have had quite such a literal birth experience, I don’t think it could ever be debated that <i>we have all been broken</i>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">We have all given far more than we thought we had to give. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">We have all had a moment where we looked to God and said “Seriously? This is not what I signed on for. I need an easier task.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">We have all had our time in the garden, in the darkest hours of the night, wondering if anything could possibly be worth this level of pain, deprivation, complete exhaustion and absolute isolation. And then…</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">We heard that cry. We looked at those little feet. We counted tiny fingers and we felt that breath on our cheek and we knew that, <i>yes</i>, there was pain and <i>yes</i>, it was scary but also that <i>yes</i>, it was worth it and <i>yes</i>, we are <b>happy</b> we wound up on this very rocky but ever so sacred path. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">And, so, the next time you find yourself wishing that various bits worked a bit better or that various marks and scars were a bit fainter, remember that you became part of a symmetry so beautiful and so perfect, <i>it <b>must</b> be divine.</i> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">You are now in a unique position to tell <i>and be told</i>, </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">“This is the body broken for you. This is the blood, shed for you, that you might have life.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the path offered long ago. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"> This is your story, written before you were even imagined. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the sum of the choices you made and the choices that never seemed like choices at all. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is work of the Holy Spirit <i>joined</i> with the Father<b> </b><i>and</i> with the Son. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the broken that made us whole.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the bloodshed that offered us peace.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><b>This is the love that brings forth life.</b></span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">“We are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so <i>we can do the good things</i> he planned for us long ago.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the body that was broken for you and this is the blood that was shed for you and </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><b>YES, </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 32px;">this is the work of <span style="font-size: large;">Christ</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"> but</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 32px;"> it is also the work of mothers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">The work of <span style="font-size: large;">Christ</span>, who is so many things but one of them was taking the form of a mortal <i>man</i>, was akin to that which was ever before and ever after within the unique purview of women… </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">of mothers</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 32px;">This is the body broken so we can do the good things.</span></span></div>
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-8843431215827876582013-09-22T21:03:00.001-04:002013-09-22T21:03:09.498-04:00Ignorance, Eggs, and Guns Part 2So when last we left, I had put out a call on facebook for someone to teach me about guns. I knew I had at least a few friends who were gun users but I hadn't expected the strong response I received. The thing that most struck me was that there are a hunk of people who are gun owners, who aren't extremists, who would just like you to learn about their interests. There are a hunk of people who realize that if we stick with our current plan of relying on the most vocal and extreme to dictate the entire discussion about guns, we will wind up with policy that is, at best, *not* of the people- at least not of *most* of the people simply because *most* of the people have no idea what is being discussed. *Most* of the people don't even have the basic vocabulary needed to enter the discussion. Most interestingly, there was general interest among *non* gun owners. I didn't get any of the flames or condemnation I expected but instead, support- or at least curiosity, from all sides. But, that is for the next post. For this one, I thought I would touch on the more personal.<br />
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I have offers from 3 friends to come and learn. So far, I've managed to visit with 1. I handled 2 handguns, 2 rifles, and 1 shotgun. I came away fairly certain that if I ever owned a gun, it would be a shotgun, which really wasn't what I was expecting. I came to the conclusion that I felt a shotgun allowed for the absolute least moral ambiguity. You probably could shoot a shotgun by accident (and I'm sure that if I googled, I could find just such an instance) but I suspect the circumstances would be extreme. Shotguns are big and heavy. I struggled to hold this one steady- I can't see a child lifting one up and waving it around with any sort of ease. You can get manual shotguns fairly easily (rather than semi-automatic) which means you have to manually shift a shell into the chamber, every time. This one, at least, wasn't especially easy to load. The pieces were heavy and a little awkward. The trigger is stiff and requires significant pressure to fire. This is a gun that you can only fire with some deliberation- especially if you store it unloaded. <br />
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Shotguns also aren't really designed for covert use. While I'm sure you could theoretically use them for covert offense, this one, at least, would not be my first choice. We've all heard of shotgun weddings and I'm sure that they have been (and perhaps still are?) carried off to war. But, my general impression of a shotgun is that they are generally a defensive weapon and a weapon of last resort, at that. <br />
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In short, if I were to use a shotgun against another person, it would be in a very upfront manner. There would be solid visual and auditory warning before a shot was fired. It is a weapon that is forthright.<br />
<br />
Plus, it does have some multifunctional value. We do get the very occasional bear and somewhat frequent foxes and coyotes. If we do decide to raise chickens, I have heard that rubber bullets can come in handy in such cases. And, it can, after all be used to actually hunt for food should a series of really odd events occur.<br />
<br />
The thing is that the only time I have ever wished for a gun, I don't think it would have been of any use. <br />
<br />
When Charlie was 4, Megan 2, and Noah less than a year, I had set the children up in the kitchen with their afternoon snack. I went into the next room to retrieve a forgotten yogurt container and heard something odd. When I returned to the room, Charlie asked who the funny man was on our deck.<br />
<br />
This is when you get very clever, very quickly.<br />
<br />
I asked Charlie if the man was wearing a hat and what it looked like and glanced at the (private, gravel) road to see if there was a work truck. Every once in a while we'll get a meter reader or the like. <br />
<br />
He wasn't a meter reader.<br />
<br />
Penny (our dog) was napping and hadn't noticed anything amiss.<br />
<br />
This is what you think when you realize a strange man is wandering around just outside your home...<br />
<br />
Our home was not designed for defense.<br />
<br />
Our house has 6 doors and 3 levels. The children were sitting in the middle of a sliding glass door and I had been standing in front of a picture window. 4 of the doors have windows, including 1 slider and 1 mostly window door, with 2 window panels adjacent. The safest location was the master bath simply because I could put 2 locked doors between them and an intruder but the locks are flimsy and the master bath far from childproof and small. We were trapped if he found us. To get to the master bath, we had to pass 3 large windows and go up a flight of stairs. Megan was iffy on stairs, Noah had to be carried and neither could manage to be quiet for any length of time. I couldn't carry a butcher knife, a squirming baby, and hold Megan's hand all at the same time and none of the doors in our house would hold up against a bullet. It would take 5 minutes for the police to arrive. I couldn't see the man. <br />
<br />
That put the man at the other end of the house where he couldn't see the carport. It was a sort of long walk around the backside of the house and once he was in the front of the house, the van would no longer be an option for escape but if we were in the van and he was at the front of the house it would relatively simple to run him down or run away.<br />
<br />
The door to the carport is adjacent to the kitchen. If the man was going to just pick us off, he would have done it by then. The children had been framed, alone, in the sliding glass door for at least 30 seconds.<br />
<br />
I was very willing to use my minivan as a deadly weapon. It offered some protection to the children- metal probably being better than hollow core wood doors. It offered an opportunity for escape. I could transport all 3 children- none of whom would be able to really run and hide effectively on their own.<br />
<br />
I told the children we were playing a game and they got into the van quietly and everyone was buckled by the time I counted to 20.<br />
<br />
We drove to the police station.<br />
<br />
The time from Charlie reporting the man to driving away was well under 5 minutes- probably 2-3. Still long enough for something awful to have happened but also about as efficient as could possibly be expected.<br />
<br />
After investigating, we discovered that the man had been a person looking at buying the house behind us (we live on an acre). He had done similar things on other house tours and seemed to have no impulse control nor understanding of personal property boundaries. Happily, he didn't buy the house but he did get a visit from the police.<br />
<br />
The thing is that at no point in that scenario would a shotgun have made a material difference. It's unlikely we would have kept a gun in the kitchen. I likely would have had to go to a different room to get the gun- needing to hide the children in the process. We could have hidden in the bathroom, my initial thought, but we still had the stairs and 3 windows to navigate. I could have defended the bathroom but children that young couldn't be expected to remain quiet enough for it be a hiding spot- it simply would have been a fort. I still had the problem of where to physically *put* the children while I was holding the shotgun. Noah was just mobile enough to get himself into trouble in a place like a bathroom with razors and such and Megan was 2, not an age of the best judgement around such items *or* her baby brother and highly mobile. Plus, there was still the possibility that I would shoot, the suspected robber would shoot and the children would witness their mother and a strange man bleeding out on the floor and be unsupervised in a home with a loaded gun sitting out until the police discovered them.<br />
<br />
Granted, there are scenarios that would have put us at a slightly higher vulnerability but it was pretty high up there in worst case situations. I was a mother, alone, with 3 very young children- none old enough be anything other than a liability. There was an attacker invading from an unknown direction using an unknown level of force and no hope of immediate assistance. The only source of intelligence was a somewhat reliable 4 year old. Would a shotgun have been useful if there had been 2 adults or even just an 8 year old floating around? Yes. Would a shotgun have been a practical response if the same thing happened today with children 7, 5, and 3? Yes. But, the fact is that at the time I would have been mostly likely to expect to use one, it wouldn't have made a material difference in my response. So, it makes me wonder if what I expect to be true and helpful in other crises is really what would be useful. While I am more confident that I *would* be completely willing to injure or kill or behalf of my children, via gun or other weapon, I am left wondering at the logistical realities. While we generally assume that you would hear the clink of broken glass, the alarmed barking of the dog, and creep towards an attacker in the dark of night, from your bedroom, is that what is really likely to happen? If anything, it made me *less* likely to want to own a gun which is really *not* what I would have expected, presented with this as a hypothetical. While I understand that guns can and have been used for home defense I have to wonder if it's really an option for *me* which is the only factor that really matters. Perhaps a panic room is a more practical option for mothers with babes in arms? At any rate, it's a tabled discussion for now but not one I would have had before last month.<br />
<br />
Next up, learning the lingo... All the stuff I thought I could define but couldn't.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-83632103523317645972013-09-01T11:57:00.001-04:002013-09-01T11:57:18.874-04:00Ignorance, Eggs, and Guns Part IThe Sandy Hook shootings occurred while we were in Ireland. I was never quite so grateful to be abroad as I was then. My husband is a professor at Virginia Tech. I distinctly remember the feelings I had the first day he went back to the office after the incident on April 16. Charlie and Megan were in preschool the day a police officer at a routine traffic stop on campus was shot and the gunman ran. That was the second day I spent an afternoon staying away from the windows, praying, and checking my twitter feed; Allen was out of town. I was so grateful when I took the children to their little Irish school, knowing that the gun violence rate in Ireland is in the low double digits... for the whole country. On our walk to school, I thought about those parents who lost their children but I also breathed normally and dropped my children off feeling confident that they were safe from serious harm.<br />
<br />
Then came the weekend and we rode the LUAS. That's when I always remembered that while Ireland doesn't tend to have much gun violence now, it wasn't always the case. The security force wear bullet proof vests, carry semi-automatic rifles (or perhaps automatic- I never asked), and look rather like you would expect security to look in a country where terrorist bombings aren't all that far in the past.<br />
<br />
While we were in Ireland I heard about the little boy who shot a playmate as well as rumbles about the latest NRA convention, mixed feelings about the lock-down of Boston, and all manner of discussion about the need for expanding or relaxing gun control.<br />
<br />
I spent a lot of time walking from place to place in Ireland and that meant I also spent a lot of time thinking. And, during my walking, I realized just how very little I knew about guns.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I had no idea what to tell my children to do if they saw another child pick up a gun.</li>
<li>I knew to call 911 if my children found a gun but no idea what to do if we were somewhere out of reach of the cell phone towers. I didn't even know how to safely pick one up.</li>
<li>I had no idea how to identify a gun beyond big or little; no idea if I was looking at a rifle, shotgun or pistol.</li>
<li>I had no vocabulary to even join in the conversation about what guns made sense for civilians to own and which didn't.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
As I pointed out to a Swiss friend (which does quite well in the militia department), if the goal of allowing for private gun ownership is the ability to raise a well-armed and trained militia, the US is really falling down on the job. The thing is that I had been raised with a mentality that guns were across the board bad. There was no viable reason to own a gun. I had the vague impression that if you touched any part of a gun it would randomly fire and kill a) a small child b) your best friend or c) your childhood pet<br />
<br />
When it came to any element of gun ownership, I was pretty much flying blind, the victim of my own willful ignorance. The US population seems to fall into a couple of general categories when it comes to guns. The first group, that I was in, would pretty much like guns to just go away. The ideal move would be to just take out the 2nd amendment- sort of like we did with slavery. Barring that possibility, (and it's slightly terrifying implications) the first group would like to make it really hard to acquire bullets or maybe just make it hard to actually get to your gun doing some sort of complicated regulatory system involving firing ranges storing your gun. The second category is the "take this gun out my cold, dead, hands" group that also sees any restriction in gun ownership as a decisive step down a slippery slope that ends up somewhere between The Hunger Games and North Korea. There are a few groups with somewhat more nuanced opinions but they are, at the least, not loud enough in the political arena.<br />
<br />
The thing is, in Ireland, where strenuous attempts have been made to limit gun violence, you still have heavily armed and armoured guards wandering around the public transit systems. When I was teaching in rural upstate New York and even when I was living in suburban Maryland, there were families that relied on wild game to complete their basic dietary needs. Now, in rural Virginia, I know that there are people who have to defend their hen houses from coyotes, foxes, and even the occasional bear. We have completely decimated the predators that kept the forest ecosystems in balance and there are deer pathetically foraging amongst my hydrangeas. A friend doing doctoral research on parasites, had to kill periodically to get vitally needed data and the most humane method, as determined by the Forestry service and Fish and Game, was a quick and decisive shot to the head. I don't think pretending guns will go away is really a viable nor responsible method of dealing with the issue. Further, coming to the table with many opinions but little knowledge, tends to make for fiery but unproductive conversation.<br />
<br />
I came to the conclusion that if I learned cpr, boating safety, water safety, and air crash survival tips, in the unlikely event that I would ever need any of those parenting skills, it made just as much sense to learn some basic gun safety. As a citizen of a country where we are actively debating gun ownership, I needed to develop some basic gun literacy. I wanted to be able to touch a gun without hyperventilating; identify it in a basic way; be able to tell if it was loaded; and how to safely pick on up. My focus was 2-fold. First, I wanted to be able to respond intelligently in the highly unlikely event that I or my children came across a gun. Second, I wanted to be able to have an informed conversation about responsible gun ownership.<br />
<br />
I needed to find an instructor. The NRA hunting classes are for people who actually want to shoot a gun, or, at the very least, aren't petrified of them. I needed a class for people who really didn't like guns, didn't really want to fire one, and didn't have a goal of getting a carry licence but <i>do</i> want to be informed citizens and responsible parents. So, I did what every sensible girl would do and turned to Facebook.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-77125439546911303182013-08-09T21:12:00.000-04:002013-08-09T21:12:22.244-04:00Quick and Dirty Cooking: 7 Meals for when the tough get goingI thought I would start passing along my quick and dirty cooking tidbits. It's the sort of thing that sees you through when the baby has colic, the toddler is potty training, the preschooler is melting down and you thought you might break out in hysterical tears when you saw it was still 4 hours until bedtime. They won't win awards or be quite as good as you could do but they will get you fed and sometimes that's all that matters... <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I were a very good blogger, I would start in an organized fashion, first advising on meal planning, then freezer stocking, then doing yourself a favor (what Leila calls <a href="http://www.ourmothersdaughters.blogspot.com/2012/10/v-save-step.html" target="_blank">"save a step"</a>) and <i>then</i> the 7 meals but I am obviously the sort to Live On The Edge! ;-)<div>
<br /></div>
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All 7 meals rely on your pantry and freezer, contain ingredients that go on sale frequently and require little time or thought to throw together.</div>
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Stir Fry - dump 1-2 tbls oil/butter, 1-2
bags stir fry veggie mix, 1-2 cups cooked chicken and soy sauce to taste in
skillet. Cover until everything starts to thaw. Throw 1-2 cups frozen rice into microwave safe bowl, add 1/4 cup water and microwave on high for 3 min. Add to skillet and saute with another tablespoon of butter. Perk up with a little lemon juice if you have it on hand.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Tortellini Soup- cook frozen or
dried tortellini in ½ chicken broth ½ water according to package
directions. Add fresh or frozen
veggies like spinach, peas, or carrots as desired as well as dried parsley
flakes. Alternatively: Sauté
veggies and cooked tortellini in butter/olive oil mix. Add slices of sausage if desired and
make a quick pan sauce by adding a little chicken broth. Top with paprika and dried parsley. This looks impressive, tastes filling and is so very simple!</div>
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Fake-a-dillas- dump 1-2 tbls oil,
1-2 cups chicken (preferably shredded), 1-2 packages fajita veggie
mix, 1 can rotell or salsa, ¼ c water.
Cover and let steam for about 10 minutes or until everything is
thawed. Saute an additional couple
of minutes to allow excess liquid to cook off. Serve with tortillas and shredded cheese.</div>
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Spaghetti and meatballs- Brown
meatballs, dump on sauce, cook spaghetti and mix.</div>
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Kielbasa- dump 1-2 tbls oil, sliced
kielbasa (or other sausage), frozen fajita mix, and frozen rice or diced frozen
potatoes in skillet. Cover until
everything is thawed and sauté off excess water. Season with paprika.</div>
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Pizza- I make my own crust. The pizza yeast packets are especially handy for difficult nights but premade crusts will work as well. Add sauce and cheese. I top with peppers, caramelized onion (easy to make in slow cooker), deli meat ham, and mushrooms but no toppings or just ham are also good!</div>
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Pepped up pasta salad: I start with a premade boxed pasta salad- usually a ranch or herb type and add tuna and cannellini beans to add protein and add frozen corn and peas to the pasta in the last 3 minutes of cooking. When I mix the seasoning packet, I add more mayo than called for or sometimes add sour cream instead if I have it on hand.</div>
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<br /></div>
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For those wanting a grocery list, make sure you have the following on hand. It's helpful to stock up when there is a sale. All of these keep well. Note: I usually try to avoid processed ingredients but there is a time and a place for everything... And, at some point, I'll write up how to make several of these convenience foods yourself- such as freezing beans you cooked yourself.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
boneless, skinless chicken (bake in bulk in oven and cube, cook in slowcooker and shred, freeze in 1-2 cup portions)</div>
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chicken broth</div>
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tortellini/ravioli</div>
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dried pasta/spaghetti</div>
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boxed pasta salad</div>
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spaghetti sauce</div>
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pizza sauce or tomato paste</div>
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frozen fajita veggie mix</div>
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frozen peas</div>
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frozen corn</div>
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frozen stir fry veggies</div>
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frozen diced potatoes</div>
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diced seasoned tomatoes and/or salsa</div>
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tortillas</div>
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shredded cheddar</div>
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shredded mozzarella</div>
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meatballs (premade or make your own)</div>
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pizza bases or pizza yeast</div>
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sausage</div>
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cannellini beans</div>
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Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-29752084396201505642013-07-27T10:09:00.003-04:002013-07-27T10:09:20.304-04:00Cliffs of Moher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You forget what a violent process creating new earth can be. I'm most familiar with the rolling, ancient hills of the Appalachian chain; quiet witnesses to the passing of eons and epochs. They are a comforting witness that even the wildest of the Earth will eventually take to a rocking chair and tell you stories of what once was while you play at their feet.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXU-k6kwK-V42oZQJM75CJxN9uiWegoKoX3dQlYMEyNJw3IB_LNwFLQw_k_Uoy_dkXJ8OrE3KftQ7bOSiV3iwLELHIkQB7U84pfuCrQ2Uuhi3tz7utQaBQJnQDd0ZdHHpdKe5fGllLgQg3/s1600/IMG_2282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXU-k6kwK-V42oZQJM75CJxN9uiWegoKoX3dQlYMEyNJw3IB_LNwFLQw_k_Uoy_dkXJ8OrE3KftQ7bOSiV3iwLELHIkQB7U84pfuCrQ2Uuhi3tz7utQaBQJnQDd0ZdHHpdKe5fGllLgQg3/s200/IMG_2282.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triskele represent many things-<br />one is the earth, sea, and sky</td></tr>
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We would visit my grandparents in southeastern Missouri, crossing over the Mississippi and then going a little further, to Sikeston, just a touch on the other side of the New Madrid Fault line. Always, my mother would tell us of the big quake of 1812 when the Mississippi River ran backwards. As we would drive over the levies, looking over the endless green rows of soybean, corn, and cotton, she would tell us about how the soil was so very fertile, both from the regular overflows of the rivers as well as the fact that once upon a very long time ago, right where we were driving, was the bottom of a deep, deep sea. This was heady stuff for an 8 year old, especially one who had been in a car for somewhere around 14 hours. I could close my eyes (if I wasn't too car sick) and imagine the prehistoric beasts gliding past, their great teeth, almost close enough to touch. I would wonder if they knew that their days were numbered and that one day, I would look at their bones in the Smithsonian on rainy Sunday afternoons. The New Madrid was deceptively small, as well. It's just a little hump, hardly more than the damns we drove on top of and perfect for sledding down on snow Sikeston never saw.<br />
<br />
I've seen the Rockies and live volcanoes in Hawaii. The Rockies were stark reminders of just what can happen when two continent meet but they are so huge as to be nearly unfathomable. I can appreciate their beauty but only on a abstract level. The live volcanoes are awesome displays of the raw power of creation, both in it's subtle ways as magma slips and bubbles quietly into the cooling ocean as well as when it aggressively claims it's new territory in impressive displays of pyrotechnics.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3p_-w_KbXyF3uBlCDPMET7hVmv5pCYE3vg2SUy5jqE2Psg2ds9dCZoH6OOYoMipvBhOO7IDTWpY5BDwWk2Hn6KJiz29CMMQ4WMUK8d9zI70MPkmD0DDgStdXyH8dHhshDG8OfWoG1uBK/s1600/West11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3p_-w_KbXyF3uBlCDPMET7hVmv5pCYE3vg2SUy5jqE2Psg2ds9dCZoH6OOYoMipvBhOO7IDTWpY5BDwWk2Hn6KJiz29CMMQ4WMUK8d9zI70MPkmD0DDgStdXyH8dHhshDG8OfWoG1uBK/s400/West11.jpg" width="400" /></a>But, none of these could have prepared me for the Cliffs of Moher. Looking them down had the visceral impact of your first peek at the Rockies while being of a size that you could easily comprehend their scale and scope. For a few moments (perhaps longer, if you weren't there with young, very inquisitive children), I felt that I could understand, in a way I never had prior, my place within the land and the sea. The sea caressed the land while also taking away. The land gave but also stood steadfast amongst the constant requests. Both could be harnessed but never fully tamed- something so easily forgotten in a time of climate controlled buildings, flying machines, and food that comes neatly packaged. To stand at the edge of those cliffs was to stand in the on the edge of that which is civilization. Once, long ago, people must have crossed the Island to see what was on the other side and found what must have seemed like the edge of the world. <i> I</i> thought I was at the edge of the world even knowing I had lived beyond it. The rocky shore danced between the two, betwixt and between, the ephemeral child of two warring but eternally mated elements. Over the tympanic melee, danced the civilizing strains of pipe and string, giving hint as to how human had made peace with both water and land, nurtured and nurturing both; the very core of what it was to be the people who became known as The Irish.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWaKM9S6xkbEW9YD8jkZassZS5XaCUsJ2k-iQW1MWZI8T8JgqpKk6t1Yha7ImvpItC8M3e4m8zTNOXn5zzyTCKbo0w7pWkwb59zya49mpZXXu1fSEqwb4XmglYBSdQwQiUKxJdL761Ks1/s1600/West8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWaKM9S6xkbEW9YD8jkZassZS5XaCUsJ2k-iQW1MWZI8T8JgqpKk6t1Yha7ImvpItC8M3e4m8zTNOXn5zzyTCKbo0w7pWkwb59zya49mpZXXu1fSEqwb4XmglYBSdQwQiUKxJdL761Ks1/s320/West8.jpg" width="283" /></a><br />
And, somehow, as I was standing at the edge of the world, I was also standing on the edge of time in a way I imagine gods and astronomers regularly experience. The tide is the constant metronome of the eternally changing sea while the stolid rocks, constantly shifting and sighing, carried off by the water and borrowed by wind, become the unexpected inconstant, the evidence proving that time must always be accompanied by change no matter how infinitesimal. Both elements become penultimate, coerced by gravity which is intransigently insistent that there can be only one above all others and they shall bow to his might. The steady constant of change within the intractable interplay of that which wants nothing more than to stay the same is surely the kernal which is life: the essence of time. You stand at the top of a cliff and you are standing at a vortex of that which is, which was, and what must be.<br />
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If you go nowhere else in Ireland, go to the Cliffs of Moher.</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-36285811522171644942013-07-25T07:35:00.000-04:002013-07-27T21:47:30.538-04:00My KitchenMy kitchen makes me happy and I think it's pretty. I'm not sure a kitchen can help but be real. Most of all, being back in my kitchen makes me content. And so I am linking to...<br />
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One of the most common questions I get is what I missed the most when I was in Ireland. I really missed my kitchen. I thought I would share some of the bits and pieces that I most enjoy. <br />
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It's a country kitchen. I didn't really set out with a great deal of enthusiasm for the style but over time, I've found that it works well both for the kitchen I was given (the house was built before I was born) and my personal style. I've veered towards materials made of glass and metal and wood. I try to choose items that are sustainable and re-usable. I like things that are easy to clean and keep clean and that look reasonably nice, even when you don't get around to actually putting them away for a few days. I needed storage materials that are mouse and ant proof. I needed things that are durable and easy to find and not too fiddly. I need to easily find what I'm looking for and take my favors when they are offered.<br />
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Over time, I've grown to learn that this is pretty much the way country housewives from quite a while ago apparently approached things and so, I have a country kitchen...<br />
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This is the counter to the right of my sink. I like my dishes to not smell like anything when they are clean- not flowers, not lemon, not vague "fragrance." I also don't like to pay for people to drive water around to me. So, I want an unscented powdered dish detergent. This is surprisingly difficult to find. I've found 7th Generation Free and Clear to be the best option. I needed to have it out of easy reach of small people and the box wasn't all the attractive. So, I got a cracker jar and put it in there with a pretty scoop from the farmer's market.<br />
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I keep all my tea bags in the Dr Who cookie jar. It seemed appropriate and I've heard that country housewives of the 1920s were big fans.<br />
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I had a mug tree and it was always getting unbalanced and tipping over. The rack was actually intended to hold houseplants but I like it better for mugs. <br />
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Big Ben is from our visit to London and the tea pot is from a friend in Ireland.<br />
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I use canning jars for all sorts of things and keep the rings and lids in the berry boxes. Those boxes are always so pretty and fairly sturdy, it only seems right to put them to use.<br />
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I accumulated rather a lot of vases. It seemed like such a waste to only use them for flowers so, a while ago, I put them to work holding dishrags and utensils. Cracker jars also hold my flour and sugar. The little jar is cornmeal for sprinkling on the baking stone. The Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook is my go to cookbook. It covers all the day to day cooking questions you might have in clear terms using supplies you probably already have and using techniques it will teach you if you don't already know them. When Allen's international students ask me how to learn American cooking, I suggest they try looking through it.<br />
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Canning jars are a real workhorse in my kitchen. I store most dry goods in them. Cardboard boxes are no match for Virginia humidity and I have no patience with slippy, slidey, slithery plastic bags. I also do a fair amount of shopping in the bulk bins and can bring my jars to the store to fill directly. And, if you ever have a problem with any sort of critter, glass will keep them out far better than plastic or cardboard. Canning jars will stack, have interchangeable lids, come in all sorts of sizes, and can be run through the dishwasher when empty. A distracted mother can tell at a glance that a 5 pound bag of cornmeal was a lot more cornmeal than she realized but that popcorn is in short supply. I also use canning jars a great deal in the freezer for everything from beans I've cooked ahead to applesauce and soup. You just have to be careful to allow for expansion.<br />
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We use widemouth pint jars for adult cups and the 1/2 pints for children's cups. They are extremely durable, withstanding all manner of toddler mishaps. The 4 ounce jars are perfect for baby food, some baking needs such as baking powder, and make ideal paint cups holding plenty of water while also being very tip resistant. The 4 ounce size is also useful for storing things like chopped onion or lime wedges that you always seem to have too many of to use all at once but don't want to throw away. The handiest thing about the pint jars is how they have the ounces marked on the side- this makes cocktail time a breeze. :-)<br />
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We mostly use cloth napkins. I made cloth wipes mostly for diapering but made a few extra (color coded) for use in the kitchen. Wipe making is one of those projects that it's just as easy to make 20 as 10 and doesn't require that much more in materials. These are perfect for the heavy duty napkin needs of the young child. I made one side flannel and the other either terry or chenille. They are very absorbant, quite soft, and a managable size for the very small set to wipe up their own messes. The only caveat is that since they are so thick and absorbant, it takes them a while to dry so you need to be mindful of possible mildewing if you get behind on the laundry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2lPyriF67Zo21JIFNaIYSoAlV4-lo4HmfQKEX4OOgzPIM5ipbVh95SenYZ1TD4BbX5LZvaqGoIIh72Z4Ib3jdsTOznSDnSWpbELjY8s3lHrG_ihDPSzN0n646CDeBAhVYTmNEc1Bubja/s1600/IMG_2309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2lPyriF67Zo21JIFNaIYSoAlV4-lo4HmfQKEX4OOgzPIM5ipbVh95SenYZ1TD4BbX5LZvaqGoIIh72Z4Ib3jdsTOznSDnSWpbELjY8s3lHrG_ihDPSzN0n646CDeBAhVYTmNEc1Bubja/s200/IMG_2309.JPG" width="200" /></a>We've started using the recipe and method offered by <a href="http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/2010/02/09/back-to-basics-tips-and-techniques-to-create-a-great-loaf-in-5-minutes-a-day" target="_blank">Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day</a>. It's a joint effort between Allen and me. I'm pretty sure the fact that Allen is a morning person is proof positive that Jesus loves me. I mix up a double batch of bread about once a week, form it to rise and rest in the refrigerator the night before and then Allen bakes it up in the morning. If you want to know how to make it that nice shape, it's easy. I line a basket with a tea towel or cloth napkin and sprinkle it with flour. After I shape the loaf, I pop it in the basket. The basket adds a little structure to the final rise and rest. Allen gently plops it out of the basket onto the baking stone in the morning.<br />
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I realize that there are several schools of thought on child-proofing. My body has a very enthusiastic response to progesterone so I desperately needed to leave young children alone in the kitchen at a moments notice without having to worry about if they were dumping all the flour on their heads. Most of our lower cabinets have child latches but we had some spinning corner cabinets that wouldn't work for. I had my husband put in some eye hooks and used those really long twist ties that secure children's toys in packaging because a toy that will be hurled down 2 flights of stairs should obviously be well cushioned in transit to your home...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZv_1RmXG4Ceeyv3Olq_f0bxo4ntoDVPyTP_SIrn1yqqTB3jDqnPSmrkIC6JaorSpKMNPsVup7VnqqBZDg4ZGhaBnrCn-Ingjdnny3HZWxxol-T-qU75NFsCaz-pFvWcNjsYjsUtuu-qNX/s1600/IMG_2306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZv_1RmXG4Ceeyv3Olq_f0bxo4ntoDVPyTP_SIrn1yqqTB3jDqnPSmrkIC6JaorSpKMNPsVup7VnqqBZDg4ZGhaBnrCn-Ingjdnny3HZWxxol-T-qU75NFsCaz-pFvWcNjsYjsUtuu-qNX/s200/IMG_2306.jpg" width="149" /></a>In other parts of our home, I just tied a ribbon through bookshelf door handles and we also installed hook and eye latches high up on sliding closet doors in the bathrooms. This won't keep a really determined preschooler out but will discourage them and will also buy you some time to notice what's going on before all the toilet rolls have been unrolled or the family pictures have been scattered around the room. <br />
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<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-14763001837304914342013-07-23T19:44:00.000-04:002013-07-23T19:44:49.039-04:00Muscle MemoryI had been prepared for the mechanics of re-entry to be a slog. I have been pleasantly surprised to find it exactly the opposite. The trick is to rely on my muscle memory.<br />
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You know how you'll re-arrange your bathroom cabinet and reach for your toothbrush in the old spot for ages? I'm using that to my advantage. When I've gone to unpack dishes and books and All The Clothing (seriously, how could such small people need so many socks?), if I try to remember which drawer they go in, I'm sunk. But, if I just let my body move, everything lands right about where it should be. The "where" being instantly clear once it's actually there but terribly fuzzy until that moment.<br />
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It's the same sort of approach I take to standardized tests (and I rock standardized tests). If I don't think all that much about a vs c, I almost always pick the right one. My downfall comes in the "check over your work" moment. I learned through painful experience that I just should be sure I didn't skip a line and otherwise leave well enough alone. Of course, this is all further evidence that you should never put all that much stock in test results- I got a 700 on the SAT Math section (before re-norming and whatnot). That alone is reason for indictment of the college board. <br />
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Interestingly, my husband, is having a far rockier re-entry process than I but expected it to go far more smoothly. I tend to be significantly more intuitive than he.<br />
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My biggest concern had been driving. Drivers and their roads have their quirks. In Ithaca, it was that whoever was going downhill always had the right of way when it came to things like stop sign placement- this was on account of needing to drive in snow and ice. In Nashville, the drivers could NOT fathom how to merge and fell to pieces when it rained but became bizarrely aggressive on ice. I learned to drive in Frederick, which was a reasonably sleepy town with the nice trick that if you drove 25 mph (the speed limit) you could catch all the greens on Main Street. It also had a rather large preponderance of one way streets that were not always clearly marked. Before too long you had to be able to navigate the beltway and the required agressive driving around DC and Baltimore.<br />
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I don't think I've driven anywhere that was quirkier than Blacksburg, though. The crux of the matter is the number of different driving styles you see come together. It's sort of the whole rural v city, town v gown, fiscal conservative v social liberal tension that threads through everything around here and is mainly addressed by the town planners via many, many stoplights and one round-a-bout (which really does work quite well despite the misgivings of pretty much everyone).<br />
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It took me a long time to figure out exactly what was going on but the crux of the issue is that you have a bunch of basically country/small town drivers running smack into (sometimes literally) rather inexperienced drivers who learned to drive in places like New Jersey and DC. When I moved to Nashville from Frederick, I was constantly having riders ask me why I was cutting people off until I got the hang to of the very polite to non-functional merge pattern favored there. Blacksburg traffic is that conflict on steroids. The ain't-in-no-hurries v the agressive drivers isn't pretty. Plus you get the added wildcard that at least 20% of the drivers are lost to some degree or another- it heads up to 40% in August and September as the resident population doubles with student move-in. The wildest of these wildcards is the returning alumni. They hit the roads with the carefree assurance that they <i>know</i> this town, nay, practically <i>own</i> it, really, ignoring the 15 years of infrastructure tweaks that have occurred, blithely gesticulating to their captive off-spring, recounting their glory days and making a left hand turn from a lane that has been straight only for the last 10 years. Nothing is perhaps quite so unpredictible as the lost driver who doesn't know he is lost. I am the rare inverse of the unwittingly lost driver, a driver who thinks she's probably lost until she suddenly realizes that she apparently knew just where she was going all along, just as long as she doesn't actually try to think about how to get to where she's going.<br />
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The mind is rather odd thing.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-31677793640396315232013-07-09T14:06:00.001-04:002013-07-09T14:06:24.268-04:00The ReturnWe've been back in Blacksburg about a week and I've been surprised at some of what I forgot. <br />
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I had forgotten the love of plastic bags we have. Every item in it's own simultaneously forever and ephemeral casing.<br />
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I had forgotten what proper attire was for Target and Walmart when you are picking up a few odds and ends before you headed out to the lake or fishing or the family barbeque for the long 4th of July weekend.<br />
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Noah had no memory of riding in a shopping cart and had to be coaxed to sit up so high. He eventually declared it even better than riding on a swing.<br />
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I had forgotten the fireflies blinking out the morse code of the summer, their message instantly discernible to all who have ever been a child. They call for you to enjoy that delicious moment when the air turns and the breeze picks up. It's that very last moment of the day; that moment of indulgence when bedtime is pushed just a bit further back so children can spin and catch and giggle before the night turns over to the raucous fun of the slightly older crowd. <br />
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I have developed a fixation with being warm which translates to a firm determination to not use the air conditioner. This is actually a fairly achievable goal in the mountains of western Virginia. The altitude gifts us with the sort of nights I will forever associate with summer college visits to Boston. The day is almost unmanageably warm but with a liberal application of iced tea, popsicles and ceiling fans, it can be done. By about an hour past sunset, the night floods in with an understated sort of interest. It's a slow seduction compared to the exuberant invitation of the summer day. You can usually count on it to get down to 70 at the very least and, often, if you decide to stay out past curfew, you will find yourself wanting a sweater to slip on over your party dress.<br />
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There is a part of me that is already longing for October. I will look out my window and see a mist every morning. The deer will be crossing to the woods, shadows, just visible. The air will be tinged with the bite of woodsmoke and the breeze will nip rather than caress. But, for now, I will soak in the wonder that is summer in the mountains. <br />
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And, yes, there are still a couple of posts about Ireland waiting in the wings. I have been asked if I will continue to write. I am inclined to. After all, isn't life always an adventure? But, the posts will be about America, mostly my tiny corner of it.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-82949530476941980412013-06-17T09:45:00.003-04:002013-06-17T11:37:16.601-04:00Will we have rainbows, day after day?*<div class="tr_bq">
*Quote from Que Sera Sera<br />
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For those who are wondering, there are at least a couple more Ireland posts coming- most notably one about the Cliffs of Moher.</div>
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Today is my 36th birthday and my 13th Anniversary. <br />
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Allen and I got married on a very sunny, rather hot day in a truly lovely morning garden wedding. It was my 23rd birthday and we do indeed have a picture of me blowing out my candles on my wedding day but it's in a cabinet in America so, no dice on seeing it today. <br />
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Today, my life is likely about a 1/3 completed and, with any luck, I still have a whopping 2/3rds to look forward to. Now that the children are getting a little older (that being 2, 5, and 6- ancient, really!), I get asked somewhat frequently what I plan to do with myself. This question always takes me slightly aback. <br />
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First, I think what I am doing actually is a career of it's own. It takes time and energy and skill to keep a home and keep it well. I know some families manage to make it all come together (oftentimes, well) with all the bits and pieces crammed into their lives every which way but I just can't pull it off. There was a facebook discussion that sprung up and I shared that I thought the end goal of feminism should be that you could get a degree in the home arts; that it would be considered just as rigorous as any other; and that men and women completed it in fairly equal numbers. Keeping a home will never be of great monetary value, it simply won't work that way but it <i>could</i> be given intellectual worth. My thought is that when the traditional tasks of a woman are as valued as the traditional tasks that were the realm of men, and, perhaps, most notably, the realm of wealth, then I will consider myself and my ambitions to have equal value in our culture. I should however note, that over time, I've drifted away from self-identifying as a feminist, instead advocating a new paradigm where people are simply valued as a part of a larger unit- a familiest is the closest I can get to a label. Feminism tends to be too adversarial for my taste with the functional result being that women are either left identifying themselves relative to men and/or in direct opposition to men. I'd rather look at a family as a unit with an option for men or women who strike out on a different path to still have value, as well. It takes all sorts...<br />
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Leila puts it well in<a href="http://ourmothersdaughters.blogspot.ie/2012/07/okay-this-is-salad-post.html" target="_blank"> this post </a>when she says:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #682a01; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I don't know why being the manager of the home (leaving aside being its heart, and just purely looking at things job-wise) is considered... nothing.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #682a01; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Have you been to a hotel recently? Maybe to stay, or for a reception? C</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #682a01; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">an you imagine even thinking, "This hotel is great. It's comfortable, welcoming, clean, and refreshing. The food tastes homemade. </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #682a01; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">It's wonderful that this hotel has no manager."</i> </blockquote>
Laura says it even better:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Just as a little thread of gold, running through a fabric, brightens the whole garment, so women's work at home, while only the doing of little things, is just like the golden gleam of sunlight that runs through and brightens the whole fabric of civilization." ~Laura Ingalls Wilder</span></blockquote>
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Second, there is the fact that my main career goal was really always to be a wife and mother and keeper of the home. (Try saying that on career day!) I went to college to get a degree, not to find a husband, but, those degrees are in Social Studies, Special Education, Early Childhood Education, and, the capper, a Master's in Early Childhood Special Education. (taking a moment to toot my own horn- I completed all 4 courses of study within 5 years- it can be done!) It's not like they are "wasted" while I'm raising and educating and socializing these children. A typical day leaves me feeling more as if I wish I had gotten even more education.<br />
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Mothers must know an impossibly much. I must know the difference between a toad and a frog and a tortoise and a turtle. I need to know what is sleet and what is freezing rain and why they aren't hail. I must know what color shirt the planet Mars would wear and which planet would float in a bathtub (Saturn). I must know how to count to 10 and then 20 and then 100 and then to infinity and beyond and within all that I must find a good spot for eleventeen. <br />
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I need to know why "know" has that pesky k and looks nothing like it sounds and offer up the reassurance that no other word will be quite that contrary. I need to know why the sky is blue and why it's the dark clouds that make the rain. I need to know where the puddles go and where streams end. <br />
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I need to know where fairies live and what leprechauns like to eat. I need to who Wee Willy Winky is and why he cares if Jon is asleep. I need to know why the moon is out when the sun is still up and why we sometimes go to bed when it's bright outside and sometimes wake when the sky is dark. I need to know just the right mix of frown and hug. I must know how to cross a street and count the stars and make a very long wait not quite so bad. <br />
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Most of all, I must know we haven't even gotten to the hard questions.<br />
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Someday I might go to Divinity School or get a therapy licence or even write a few children's books in which the Princess of Books and Princess of Geometry consult with the Princess of Botany, but, for now, my dreams have indeed come true and I am, in fact, <i>doing </i>the very work I once aspired to.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-35329935942850164182013-06-08T07:48:00.000-04:002013-06-08T07:48:32.944-04:00Run for the CheeseThere is a saying to the effect that "the only time you'll ever find me running is if the police are chasing me." I have been of the school of thought that says "perhaps being arrested wouldn't be all that bad." Then I had 3 children in slightly less than 4 years and discovered that by the time Allen got home from work, at least part of the time, all I wanted to do was run away. Happily there is a socially acceptable form of fleeing your teething, tantruming, napless wonders called the "Couch to 5k." I wasn't running away from responsibility, I was harnessing my stress to work towards fitness!<br />
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I landed on the <a href="http://www.kissmyblackass.org/podcasts/couch-to-5k/" target="_blank">Kiss My Black A**</a> podcasts. (I have untold layers, people. Did you know Jen gets <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/2010/11/what-a-tough-labor-taught-me-about-tupac-suffering-and-offering-it-up.html" target="_blank">transcendental to Tupac</a>?) There was something deliciously sinful about listening to music I would never listen to around the delicate ears of my dear, sweet, children that was highly motivating. The only problem is that I tend to run too fast to dance/pop sorts of songs so I tend to wear myself out in the first couple of minutes and then plod through the rest of the run. Even when I did run a full 30 minutes, I tended toward a sprightly 12:30 minute mile. Between illness, weather, and short days I had a lot of trouble keeping up a running program but I did what I could.<br />
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Then we moved to Dublin. Dublin (when not in sleet season) may be the ideal home of runners. Once you get over the hump of sleet and ridiculously short days, you get weather than is consistently 10-15 C/50-70 F, reasonably flat land, and a light to gale force wind to keep you pleasantly cool. There is often some sort of precipitation but it tends towards drizzle rather than downpour and it's relatively simply to line up daylight and childcare since, for example, the sun currently rises at 4:58 and it gets full dark around 10:30.<br />
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I found myself, for the first time in about 7 years, not pregnant and/or breastfeeding which had been my previous form of fat burning activity. (The nurse nearly wept with joy when I told her Noah weaned at around 25 months- breastfeeding is struggling a bit in Ireland) There is also that miracle known as the the Irish dairy product. When you pair any Irish dairy product with the second wonder known as Irish breads and pastries, you discover that you should really take up running again. (I have decided that butter will have to be a line item in our budget upon return to Blacksburg. I'm going to taste test the Amish stuff against the Kerrygold and ignore generic butter sales with wild abandon. Ireland, what have you done to me!) <br />
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I developed a new running plan called "Run for the Cheese!"<br />
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This time I decided to follow the <a href="http://doctormama.blogspot.ie/2006/05/listen-up-maggots.html" target="_blank">Doctor Mama strategy</a> which is run in as long a stretch as you can but run really, really slow and make sure you can sing along with your songs. This brought me back to the pop issue. 80s pop is great running music since the songs are short (nothing is quite as bad as promising yourself you can stop at the end of the song only to realize Fergie will be discussing her Fergaliciousness for another 3 minutes) and quite singable. But, the peppy beats that motor you through the first few minutes, kill you in the second half. I decided that the perfect music to both sing along with and encourage you to run just a little slower is country.<br />
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Country music is ideal for people who think that being arrested might not be so bad but have an abiding love of both their current pair of jeans AND Irish dairy products. The songs are short, they are supremely singable, and, the story lines often offer up intriguing lines of thought. For instance, there is apparently a whole school of thought that considers access to a particular biscuit recipe grounds for marriage. I need this biscuit recipe!<br />
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Another note, if you participated in marching band for, perhaps, 6 years, you will likely find it a supreme struggle to not run to the beat (stepping off on the left) so, pay attention to the beats per minute or prepare for some mental hardship during your run. Multiples of the same root seem fine- i.e. my sweet spot is around 160 bpm but I can adapt quite happily to 80-90 bpm. The ones between 110 and 130 throw me off a little but are useful to help me run slower in between "fast" songs or at the end.<br />
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The gist of Run for the Cheese, should you choose to try it, is to start by running to around 3 songs. Try to add a song a week until you are happy with your total time running. I'm aiming for a consistent 30 min run and I'd like to do 9-10 minute miles but I'm not worrying about speed until I can run a consistent 30 minutes. I fully expect to backslide when we return to the land of heat, humidity, and hills. :-) I find that a rice cake with peanut butter (and maybe a dab of nutella) and a big glass of water with a squeeze of lemon or lime is a good post workout snack. Plain water tends to make me feel queasy post-run. If feel completely exhausted after your "run" and snack, consider adding a snack and/or glass of water pre-run, run slower, run for 1 song fewer and/or look into hiring a night nanny.<br />
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I've posted the playlist to <a href="http://jog.fm/_pzsm" target="_blank">jog.fm</a> where you can listen on spotify or buy via itunes or Amazon. You should be able to access the list without any sort of registration but let me know if it's a problem. I've added a link to the playlist on the sidebar of the blog if you want to get at it later because who wouldn't want to:<br />
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<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-46522537120324789072013-06-06T04:43:00.000-04:002013-07-27T21:47:41.539-04:00Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real<br />
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The daffodil days have gone and now we are watching sunflowers and lilies. Sadly, Allen is apparently allergic to lilies and we can only accommodate the sunflowers in the umbrella stand but we still enjoy the pretty as well as the excitement of watching the blooms open.</div>
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In a pretty is as pretty does moment, I've think I've decided on my 1st homeschool high school english unit. We'll spend a term or two on the great romantic poets and then have a verse-off to decide who would be most likely to steal a heart. The idea sprang from a twitter discussion with National Library of Ireland (NLIreland):</div>
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<span style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">WB Yeats - good or bad roomie? </span><a class="twitter-timeline-link" data-expanded-url="http://tinyurl.com/FlatShareFleetStreet" dir="ltr" href="http://t.co/kH9cOd2OEY" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank" title="http://tinyurl.com/FlatShareFleetStreet"><span class="invisible" style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0px; line-height: 0; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">http://</span><span class="js-display-url" style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">tinyurl.com/FlatShareFleet</span><span class="invisible" style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0px; line-height: 0; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;">Street</span><span class="tco-ellipsis" style="background-color: #f6f6f6; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="invisible" style="font-size: 0px; line-height: 0;"> </span>…</span></a></blockquote>
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My response (craftybecky):</div>
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<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I think it could be dicey... What if he started reciting his verses around your girl? </span><a class="twitter-hashtag pretty-link js-nav" data-query-source="hashtag_click" dir="ltr" href="https://twitter.com/search?q=%23yeatsasheartbreaker&src=hash" style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #d02b55; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #e27f99;">#</span>yeatsasheartbreaker</a></blockquote>
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Naturally, that led to wondering who would be the bigger heart breaker: Dunne or Yeats. </div>
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And, really, what could possibly be a better life skill than being able to quote romantic poetry at the drop of a hat? I will be such a homeschooling maven! ;-)</div>
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One of the idiosyncrasies of European life is the obsession with reflective vests and dark coats. I get a number of curious looks for my yellow rain coat which is, in my opinion, the ideal outer covering for a dark and drizzly climate. My red coat is considered eccentric but passable. But when I put on my yellow rain jacket, everyone is pretty sure I'm on the train to crazy town. The ideal solution, according to the locals, is to own a black, brown, or, if feeling rebellious, dark blue jacket and the throw on a reflective vest whenever it's dark or dreary (which is sort of all the time).</div>
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In other funny news, Noah found a coin on the playground. Our children have decided that this portends great luck. Noah proudly declared "I found a lucky coin!" So, I replied, "Aren't you a lucky duck!" Noah felt the only appropriate response was to quack the whole way home. <br />
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We had a picnic in a public garden/park on Monday. It was a Bank Holiday so the children were off school and Allen decided to stay home as well. I believe there is one a month for June-August. The upshot is the same as our named summer holidays with lots of 5ks, barbeques and family outings on the long weekend. The advantage is that it always <i>is</i> a 3 day weekend instead of the periodic 4th of July on a <i>Wednesday</i> dilemma. They do various memorial days at other points in the year.</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Real</span></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CvrDbXAuJggPUBH5mHR7rUkEZ3BTprdAmgStFcCtIUrpacBDYvjiHyctcyX3lP4YJXTgYIEyRLphhNMw_kodahUROU6_SSabOUR_-xONK5pWOiaxZiUKooENl2UsEmYA_oTTi5UbhaCv/s1600/PFHR+6.62.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2CvrDbXAuJggPUBH5mHR7rUkEZ3BTprdAmgStFcCtIUrpacBDYvjiHyctcyX3lP4YJXTgYIEyRLphhNMw_kodahUROU6_SSabOUR_-xONK5pWOiaxZiUKooENl2UsEmYA_oTTi5UbhaCv/s400/PFHR+6.62.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Continuing attempts to take a selfie in which<br />
I don't have a double chin and my eyes aren't doing<br />
anything weird. Mamas have to have a hobby...</td></tr>
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We're getting ready to return to the US. I feel like I have most things under control. We have started the process of giving toys away. I made inquiries to the church about giving away the children's loft, Noah's crib (known as a cot), and the linens since those don't belong to the house. We are eating through the cupboard. I've made the monster list of items needed to gear a household back up to the full throttle living requirements of a family with young children. I went through and figured out which things can be delivered from Amazon, which from Walmart, and then made a detailed list of things I will be buying while slightly comatose from Target and the grocery store. I've even gotten a start on my meal plan for the 1st week! We have a going away party in the works and Allen went on his last work trip. Things are clicking along.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jY3d6QQNpz6rpdVxoliklsyi__YopL4dTIaeIOvkjcjJS-54FCnlP7bmsolXvEeKO6fyvIlqJ6g8MvExbA11jV721RQkNRwYSVcvB3yQhY8B0E1hX3QvTJA_OHF4VhBIvUVV00rSj-Cb/s1600/IMG_1944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jY3d6QQNpz6rpdVxoliklsyi__YopL4dTIaeIOvkjcjJS-54FCnlP7bmsolXvEeKO6fyvIlqJ6g8MvExbA11jV721RQkNRwYSVcvB3yQhY8B0E1hX3QvTJA_OHF4VhBIvUVV00rSj-Cb/s320/IMG_1944.JPG" width="239" /></a>But, the thing that strikes terror in my heart is the move-out clean. I embraced the hired cleaner mode for our move-out clean in US and I am so glad I did. While I can pack up a home and move a family across an ocean with something akin to sanity, managing to do that <i>and</i> have sparkling toilets is apparently just one step too many. But, move-out cleaners are neither in our Irish budget or the Irish custom, so, marathon clean it is!<br />
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We plan to stay in a hotel our last night and I've found friends to host play dates and Allen is aware his main job on move-out day is to keep the children Out Of The House but, still, getting the house to move-in clean is a daunting task.</div>
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Noah has no memory of the US and our home there. I have to keep assuring him that, yes, we have legos in America and yes, we have bubbles in the US. This morning, we had a long discourse about the fact that he can take a bath in a tub rather than a shower and later we talked about playing in grass in the yard- the highlight being that the yard will be be simply full to bursting with dandelions to wish on! Megan and Noah watched a dealer video about our minivan on youtube a couple of months ago, completely entranced. Megan was moaning about the heat and fondly discussing playing in paddling pools when it hit about 17 (70) on Monday.</div>
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Re-entry will be an adventure.</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-15998952915180913172013-05-24T11:48:00.000-04:002013-05-24T11:48:18.151-04:00What I'm Looking Forward To...While I have really enjoyed my time in Ireland there are some things I look forward to enjoying upon our return to the US.<br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Seasonal Weather</span><br />
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While I don't relish the looming specter of a month or 2 of temperatures and humidity over 80, it will be nice to feel reasonably confident that I will go a full 3 months not wondering if it was wise to pack away the parkas. At the same time, it's nice to know that at some point, I will need to pull them out. I like the structure the gradual march of the seasons provides. Ireland has roughly the same weather every day for 6-9 months. It then has pretty much the same weather with highs about 20 degrees warmer. I never realized quite how wearing really boring weather is. There is a reason that Irish weatherman write poetry rather than forecasts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZNwtHfkT4zM-Nk-d82-t-UH_0TI2_wgVpY4rl2F6ISFuZVK47_4uw31duj4i1vBDrowxf1rAS8oW_QshqBXk6vNY2phQ2LfqW79cH1GkgszLPaKvvdELYe-0Mlj1DcgOe9__dfQxYkcX/s1600/IMG_0877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZNwtHfkT4zM-Nk-d82-t-UH_0TI2_wgVpY4rl2F6ISFuZVK47_4uw31duj4i1vBDrowxf1rAS8oW_QshqBXk6vNY2phQ2LfqW79cH1GkgszLPaKvvdELYe-0Mlj1DcgOe9__dfQxYkcX/s320/IMG_0877.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It took me 6 weeks to figure out <br />
this is a toast rack. <br />
I wonder if they are the Irish version<br />
of a toaster oven as wedding gift?</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Access to a car</span><br />
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A lot of the time, I have appreciated being forced to rely on walking or public transportation. However, there have been more "Man up" talks than I am really comfortable giving to a 4 and 6 year old. To wit: car travel seems appropriate when it is sleeting, when it is hailing, or when there is freezing rain. This sums up a good hunk of January and February and pretty much every day of March. Also, car travel for even short distances seems reasonable when running a 103' fever, when recovering from stomach flu, or when you are 6 and recovering from the stomach flu but have to come along with your mom to pick up your siblings. Also, a car is handy when transporting 3 children and 36 cupcakes to school in a country where it apparently hails all year with no warning.<br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Knowing how to safely cross the road.</span><br />
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I still get nearly run down by an unexpected bus about once a week even though the crosswalks are all emblazoned with "look left." Apparently the socialist nanny state is no match for a dyslexic crossing the road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cvkLaMQaaOZyKw67wSCnKR_6JvJXvKzFnttSDLFiyi9fGGmPLwcwTHGky8SCMqjvcyrg8A_ySdWCTsRW9SAxF4xgvxcoGRFEY_wFe2BUN_PJu41Lf8uE9B1pp7uxEWTV3gjLAqVU8OfS/s1600/IMG_0628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cvkLaMQaaOZyKw67wSCnKR_6JvJXvKzFnttSDLFiyi9fGGmPLwcwTHGky8SCMqjvcyrg8A_ySdWCTsRW9SAxF4xgvxcoGRFEY_wFe2BUN_PJu41Lf8uE9B1pp7uxEWTV3gjLAqVU8OfS/s320/IMG_0628.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georgian Houses look alike. <br />
This made it difficult for drunken Georgian Lords<br />
to find their way into the correct home. <br />
A clever, clever girl introduced the colorful door.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Looking at the sky and knowing what it means, weatherwise.</span><br />
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I never realized what a visceral connection I feel towards the weather. It's this knowledge of the environment that creeps in over the years. It gives you a certain feeling of security that if you can't control the weather, you at least know what it will be for the near future. When I look up at the sky in the US (or even in Canada), I feel a modicum of confidence that I can tell you if it's likely to rain in the next hour. I know the warning signs for when to turn on a radio. I can hazard a guess about if we should try for a picnic for lunch. I am completely adrift in terms of climatology awareness in Ireland. To my credit, I don't seem to be alone in my confusion. Ireland is a small island and seems to be at the mercy of at least a couple of pretty strong jet stream looking things based on the daily radar pictures. It also has all manner of winds blowing off of the Irish Sea and Atlantic Ocean. It makes for a swirly, unpredictable mess. The upshot is that you can be confident that there will be precipitation pretty much every day. It will also be windy. Anything else is a crapshoot no matter how good your technology or modeling. As a friend told me, the weather predictions on the west coast consist of looking out towards the islands. If you can see the islands, it will soon rain. If you can't see the islands, it's raining.<br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Knowing where to buy things</span><br />
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I am looking forward to walking into a store and not having to ask if they sell x, y, z here. As an added bonus, I will likely know the correct name for the item.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUok_Qzp1reLnmG-GRaImoAToCg9cg8me5KBZPJeyNko5nFkXtNRD2ijIXIOqmwmQkuECc50D0JjDKO13U3QlNt0f8p2sK5XUY1VOKTzISf2PnlbsPoebG71DbVpEuCHwXqrQqYFS0dPv/s1600/IMG_0679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUok_Qzp1reLnmG-GRaImoAToCg9cg8me5KBZPJeyNko5nFkXtNRD2ijIXIOqmwmQkuECc50D0JjDKO13U3QlNt0f8p2sK5XUY1VOKTzISf2PnlbsPoebG71DbVpEuCHwXqrQqYFS0dPv/s320/IMG_0679.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guerilla knitting in Belfast</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Grocery shopping</span><br />
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There is a magical wonder to the Tesco man showing up once a week with tubs of groceries for me to unload into the cabinets. But, there is also a big downside. The grocery store I can get to on foot has a very limited selection so if I happen to forget to order something at all obscure, I'm stuck. And, obscure means black beans or pizza sauce or non-orange juice among other things. You also run the risk of the dread "out of stock with no suitable substitute" note. Sometimes it makes sense and sometimes you are told that they were out of carrots or, my personal favorite, potatoes. An Irish grocery store is out of potatoes. There were simply no potatoes to be had In The Entire Store... in IRELAND. I have to do a fair bit of fancy footwork, dinner-wise every couple of weeks to make up for oversights, out of stock, etc. I also tend to rely on my grocery shopping as inspiration. I do a weekly menu plan and build a shopping list from it. (I love <a href="http://www.5dollardinners.com/strategies/printable-resource-center/" target="_blank">this free printable one</a>) But, I also will switch things up a bit to allow for unexpected sales and specials or if various produce is or isn't looking especially good. Since I have my menu right in front of me, it's easy to see what can be switched up and what can't. On-line grocery shopping has made both shopping the sales and switching up the meals a challenge. And, most of the produce shopping is with a wish and a prayer that nothing will be too terribly under ripe or overly bruised. Since I'm not as familiar with the growing cycle here, I have a hard time figuring out how to shop in season. And, I'm never really sure what size I'm ordering. This has resulted in awesomely large mayo containers and minuscule pieces of cheese. Quick, how many grams does your ketchup weigh? No cheating!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBs6y4qE9UBXVCMhUW7CmU3B3eQc-OnV8xHgeygXxh0tEOFS3b8UP4jVsFZjYml_h7FViVfM0xe5Zu85V43XPA4Opdopm70Hc8d5lT2K9Vv8BOmNcPcmBaQT9eVRVrX3NLNmWL8aWzYuH/s1600/IMG_0522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBs6y4qE9UBXVCMhUW7CmU3B3eQc-OnV8xHgeygXxh0tEOFS3b8UP4jVsFZjYml_h7FViVfM0xe5Zu85V43XPA4Opdopm70Hc8d5lT2K9Vv8BOmNcPcmBaQT9eVRVrX3NLNmWL8aWzYuH/s320/IMG_0522.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the weather report for June, July, and August.<br />
(assuming it's a warm June)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">My appliances</span><br />
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A primary role in my life is keeping our household in a state acceptable to the Department of Health. I also keep us all fed. These two jobs require tools and the quality of the tool matters. I can make do with all manner of things and, yes, I am quite aware that my great grandparents made do with far less. But, that was then and this is now and I just want a vacuum cleaner that doesn't make me question the existence of a loving God. I miss having an oven that cooks things pretty much the same way every time. I miss a washing machine that never asks me to fish puke bits out of the drain holes. I miss a dryer that dries things. I miss my slow cooker, stand mixer, food processor, and rice cooker. I can now say with confidence that those things I worried were simply wasting valuable space in my kitchen are, in fact, vital to my happiness as The Fairly Adequate Homemaker. While I am so pleased to know that you can, in fact, cream butter and sugar with a potato masher, I would far rather let an infernal contraption take that task on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC_Vk-JBojiAKxN37nGvoe4zKnA3Z_-gBHTrF0jdYvsQVCSuFeNPp-9lw1pn_9uDR2fbv9msR5IZAsxgoXIWa9s-y9kBYwcSIw-lbPBqermR2CTyAqQ4aCEXs3XFkfr_6dbqPZf14Ux4D/s1600/IMG_1879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC_Vk-JBojiAKxN37nGvoe4zKnA3Z_-gBHTrF0jdYvsQVCSuFeNPp-9lw1pn_9uDR2fbv9msR5IZAsxgoXIWa9s-y9kBYwcSIw-lbPBqermR2CTyAqQ4aCEXs3XFkfr_6dbqPZf14Ux4D/s400/IMG_1879.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The weather guys try to spice up the reports.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Bubble Baths</span><br />
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Dublin has at least 2 Lush stores. I can't figure out why. As far as I can tell, no one ever really takes a good tub soak. To have a good bath, you need a solid, overgrown, almost obscene US water heater. The on a timer, energy conserving jobs just won't do it. And, really, on this one point, I totally pity the Irish. If there is any climate that begs for ready bubble bath access, it's a damp and chilly one. On a related note, I am anxiously anticipating getting to wash my hands with a faucet where the hot and cold water mix. What can I say? I dream BIG!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_XSEwUJJDMJ1ewMnw5E52OEj9oTAfPcnKlvdl7icZ_vykaOqJ9nuUurrRTpSpd8l_IRamPY5n3ad81i_5zYkB07zOdBmtSONbAWqNuV9OVIsMre60qRxO3qCZnDff3eQSH2Gt9pXHe99/s1600/IMG_1284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC_XSEwUJJDMJ1ewMnw5E52OEj9oTAfPcnKlvdl7icZ_vykaOqJ9nuUurrRTpSpd8l_IRamPY5n3ad81i_5zYkB07zOdBmtSONbAWqNuV9OVIsMre60qRxO3qCZnDff3eQSH2Gt9pXHe99/s400/IMG_1284.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They have a lot of different lovely ways to say <br />
"We just... have No Idea"<br />
Somewhere there is a special bar <br />
for people attempting to forecast Irish weather. <br />
FYI- Met Eireann did the forecast for DDay <br />
(apparently quite well)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Space</span><br />
<br />
I understand that by many standards we are in a perfectly reasonable, nay, might I even hazard GENEROUS space but I am a personal space wuss. I think I can do a small house with young children or a small yard with young children but I can't do both. And, while tile and hardwood make for easy clean-up the noise level is unreal. I desperately long for the day when I can chase them all outside and Not Hear Them unless they put some effort into it. I want to have the option to divide and conquer. I want to carry the laundry basket without being concerned I'm about to take out a table and 2 children.<br />
<br />
Ireland is a lovely adventure but there's no place like where you're used to.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-76818589866238425152013-05-23T14:59:00.003-04:002013-05-23T14:59:18.101-04:00What I'll miss<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sign you don't see in the US</td></tr>
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We have about 6 weeks left in Ireland and I've started getting questions about what I'll miss. In truth, I'll be glad to be going back home but there are a number of things I wish were the case back home.<br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the little community school. </span><br />
<br />
We walk to and from school every day. It takes about 10 minutes and I think there is nothing quite so likely to set children up for a good day as a freewheeling scooter ride, saying hello to their friends and getting some wiggles out before the day begins. By the time the children are 9 or so, they are easily able to do the walk on their own and it's a nice beginning independence sort of step. The children start at the school at age 4 and leave around age 12 with each grade having one class. By the end of their time at St Matt's, the children know one another as well as their own siblings and the staff can't help but know every child's unique ins and outs. The classes stay together all day, generally in their classroom with just the one teacher. You don't see all the marching about the building that you get in the US nor the constant parade of adults. The day is a more sensible 8:30-1 for the 4 and 5 year olds and 8:30-2 for the older ones so there is plenty of time for play in the afternoons even after homework and after school activities. Breaks also tend to be significantly less disruptive to the school routine with periodic breaks of 1-2 weeks and then 2 months in the summer without a bunch of half days or sporadic mid-week days off.<br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the people.</span><br />
<br />
In my experience, the Irish are some of the most welcoming, community oriented people I have ever come across. They would like to know about you, your story, how they can help you and if you'd like another pint. They would like to commiserate with you and tell you all about themselves. They would like to give you directions and figure out exactly how Mrs. McGillis and McKenna are related. They would like to loan you a mixer and invite you to tea. If you ever need a fail safe guest for your next dinner party, befriend an Irishman. It's not all wine and roses but there is always good chat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRP_zOeXs-0l6riWaaWpwzBOW8qfQkDZ_X7EBHeDeGyqpQb6Nf7ufLJLav5uFhpg0TUSsJgj8jAlJDT-o-uEWbBoSTMLlaD2bncqZ52gfKYPkHdNjtiGg-GBJflpk_S2y9gIAYA71YPNF/s1600/IMG_1702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRP_zOeXs-0l6riWaaWpwzBOW8qfQkDZ_X7EBHeDeGyqpQb6Nf7ufLJLav5uFhpg0TUSsJgj8jAlJDT-o-uEWbBoSTMLlaD2bncqZ52gfKYPkHdNjtiGg-GBJflpk_S2y9gIAYA71YPNF/s200/IMG_1702.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another sign you don't see in the US.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the acceptance of the progression of life.</span><br />
<br />
Ireland is sort of an odd mishmash of ancient and modern sensibilities. It is a Catholic country by it's constitution and the influence of the ancient church is still quite strong. Families still tend to live quite close to one another and it's is typical for grandparents to watch the children while the middle generation works. At the same time, you're starting to see rather a lot of fathers being responsible for the children during the day. I'm not an economist nor sociologist but from some questioning of friends my understanding is that a lot of men were in trades that traditionally have allowed them to support a family but with the economic downturn, their wives, working office jobs to help the ends meet have been able to hang on to their positions more successfully than the tradesmen can find work. My understanding is that a lot of fathers would rather be the primary wage earner but that pragmatics rule.<br />
<br />
I have found Ireland to be the most family friendly culture we visited with babies and young children considered to simply be a part of life- not overly fawned over but also not frowned over. Strollers are lifted onto buses and subways cars. Pedestrians keep a weather eye out for scooters and bikes and wobbly toddlers. At the same time, it's common to see elderly women out for a stroll with their chums. Television has the teenybopper melodramas but you also see a reasonable smattering of the 30-50 crowd. Adults of all ages are expected to go to the pub and attend sporting events and concerts. Life, in all it's iterations, is welcome in Ireland.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeats hangs out at our Square</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the walking.</span><br />
<br />
It will be a struggle to get anywhere near 10,000 steps a day when we return to Blacksburg. While the post office and grocery store are technically within walking distance, sidewalks are lacking. I will have to drive the children to school. In Ireland, I hit over 8,000 steps just by dropping the children off at their 2 schools. On days I also run, I'm easily at 12,000 steps by the end of the day. Daily activity hasn't been this effortless since college when I walked all over creation for class.<br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the customer service.</span><br />
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Irish shopkeepers are of the firm opinion that the only way to survive a struggling economy is to offer excellent customer service. Not only that, they are always trying to be sure you get the best deal to ensure your loyalty. At the grocery store, I was in the check out line and actually had an employee spot a box of tea on the belt, tell me that there was a much better price on a different brand, take the other tea box back and reappear with the cheaper version all before the cashier finished ringing me up. The pharmacy employees are always having to wander about the shop with me to try and figure out what the Irish version of the US medication is. The hardware store guys give me directions to all over town and know me by name. The grocery check out lady told me that I should by x, y, and z at this store or that to get a much better deal. If the Irish economy collapses, it won't be for lack of effort on the mom and pop front.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UVsGRByss7aLjK8zctyzqOG7u4yXhMy3LflDSYuhhns-u3FbqNZS1UlKVdLKDb9KzbZztN8lUWX53oAeWFhPQbLuunzG2N7tpvgQaKshI7q8QexQODbmRifuGMdeB-haIrnK3o4j5pvl/s1600/IMG_1657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UVsGRByss7aLjK8zctyzqOG7u4yXhMy3LflDSYuhhns-u3FbqNZS1UlKVdLKDb9KzbZztN8lUWX53oAeWFhPQbLuunzG2N7tpvgQaKshI7q8QexQODbmRifuGMdeB-haIrnK3o4j5pvl/s200/IMG_1657.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby carrots that look like... carrots</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the food.</span><br />
<br />
Being an agrarian island, finding locally produced food is no problem. High fructose corn syrup is unknown here. Most food colorings are plant based rather than chemical. Baby carrots look like baby carrots. I haven't actually toured a farm but we regularly drive past them. The chicken parts are normal sizes and the beef doesn't taste like it hung out on a feed lot. I see more people wandering the streets eating apples or chugging milk than I see eating chips/crisps or chugging soda.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Child on a public zip line!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss feeling like my body is a normal size and shape.</span><br />
<br />
There doesn't seem to be quite the wild careening regarding weight that we see in the US. The women on the billboards and on TV (at least those originating in Ireland) seem to be the lower end of pretty normal rather than the low end of cosmetically enhanced twig. The women I encounter in daily life are generally on the spectrum of "healthy." The same goes for most of the men. People here stay moderately active up into their quite senior years and their bodies show it. People walk to get from place to place and they don't mess around. I'm pretty sure that the average walking speed in Dublin is around an 11 minute mile which makes a lot of sense when you consider the weather. I see clutches of elderly women making their stately way down the block to do their shop or visit the post office. Men will get together to play football or rugby. At the same time, I see women with a little tummy on them and a bit of wiggle in their booty. A body that has clearly produced a child or two seems to still be in the realm of attractive. I have even been given the once over a couple of times! It all combines to make it a lot easier to focus on a goal of staying healthy and active rather than a number on the scale or, since I have yet to figure out what size I am in UK measures, a dress size. :-)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAwDNtDcaKKOnJPC7Wec_Qc-K9UxCIwX5omTusRSJC4zh_-e8hs4JQmjHmbp82CpQzYx35WJ67g_xJSOjSqmdY0T6_HBWF3n7DUWGSaggT1yL4UsOI4pxLPNTgh2kThHPbX9crvkyw_bk/s1600/8044611785_7f8003daa7_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRAwDNtDcaKKOnJPC7Wec_Qc-K9UxCIwX5omTusRSJC4zh_-e8hs4JQmjHmbp82CpQzYx35WJ67g_xJSOjSqmdY0T6_HBWF3n7DUWGSaggT1yL4UsOI4pxLPNTgh2kThHPbX9crvkyw_bk/s320/8044611785_7f8003daa7_b.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Child On A Zip Line<br />Does no one think of the children?</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the playgrounds. </span><br />
<br />
Europe knows how to build a playground. There are ziplines and all manner of climbing apparatus that tower far too high to ever be allowed in a US playground. But, most of all, they tend to have these enchanting paths. There are holes in the fence lining up with holes in hedges where the bushes were pruned by adult hands at some point and then the path further trampled and maintained by a 100 little hands and feet. The branches ask to be climbed. Fairy parties beg to be had. Cool and dark adventure beckons. They are irresistible! And, a wonderful way to be sure that even the most citified of city kids enjoys the allure of the forest.<br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I'll miss the sense of history.</span><br />
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I'm not of Irish heritage but I am clearly Western European and I'm confident in saying I'm also of strong Celtic descent. I've always enjoyed European history- especially the stuff before about 1600. Pre-1600 Europe is distinctly <i>my</i> history. It's also history I feel like I can really firmly grasp. It's old enough to feel very different but familiar enough to not feel completely unrelatable. This is where my ancestors learned to structure larger social groups and government. They established the basic rights of man via the Magna Carta. They developed a concept of the afterlife, spirituality and then organized religion... a couple of times, actually. This is where my people learned about cultivation and where the beginnings of my dietary staples became cultivated staples. I walk on soil that people I share a sizable hunk of dna with, have walked for centuries or even millenia. When I walk past the church, the butcher, the grocer, the pharmacist, the next church and then over the bridge I know that this is the same path, past the same basic things that people walked on and past before English as we know it was spoken. <i>That's</i> history. <br />
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I have come to the opinion that Ireland is perhaps the ideal place to get an initial taste of living abroad. Things are different enough that you always know you are somewhere new while not being so very different as to be paralysing. There is a bit of a language barrier but it's surmountable. The people in Ireland are fond of Americans and are interested enough in our goings on that you still feel you aren't completely adrift of how it goes back home. The social conventions and structure are reasonably familiar and the people are, generally, quite forgiving of lapses. While I'm ready to go home, I've had a lovely time.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-8598797799473203882013-05-18T04:05:00.000-04:002013-05-18T04:05:18.067-04:00Happy Birthday, Megan!Color me beklempt! Megan is 5!<br />
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In the words of mothers everywhere... How did this possibly happen? <br />
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Only yesterday, she was giving me a hearty kick in the kidneys! She also had an extra special talent for kicking some mystery spot that never failed to set off contractions. Happily, the doctor assured me that they were "non-productive."<br />
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When Noah was born, there was commentary about how very sad it would be that Megan had only brothers and how this would impair her development as a fragile flower of womanhood. I replied that based on current data, Megan was most likely to punch someone on her brother's behalf.<br />
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It took ages for her hair to grow but it was worth the wait! It's the lovely chestnut curls I always hoped for when I was growing up. Her grandmother got very determined one day and pulled off pigtails shortly after she turned 3.<br />
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Megan's favorite place in the world is Myrtle Beach. Allen is part of the Hilton Honors program so every summer, <a href="http://www3.hilton.com/en/hotels/south-carolina/hilton-myrtle-beach-resort-MYRBHHH/index.html" target="_blank">we stay there</a>. It's incredibly well set-up for families of young children with a quite nice water park on the property in addition to pools and then the beach is just down the back steps. She has plans to open a bisketti restaurant where she will offer an option of sauce or no sauce or with a meatball and salad. She will also have in-house daycare so her children can come to the restaurant with her. She plans to frequently vacation to Belfast so she can visit the <a href="http://www.w5online.co.uk/" target="_blank">W5 museum</a>.<br />
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You may notice that she wears a patch in some pictures. She uses <a href="http://www.patchpals.com/" target="_blank">Patch Pals</a>. While she would rather not wear a patch, they create as little strife as could possibly occur with patching and Megan views them as yet another fashion accessory in her arsenal. Somewhere around 2 months gestation there was a blood vessel in her left eye that should have gone away but instead hung around. It supplies too much nutrition to the cornea and caused a cataract. It's an extremely rare occurrence and is one of those "it just happens" sort of things. If we let things alone, her brain would gradually begin to pay attention to the information that eye gave less and less, pruning off neurons and nerves until the left eye simply stopped working at all. By forcing her brain to use her left eye, we are staving off "lazy eye." She'll likely always need glasses but will probably stop patching around age 8, when the brain becomes more set in it's ways. <br />
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If I were to have picked a child to handle such a thing, it would have been Megan. She handles the questions with cheerful spunk, explaining to all who ask about her cataract, her "silly eye," and how her eyes have to exercise. She meets the curious stares (and, no, it's not the children who stare) with a friendly grin. She is a child who dresses with imagination; the patches are just part of the milieu. <br />
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Megan has an exuberant curiosity that is a teacher's delight. She is determined and brave and clever and passionate and is not daunted by most any limitation be it vision, size or sex, finding a way over, through, or around any obstacle that meets her fancy.<br />
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Happy Birthday to the Princess of Books!Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-19287436711904328192013-05-17T06:46:00.000-04:002013-05-17T07:18:55.826-04:00The Island of Teeny TiniesAfter even a couple of years off the Island of Teeny Tinies, you remember the cute outfits, the baby snuggles, the tiny toes, and the exciting firsts and your forget the full contact sport which is mothering when you only have very littles. I can't speak specifically about anyone else's experience but I don't think mine was especially unique and I want to remember. I want to remember just how hard those first years are so that I can be of better support to others.<br />
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I saw a therapist after having Charlie to check in on whether I might have post partum depression. Her assessment was that I was depressed but in no way in need of clinical intervention. I was just really tired. Charlie slept in 25-45 minute intervals for his first 3 months of life stretching to maybe an hour by 6 months of age. (yes, we tried that) You get a little weird when you haven't met a REM cycle in 6 months.<br />
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None of the 3 was a sleeper but the thing that struck me as we rolled through Noah's infancy was that while I was frustrated and tired and overwhelmed I had a tool that made all the difference... The tool of perspective. I had personally experienced a baby who Would Not Sleep and had seen the other side. I had that to cling to when I was most despondent about the idea that I would never, ever, sleep for 6 hours in a row, ever again.<br />
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This happens over and over as my children grow a bit older. I have personal experience that one day I really will have no knowledge of the state of Noah's bowels. I will one day, be able to tell Noah to get dressed and he will. One day, Noah will wake up in the morning and not have a temper tantrum due to the fact it's not Saturday.<br />
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The thing that drove me most crazy as a very new mother was the way that other mothers would tell me that it doesn't really get any easier nor do you have any more time to yourself. As a not so new mom, I can tell you that's a lie. Our culture values "busy" and sacrifice and persecution and "I'm so stressed." That's what those moms bought into. I don't. I found the issue is not so much pockets of "me time" or pursuits of your interests as it is pockets of choice. When you only have tinies, your choices are oh, so, limited. I came across a housekeeping tip that if you are in a time of clutter, it's vital to have at least clear surface for your eyes to "land;" a little bay of tranquility. When you are on the Island of Teeny Tinies, that bay doesn't exist. When they are ALL tiny, they are ALL in crisis, All The Time. They have no perspective, you have no perspective, everyone is new to the game. You can, perhaps, sneak very small bits of your interests into your day but it's rarely really what you chose so much as what you managed. You can read a book while you rock the baby but it has to be a book you can hold while rocking as well as one you can follow on 3 hours of broken sleep.<br />
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Figuring out how to put in those pockets of your interests takes time and support and seriously, if you have 3 under 4, it's not happening. It becomes that one more thing that <a href="http://www.colleenduggan.net/2013/05/motherhood-isnt-indentured-servitutde.html" target="_blank">someone told you, you should be doing</a>. You haven't learned all the tricks. You don't have the resource of older children. You don't have the advantage of having a bigger child you can count on to let you know things are going south downstairs. It's hard. A mom of just tinies has it hard. It's grueling. It's full-on. It's a steep learning curve. And most of us lack the social resources that might make it palatable. <br />
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Yes, there are still times that it's hard with older ones or even older ones mixed with tinies. But, it's not hard in the same way. The learning curve is leveling out. While there are still daily crises, they don't generally occur more than once an hour. I have a lot more choices about what must be responded to and then what my response will be. Sure, there are times blood is drawn and the wrath of mommy comes down upon your head, swiftly and surely. But, saying "I'm hungry" is a very different sort of thing than a baby desperately howling from the car seat for completely unknown reasons and you lacking the experience and perspective to have any real idea what to do about it. If nothing else, I slept for 7 hours In A Row last night.<br />
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The thing about perspective was that when I was slogging through the very hard beginning bit, it was easy to lose all sight of why I had ever decided to do this. Motherhood did not look like I had envisioned it. I am a Protestant, we don't do the whole vocation thing. It was hard. I was exhausted. Everyone was crying. And the end game was unclear and that just made it so much harder. There seemed to be no point other than that there was really no way out other than through. I wish I had had an understanding of just why it needed to be so hard when I was in the thick of it.<br />
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The thing that I'm slowly coming to understand is that there was point. Motherhood is transformational. In the beginning the transformation is dramatic and violent and forms the larger shape of things. I was pushed to physical limits I would never have encountered had I not been given the children I was. I was taught selflessness. I was taught to believe in myself and my own instincts. I was taught to draw boundaries even while making them more porous. I had to learn to think for myself. I grew closer to God and deepened my understanding of man's relationship with the divine. My body was broken and my blood shed so that someone could experience the mortal plane.<br />
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And, yes, motherhood continues to be transformational but the process is becoming more gentle. The shape has been forged. The hard lines drawn. I am moving into a time where my children are becoming a slow, small, persistent force against my human frailties. While one mom characterized this as<a href="http://www.catholicallyear.com/2013/05/why-i-need-all-these-kids.html?m=1" target="_blank"> losing her selfishness</a>, I characterize it more as simply growing. <br />
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As my children become older, they become a more finely hewn mirror, showing me where I can perfect myself. I have often found myself sneaking a cookie only to ask myself why I love my children enough to deny them excessive sugar but not myself. My children absorb so much love and parenting that it spills back out onto me. I learn to take care of myself as I take care of them.<br />
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So, what I'm really saying is that the words from moms who have been there to take care of yourself either by <a href="http://www.catholicallyear.com/2013/05/why-i-need-all-these-kids.html?m=1" target="_blank">going beyond what you once were</a> or <a href="http://www.colleenduggan.net/2013/05/motherhood-isnt-indentured-servitutde.html" target="_blank">finding her again</a>, were written with the advantage of hind-sight. We forget just how very hard it is when you are on the Island of Teeny Tinies. Remind us so that we can be a better servant to you and our daughters in turn. We offer the dual assurance that yes, there is a point and more importantly,<br />
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it gets easier.</div>
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Really.</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-56412685167156484412013-05-06T05:56:00.000-04:002013-05-06T05:56:13.597-04:00Giant's CausewayLast summer, Allen had to go to some meetings in Belfast. We decided to <a href="http://themackenziesgoadventuring.blogspot.com/2012/08/belfast.html" target="_blank">make a trip of it</a> and had to find something for me to do with the children that was close to the train station, self contained and would keep us occupied for several hours. We settled on the <a href="http://www.w5online.co.uk/" target="_blank">W5 children's museum</a> and it was a fabulous stroke of luck. Megan adored it so much that we promised her a return trip in May for her birthday. <div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoSLFTp_hViBSSqsovLfKFRs1-DL96g4rGIyujXuxo7OHdRhdWHjSLm5ooWadqqTqFvtBD7qYIAwC5ZT2Tk1-WR6xHgd90v2JIUClRrzunZY_XyTaCjffGJfP86nvF0OM34WXj93lf4TH/s1600/IMG_1793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoSLFTp_hViBSSqsovLfKFRs1-DL96g4rGIyujXuxo7OHdRhdWHjSLm5ooWadqqTqFvtBD7qYIAwC5ZT2Tk1-WR6xHgd90v2JIUClRrzunZY_XyTaCjffGJfP86nvF0OM34WXj93lf4TH/s320/IMG_1793.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noah, not Megan, she was exploring <br />the wonderful world of pulleys with her father</td></tr>
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All you really need to know is that they have a water table... room, really. With balls. And ramps. And a screw. Where you can build damns. And! Send Balls Down Ramps via (loud) PNEUMATIC TUBES!</div>
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The next day, we set off for the Giant's Causeway...</div>
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The Giant's Causeway is an odd confluence of the wonders of geology. (I bet you don't get to read that often!) Because I ran directly into the comforting bosom of the Social Sciences as soon as Vanderbilt would let me, I quote directly from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant%27s_Causeway" target="_blank">wikipedia</a>...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyy_sI0PDaQwU1RSQ6cYQqnWCm1GEVb_4Y17MQPL2wUhNDAEyy1h1WKoYHikG2iHd2HQHNgHTgAy-7XslmltCyeUc7ZD0S05vn8qWDCKK2L4KFrDLs57KpBfeXK3uPI0k52ULKVXTe8G-/s1600/IMG_1869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyy_sI0PDaQwU1RSQ6cYQqnWCm1GEVb_4Y17MQPL2wUhNDAEyy1h1WKoYHikG2iHd2HQHNgHTgAy-7XslmltCyeUc7ZD0S05vn8qWDCKK2L4KFrDLs57KpBfeXK3uPI0k52ULKVXTe8G-/s200/IMG_1869.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEN8_akUj5F4yy-eMCbUphZDU0U_JXv9s-HuQRGtzOympKZ-egGvLKeDTrzFGm67JJJnYIafMtn1LBDTUOs8Hab89Ge0qgUvQAUWsnatiHa-Bm3fnj3UENGx-ygDok69QA7RQ-JY416nP/s1600/IMG_1827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEN8_akUj5F4yy-eMCbUphZDU0U_JXv9s-HuQRGtzOympKZ-egGvLKeDTrzFGm67JJJnYIafMtn1LBDTUOs8Hab89Ge0qgUvQAUWsnatiHa-Bm3fnj3UENGx-ygDok69QA7RQ-JY416nP/s200/IMG_1827.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;">Some 50 to 60 million years ago,</span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-5" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant%27s_Causeway#cite_note-5" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[5]</a></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> during the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paleogene" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Paleogene">Paleogene</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> period, Antrim was subject to intense volcanic activity, when highly fluid molten </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basalt" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Basalt">basalt</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> intruded through chalk beds to form an extensive </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lava" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Lava">lava</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> plateau. As the lava cooled rapidly, </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermal_expansion" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Thermal expansion">contraction</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> occurred. Horizontal contraction fractured in a similar way to drying mud, with the cracks propagating down as the mass cooled, leaving pillarlike structures, which are also fractured horizontally into "biscuits". In many cases the horizontal fracture has resulted in a bottom face that is convex while the upper face of the lower segment is concave, producing what are called "ball and socket" joints. The size of the columns is primarily determined by the speed at which lava from a volcanic eruption cools.</span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-6" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant%27s_Causeway#cite_note-6" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[6]</a></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> The extensive fracture network produced the distinctive columns seen today. The basalts were originally part of a great </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volcanic_plateau" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Volcanic plateau">volcanic plateau</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> called the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thulean_Plateau" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Thulean Plateau">Thulean Plateau</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> which formed during the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paleogene" style="background-color: white; background-image: none; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px; text-decoration: none;" title="Paleogene">Paleogene</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> period.</span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-7" style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 1em;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant%27s_Causeway#cite_note-7" style="background-image: none; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[7]</a></sup></blockquote>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQV-1_yknx1STZl_jcmqukId8SvyW4WFPj3GepcmpqyLRPtphuixvhlgmRL30ziN3yTBkWlXzcaq7-eGxh9WOtoP7s16RaQR5cqyJIabI-1ORbGOPWs3WbwrUb_VBOYIy2gJ6J-6L-QI4x/s1600/IMG_1830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQV-1_yknx1STZl_jcmqukId8SvyW4WFPj3GepcmpqyLRPtphuixvhlgmRL30ziN3yTBkWlXzcaq7-eGxh9WOtoP7s16RaQR5cqyJIabI-1ORbGOPWs3WbwrUb_VBOYIy2gJ6J-6L-QI4x/s320/IMG_1830.JPG" width="320" /></a> The Irish, being The Irish, came up with their own interesting legend behind the rocks involving giants and outwitting rather than out fighting. In a nutshell, Finn MacCool, who is a hero with supernatural abilities who wears a size 26 shoe (he left one on the beach) but who <i>isn't</i> a giant, needs to battle a Scot who <i>is</i> a giant. Giants apparently don't like to get their feet wet so Finn builds a causeway for him to come over. When Finn realizes the size of the giant, he pretends to be a baby (at his wife's suggestion) and when the giant sees the size of the "baby" he makes the logical deductions about the size of the father and runs away. As <a href="http://themackenziesgoadventuring.blogspot.com/2013/04/of-shoes-and-ships-and-sealing-wax.html" target="_blank">I have said</a>, the Irish don't win by having the biggest muscles...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZRiGYH6ncOM5Hscj1teP7iZZBXivpGlXR7ip5oT3T2eLmw8vj5fUZ3KW2U9Q_58xwLp54Ui_PMeWyug-D6gXV3iowgpFHjVj0_MebQmfPgQT3wHbqTf7ZZyYSqeqmwYBL8WVAeLKyvDm/s1600/IMG_1813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZRiGYH6ncOM5Hscj1teP7iZZBXivpGlXR7ip5oT3T2eLmw8vj5fUZ3KW2U9Q_58xwLp54Ui_PMeWyug-D6gXV3iowgpFHjVj0_MebQmfPgQT3wHbqTf7ZZyYSqeqmwYBL8WVAeLKyvDm/s320/IMG_1813.JPG" width="320" /></a>I told Allen that I knew had been in Ireland for a sufficient amount of time when I looked at the cliffs and thought, "Why isn't there a castle?" The Irish coast is a defensive marvel. It's full of straight drops, hidden hazards, and rocky shores. I can understand why the Vikings finally really got a toehold in Dublin. It contains the most invasion friendly beach I have yet seen in Ireland. Of course, I guess the difficulty lies in the fact that once you have finally managed to land, you are presented with lovely rolling hills that rather lend themselves more to agriculture than defense. But, I'm not much of a student of military history. I can say with some confidence, that I totally would have built a castle on the cliffs of the Giant's Causeway. Building next to sheer cliffs, abutting some nice pasture land seems like the way to go. To give credit, we did see quite an extensive castle ruin a little further down the coast. Plus, The Windy Gap which comes between the two sides of the cove (?) (I'm also not a geographer) has the highest wind speeds of all of Ireland.<br />
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My mother tells me that I used to be completely transfixed by watching smoke come out of chimneys. I feel the same way about waves now. Given an opportunity and reasonably pleasant weather and no children needing minding, I could sit and watch them break on rocky coasts for ages. I don't feel quite the same way about sandy beaches. There just aren't as many possibilities on a nice, flat, stretch. Luckily, Ireland has my back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bNNURpJbZDCaWMgucXJ3q8ItvnoM9QDsN5eOViTv-9PcZIntIqQ4Hvq8t_BLhJq3XYOE204NIRMN8Ayf-f9axzJPud2bo1Og3qKsx7o3RvAdZgY-ynV5lqHVQN6z2jN8w2Ll7u_nmAsd/s1600/Giant%2527s+Causeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7bNNURpJbZDCaWMgucXJ3q8ItvnoM9QDsN5eOViTv-9PcZIntIqQ4Hvq8t_BLhJq3XYOE204NIRMN8Ayf-f9axzJPud2bo1Og3qKsx7o3RvAdZgY-ynV5lqHVQN6z2jN8w2Ll7u_nmAsd/s640/Giant%2527s+Causeway.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqwVM4HkTgcu3T-lxqnOJx2wH3bH_LHO4Jqqztjor1gGBsTw21O1o-m5o6zT87U0JxLAcfFWyl1fk93abDh0ZawIlHFQPumlLGW6rlTFPTMhYkZdsZppmy60qc09Ffk39VANryKKRc7j5/s1600/IMG_1848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqwVM4HkTgcu3T-lxqnOJx2wH3bH_LHO4Jqqztjor1gGBsTw21O1o-m5o6zT87U0JxLAcfFWyl1fk93abDh0ZawIlHFQPumlLGW6rlTFPTMhYkZdsZppmy60qc09Ffk39VANryKKRc7j5/s320/IMG_1848.jpg" width="236" /></a>There is a long history of locals providing guided tours of the area and you can still get them from National Trust employees. But, they also offer wearable audio guides. It's pretty much an ultra-sturdy iPod. The really handy thing is that they have a tour especially made for children walking on the path where they do learn about the geology but there is also a stronger focus on the legends related to what the children are seeing. Megan and Charlie both really enjoyed getting to be in change of their Very Own Tour. Noah also listened to the audio much better than I was expecting but also found it to be an excellent camera phone. He took pictures of whales, sharks, sea lions, and star fish. Sadly, he was the only one to spot any of them. I take pictures with my phone but Allen uses a proper camera. It takes him a while to post his pictures because he tends to be quite picky about what he will post. But, the picky pays off. You can see his pics on his flickr stream under the username mackenab.</div>
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The National Trust has also put together an app where you can pretend to be Finn building the causeway. I wasn't blown away but if you have kids and you want to teach them a little about Irish culture with a touch of geology thrown in, it's worth <a href="http://www.fionnfolktales.com/about/" target="_blank">a look</a>. Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-60191283329624428252013-04-30T14:25:00.000-04:002013-05-01T04:31:59.063-04:00Autumn in Late AprilIt's been sunny and breezy, if not precisely warm the last couple of days. So, being the good Irish housewife I'm becoming, I have been spending quite a bit of time at the clothesline. Every time I go out, I am struck afresh by how much it feels like a mid-Atlantic autumn. <br />
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Late April in Dublin reminds me of nothing quite so much as football weather. It's that crisp feel of those late September night games. Those evenings when you begin to eye the boys, trying to decide which one might be coaxed out of his jacket. Somehow that sweater that seemed so <i>more</i> than adequate, really, at 3, is obviously lacking at 7. In Ireland, it's always that 7:00 chill. It's that undercurrent of cool that seems to herald more on the way even though you know it's <i>nearly May, for pity's sake</i>. It's the subliminal message to put up your stores and start a fire. I keep expecting to smell woodsmoke and hear the distant cadence of the percussion warm-up. It's not exactly cold. It doesn't quite cross the line. But, the sun can never quite keep up with the cool of the air and the persistent effort of the sea winds. The delight of visiting with Sol makes brief forays enjoyable; your cheeks will be rosy; you will offer the clouds a pleasant moment of contemplation. But, as you approach 10 or maybe 15 minutes, you will vaguely wish you had gloves and burrow your hands slightly deeper into your pockets. You will think longingly of warm cups of tea. You will wonder <i>when</i>, exactly, might you expect to feel <i>Warm</i>. I keep being slightly startled by the way the days continue to get longer.<br />
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There is nothing of the experience of a spring I am used to. It seems that in the US, there is more of an up and down nature to things. While there might be some days like those I described, they are quickly interspersed with the days that herald the warmth of a somewhat southern summer. There is the smell of wet earth, freshly turned; hay just starting to peek out it's green; the early daffodils and tulips and hyacinths with a wild hair are unabashedly offering their come hither blooms. While the late afternoon might call for a jacket, if not a coat, there is almost always the glory of the mid-afternoon when you set the children loose on the pre-school playground at noon, packing lunches and disrupting naps with wild abandon. There are baby ducks to feed and the promise of warm to come whispering through the cool breezes. You mind turns to the promise of watermelon and cherries and you hastily shove away thoughts of sprinklers and fireworks as too much, too soon... just enjoy the glory of the spring.<br />
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Of course, it does make sense. My friends report highs in the low 70s (f) for today. Dublin won't see that until July and then it will be called High Summer and be cause for swimming in the sea to escape the glorious heat. The plants bloom in a stately manner, none stepping on the toes of another. The hydrangea are only now conducting feasibility studies to decide if they might want to add on foliage. The lilacs are starting to bud. The daffodils have been in their glory for months and are only now giving way to the pansies. The Irish spring will last through next October so it must pace itself. <br />
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Yes, if you come to Ireland, be sure to pack an extra cardigan and maybe a Letterman jacket if you can scrounge one.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-32502884204522457722013-04-27T15:47:00.001-04:002013-04-27T15:47:43.926-04:00Raising Cheerful Eyes<div style="text-align: center;">
Because there are Princess parties. Because there are "girl colors and boy colors." Because I'll be watching that paean to innocuous television, the Food Network, and suddenly find myself discussing calories and diets and why some people decide to eat chemicals instead of food. And, finally, because we find ourselves <a href="http://youtu.be/XpaOjMXyJGk" target="_blank">weeping over an ad</a> telling us we're "more beautiful than we think" at the same time they are telling us that we should be suffering from <a href="http://youtu.be/0ls-Upd9stk" target="_blank">some major armpit insecurity</a>.</div>
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The thing is that I struggle. I know I want Megan to be confident in herself. I know that I don't want her to spend lots of energy worrying about her looks. I know that focusing on what a body <i>does</i> rather than what it looks like helps and I know that bodies of all shapes and sizes can do some really awesome stuff. I know I need to watch how I talk about myself in front of her. I know I need to focus on "healthy" rather than a magic number.</div>
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But, still... It's fun to wear a twirly skirt. Sometimes you do just want to look "pretty." A good hair day really <i>can</i> make you happy. And, it's something of a teenage rite of passage to make it a mission to reduce at least 1 boy to a slavering mess and that's fun, too.</div>
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Somewhere deep inside is a little voice saying that if I mess this up Megan will change her name to Mystic Starfall, claim her pole, and starve herself to "beautiful." </div>
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I knew that there was something about the ad that bugged me and I couldn't put a finger on it until <a href="http://www.somuchshoutingsomuchlaughter.com/2013/04/doves-real-beauty-is-charade.html" target="_blank">Suzannah posted about it</a>. The thing is that it's still all about conventional beauty standards. Yes, others might think we're more beautiful than we do but it's still all about the length of your nose and the height of your cheekbones and I'm not sure any of that adds up to "real beauty." I thought about what ad I would have wanted to see and I think I would like to hear how blind children describe their mothers. But, that's not the world most of us live in and it's not what will help me figure out how to raise Megan.</div>
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There is a reality that we are visual creatures. We are tactile creatures. Most discouragingly, some of this "beautiful" and "pretty" stuff is hardwired into our genes to help us find mates.</div>
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Long ago and far away and once upon a time, I got a Master's degree in Special Education. I spent a great deal of time learning about behavior- how to shape it, change it, the source of it, and, most pertinent to this discussion, what to do about behaviors you can't just make go away because they are fulfilling some sort of vital need. For those behaviors, you have to find a replacement behavior that fills that need in a more appropriate way. I sort of think the beauty thing is one that won't go away. </div>
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I need to find some replacement behaviors...</div>
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I can change my lexicon.</div>
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Megan can learn to create a smoky eye but consider if it frames a kind one. She can decide if she wants pink lips or red ones to form a friendly smile. She can pluck her eyebrows into any shape she wants but I'm likely to still classify them as inquisitive. And, no, I'm not sure that would work for a sketch artist but I do think it will work for her and I'm more worried about raising a little girl than creating a mug shot.</div>
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I can pass along an attitude toward the bit and bobs that defines them as the fripperies they are. Just like I enjoy my daffodils in the kitchen and the scent of cookies baking in the oven, I can enjoy a color on my nails or the momentary decadence of swiping on some "pretty" in the school parking lot. We can face, head on, the fact that sometimes everyone needs some protective coloring and stop trying to put lipstick on a pig.</div>
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Words are a powerful thing and a mother's words hold a special magic.</div>
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Yesterday, I complimented Megan on her cheerful eyes.</div>
Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-78532685200222200662013-04-25T05:01:00.001-04:002013-04-25T06:21:08.898-04:00Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Apparently, when we don't have house guests and no one is actively throwing up or variations thereof and we aren't gallivanting about the countryside, I have no idea what to do with myself other than write blogposts... Enjoy! ;-)<br />
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There is this wonderful thing at the grocery store where you can get a bunch of daffodils (or daffodiddles, ala Charlie) for about 1.25 Euros. You buy them at that stage where they look like nothing quite so much as rather odd asparagus and then the magic happens. The children have the most fun coming down every morning to see how they have changed. We have all sorts of discussions about how some are different colors, the stamens, how they turned the paper yellow, how they have to drink the water and some speculation about what they might get up to while we're asleep. I sort of want to try an experiment where we add some food coloring to the water to see what happens but I'm hesitant to mess with my "pretty." Oh, woe, for my children lack a sacrificial mother!<br />
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Earlier this week we had spring. I'm unclear if it will return or if we'll be back to late winter until we hit summer for 3 days sometime between June and August (finger's crossed that it will fall on a weekend!) In a clear indicator of my assimilation, as soon as I read the weather report calling for highs of 15-16 (around 60' F) and brisk-fresh breezes, I thought "I must get the sheets into the washer!" And, of course, once we hit a balmy 13 (55' F), I chased the children outside to frolic and threw open the windows. I'm thinking the transition to 90' F with 80% humidity which is the joy of a southern american summer will be a touch rocky...<br />
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Happily, there is perhaps no better place for a little boy than Ireland in (the proverbial) spring... SO MANY PUDDLES!!!!<br />
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And, of course, we all had to examine the HUGE snail! Luckily, it's hanging out in one of Mommy's flower pots so it should be around for a while. And, to think I claimed I wasn't sacrificial!<br />
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So, this little girl, who was once regularly mistaken for a boy because she wanted nothing more than to exclusively wear her brother's hand-me-downs has finally arrived at the princess stage. We had sidestepped it, mostly by completely ignoring the existence of princesses. This is slightly easier in the US. Once you come to Europe, even if you leapfrog all of the Disney business you still have <i>actual</i> princesses wandering about at every historic landmark (as well as actual knights, kings, princes, queens, and castles which I now firmly understand are NOT the same as palaces). While I don't see anything inherently wrong with wanting to pretend to be a princess (I certainly have my moments of wishing to be whisked away...) I did hope we could sidestep some of the more insipid elements. So, I told her she had to be the princess of something and offered up the choice of literature or engineering. She initially went with engineering for obvious reasons. At bathtime that evening, Allen came upon her carefully counting. When he asked her what she was doing she said "I'm figuring out how many rolls of toilet paper we would have if we cut them all in half." You know, as you do...<br />
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But, I've been fairly certain that Megan will be our flashlight reader. Her first word was "apple" but her second was "book." And, she is currently working her way through Little Bear with great determination even though it is a smidge too hard for her to the extent that I have to hound her about brushing her teeth, etc. So, I asked her if she really wanted to be Princess of Engineering or if she perhaps would rather be Princess of Literature. Once she found out that Literature is another word for books, she quickly changed her mind and has been periodically skipping about announcing "Princess of Books, Princess of Books, I'm the Princess of Books." I think this is a princess phase I can get behind.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-7840748566931873082013-04-23T16:45:00.001-04:002013-04-23T16:54:05.361-04:00Of shoes and ships and sealing wax*I told an Irish friend today that I never felt illiterate before I moved to Ireland...<br />
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I am constantly struck by the role of language in Irish culture. Spoken language is caressed, played with, teased, spoken trippingly, stretched and re-examined in a mobius love affair. Words are cajoled into song and rhythm and meter. Phrases are plucked so as to hum through the haze of a conversation but are also honed to the sharpest of tips. An Irishman worth the name can somehow make you laugh and cry all at the same moment, perhaps at yourself but even more probably at him. The Irish are that kid at the back of the room that always had that perfect comment at the perfect moment; they are the ones that don't have the most muscles but do have the very best word. The Irish are a bully's worst nightmare.<br />
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No matter where I go I am asked if I read this or that and, generally, I haven't. I read. I did take a reasonable number of literature classes with a fairly good level of vigor and even threw in a humanities elective here and there. I can't hold a candle to the Irish. I'm not sure any product of the US school system save an English major could possibly compare. They've read the Russians, the Romantics, the Victorians; they've barreled through Beouwulf and meandered through rather incomprehensible moderns with stopovers in all manner of more pedestrian fiction. Of course, they've read ALL of the great Irish authors. Yeats and Wilde and Joyce quotes are a common currency used as shorthand whenever the moment possibly allows. And, not only have they read them but they'd like to discuss them. Bookstores not only still exist but they actually sell BOOKS rather than the oceans of mugs and bookmarks and stuffed animals you'll find in that rare breed, the American brick and mortar bookstore. There are used bookstores, large bookstores, little bookstores you can get lost in and bookstores where someone will put a book in your hand and tell you how you simply MUST read it. I see mothers at school pick up holding veritable <i>tomes</i>. Most telling, even their engineers are well read.<br />
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You won't find the pablum we feed American children's imaginations within the Irish schools. There are witches and giants. There are monsters and magic. There are good fairies and evil fairies and things to wrestle through and with and triumph over. Megan was doing a phonics sheet the other day and asked if something was a gnome or an elf. When was the last time you encountered a gnome in a US children's story?<br />
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One of the most striking differences to me about the Irish early childhood curriculum is how very focused it is on literacy. The children spend roughly the first 3 years of their schooling learning not all that much in terms of math. When US children are making 100th day of school everything and have manipulatives coming out their ears, Irish children are still wrestling with the number 10. There is an argument to be made for both strategies but mostly, it crystallizes the idea that the US is a culture that was (at least once) based on building and engineering, and, more recently, out mathing the Russians. The Irish culture predates the space race by millenea and written language by a bit less. Their culture didn't survive by building the best bombs; they survived by telling the best stories. <br />
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*before it drives you crazy... The Walrus and The Carpenter by Lewis Carroll who I think must have had a bit more than a drop of Irish in his soulBeckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-24135067159499683922013-04-22T05:08:00.000-04:002013-04-22T08:39:15.895-04:00The Essential SelfSorry. I am again veering wildly away from the stated purpose of this blog. In fact, I'm heading rather in the opposite direction. What happens when the only non-original MacKenzie <i>doesn't</i> go adventuring. The thing is that I have an awful lot of time to just think while we're in Ireland. The children are old enough and social enough that they all enjoy time with friends at school. So, I have a few mornings, most weeks, when I'm alone (something once inconceivable). I also spend rather a lot of time walking hither and yon. So, a lot of time for quiet meditation while I walk and clean and scrub and gather. This of course, leaves the twin questions of why, exactly, the steps are such a disaster (a: I seriously feel a piece of my soul die every time I try to vacuum those steps with the highly unenthusiastic canister vac/satan's minion) and why I manage to post so infrequently (a: you just can't force genius, obvs- I joke!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie 20 months</td></tr>
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I also have rather a lot of time for reading and not a ton of social outlets so I wind up reading rather a lot of blogs. I noticed something of a trend the last couple of weeks. <a href="http://thismamaneedscoffee.blogspot.ie/2013/04/a-perfect-day-at-office.html" target="_blank">Jenny</a> and <a href="http://littlesmaketheworldgoround.blogspot.ie/2013/04/leaving-safe-place.html" target="_blank">Stephanie</a> both talk about how difficult it is to figure out a sense of identity within the confines of mothering very young children (after a fashion). I distinctly remember that struggle and I'm only now really figuring out what it was all about and how I managed to resolve it. I'm not sure it would help anyone else but perhaps...<br />
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It comes down to the "busy" thing. For a long while we are identified relative to other people. We are our parent's children and our spouse's wives. We are a member of this team, that band, this high school, or that college. We work within this organization. Over time we might be identified by slightly more individual choices, traits or strengths. We go to that church; we teach this subject; we bake this cookie; we are terrible at miniature golf. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan 1 week</td></tr>
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When you become a mother, you are suddenly shifted to the place of identifier. Suddenly, someone is identified relative to you. Consciously or unconsciously, this is really stressful. You are suddenly confronted with a need to identify yourself that allows you to be the nucleus of the equation. Yes, it is sort of enough to simply be identified as "mommy" but that's still pretty broad.<br />
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Things get really sticky if you quit your job although I get the general impression that this is an issue for everyone who makes the transition to mother.<br />
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You have abruptly lost a fair number of identifiers you had gotten pretty comfortable with. You no longer have a job title or company; your figure is completely different (you can be happy with it but it will never be the same. Seriously, step away from the watermelon diet); you are far too sleepy and preoccupied to do any of those hobbies and such that acted as ancillary identifiers. In short, you have no idea who you are.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan 2 years</td></tr>
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This isn't an issue for a while (see aforementioned sleep deprivation). Then comes the "busy" stage. Instead of soul searching (and, really, I can't blame myself- I was sooo impossibly tired), you again fall upon the external. You will be a champion housekeeper- people will marvel at your clean floors. You enroll your children in toddler art and music and baby gym. You will join EVERYTHING. You will volunteer. You will have THE happiest baby on the block. You will be a martyr. You will co-opt an identity if it kills you. You are no longer simply "mommy." You are That Mom- the one who manages to do it all and still looks fabulous. And then you finally notice that this doesn't seem to be the point. You have plenty of self identifiers but you aren't so much <i>comfortable</i> in that soul deep way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noah 1 week</td></tr>
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I read an interesting blog post. The <i>where</i> now completely escapes me and I don't think is accurate in all cases but held a very true bit. The basic idea was that no one is quite as zen as a mother of more than about 6 children. This is a mother who has given over. A mother of 6 has a very keen understanding of the BIG stuff v. everything else. This is a mother who has internalized the very true mantra of "to everything there is a season." This is a mother who no longer has to manufacture "busy" but instead is vitally needed as the anchor, centered and intentional who knows how to not be lost in the wild rumpus of life- lots of life.<br />
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I am highly unlikely to have 6 children. Allen has quite strong opinions on the matter. I have a bit more in the way of options for self identity than that mother of 6. I could re-busy. My children could happily swirl about the mother who is identified by the external. But, I'd rather grow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megan 1 week</td></tr>
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The thing about being a stay at home mom (at least in my experience) which no one ever mentions is that it forces you to figure out<br />
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<i><b>who you are</b></i></div>
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When you are dropped into the middle of a foreign country with nothing but time you have no option but to abandon the busy. I think I would have gotten to the same point eventually but Ireland really accelerated the process. So, let me share with you, the stay at home mom trying to figure why you are so very busy but still feel so very lost, the busy will never identify you.<br />
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Let go of the busy. </div>
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It's scary but you can do it and you will be stronger for it. Then you have the delightful option to do because you <i>want</i> to not because you simply must. Life with littles is loud and hectic and this will take time but it will come and in that moment you have while you're rocking the baby or patting the restless toddler or stirring the mac-n-cheese, think about not what you would rather be <i>doing</i> but instead what you <i>are</i>. Listen to that small, quiet voice of your soul. You might not like all the answers but at least you'll know where things stand; strengthen what you like and try to soften what you don't.<br />
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I don't have a job title; I'm not a perfect housekeeper; my children are quirky; I bake a mean cookie but that really doesn't serve as complete self identity. Instead...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noah 2 months</td></tr>
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I am strong willed. I am compassionate. I am impatient. I excel at creating a home but will always be a "good enough" housekeeper. I will overcome most any adversity and I can adapt but I am aware there is always a price. I strive to be a light rather than an abyss. I will always have a squishy tummy. I would rather have a friendly face than a pretty one. I stand for something because I have learned that to not is to lose yourself but I struggle with confrontation. I do not fit in a box. I am rarely what is expected.Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-43604665529644491402013-04-19T15:03:00.000-04:002013-04-19T15:03:29.508-04:00Paris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSf5-3c7wW6s20JAfYDXAr27fpwmlLQbDPg0TynQt1SHxOiRJNEBtW8If-XJJw3_oFzAOI8XL1OZ5qmltjJkUFhoE1hVRqauP_5hyphenhyphenWYQgjYIVBWnghru1rP7c-fzxW_Su4Zi-6WfoiqLuY/s1600/8332782243_4999f3f972_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSf5-3c7wW6s20JAfYDXAr27fpwmlLQbDPg0TynQt1SHxOiRJNEBtW8If-XJJw3_oFzAOI8XL1OZ5qmltjJkUFhoE1hVRqauP_5hyphenhyphenWYQgjYIVBWnghru1rP7c-fzxW_Su4Zi-6WfoiqLuY/s320/8332782243_4999f3f972_b.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I've been struggling over how to write about our experience with Paris. I approach anything I put out in the electronic yonder as something that can come back to bite you. I know myself. I will mess up the "to" line in an email. I know facebook wants us to all be openly connected all the time. I know that someday my children will google me. I try to be mindful. I also know that I am but a tourist. We may be staying in Ireland longer than the average visitor but European cultures span millennia. I can talk about contrasts and similarities between the cultures but I'm kidding myself if I think I really have a complete picture. We spent 3 days in Disneyland Paris and less than 48 hours in Paris proper. And, I got the strong impression that Parisians are distinct from the rest of the French. So, you'll have to filter my perceptions through the knowledge that my experience was brief but vivid.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2KBjzh1Dv6PVKXCnq8MMSN-9BOAgI7cyygV4l4o-84iHll8f8Dm09HFgBVHXHva2TtPzG-hbzzy8y4_aJCB-KTUCRUS3WzUeERoSNmK6gTbg9cHlwJj-LVzJeuvB783k6e2L0lnYbwCL/s1600/8333841528_ba7fa8e50f_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2KBjzh1Dv6PVKXCnq8MMSN-9BOAgI7cyygV4l4o-84iHll8f8Dm09HFgBVHXHva2TtPzG-hbzzy8y4_aJCB-KTUCRUS3WzUeERoSNmK6gTbg9cHlwJj-LVzJeuvB783k6e2L0lnYbwCL/s320/8333841528_ba7fa8e50f_o.jpg" width="240" /></a>The architecture really was just as stunning as I expected and this was what I got to see while wandering the sidewalks, somewhat lost, in the rain, in temperatures just above freezing with 3 rather worn out and hungry children and everyone had some degree of a cold, cough and fever. But, you looked around and it was worth it. You saw beauty. You saw hopes You saw dreams. You saw <i>ideals</i> carved from the stones of the human earth placed into the heavens.<br />
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The food really was quite good and we were eating from vending carts, Metro sandwich shops, and hotel breakfast bars. You could tell that someone cared about what you experienced when you ate that ham and cheese sandwich. Someone actually took a moment to see if the lettuce was crisp and if the ham was marbled. The children are pretty sure that heaven is a crepe maker who uses a generous hand with the nutella. I was shocked by the amount of french you can apparently pick up through the immersive experience of having all of your food products bear labels in english, spanish, and french. Thanks, NAFTA!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUdavP0K5Mi4nJlDtNOBO75dKCbW7K06U12AdXu_Bx11VIckUKW811eM9Gn9MClpZZ8k2e1RQ3E4Y8iMkdXmOn-1eA3XdENytF7SElh7ZgSuOJLD0_-L6urdHOJs24csOIvAufmDcosP7/s1600/8333837526_48105b571c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnUdavP0K5Mi4nJlDtNOBO75dKCbW7K06U12AdXu_Bx11VIckUKW811eM9Gn9MClpZZ8k2e1RQ3E4Y8iMkdXmOn-1eA3XdENytF7SElh7ZgSuOJLD0_-L6urdHOJs24csOIvAufmDcosP7/s320/8333837526_48105b571c_b.jpg" width="320" /></a>The people were where I hit my stumbling block. Some people in Paris were just as rude as you have heard. But, most people weren't. This is true pretty much everywhere you might go but the distinction was that there wasn't much in the way of middle ground. People were either really just horrid or were perfectly pleasant. I can see how this wouldn't be all that much of an issue if you were traveling as an adult or even if you were with older children. But, we were traveling with young children. <br />
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The Parisians were actually quite pleasant and friendly to the children pretty much uniformly but as their mother, I was their buffer. I got the nasty looks if they stumbled and blocked the sidewalk. I got the curses when they spread out too far in the crosswalk. I got the sighs as they spent too long examining the miniature Eifel towers. I got the talking to when Megan was struggling with her coat (I was helping Noah with his at that moment). I got the repeated chastisement when Noah's stuffed animal dragged (I was carrying dinner at the time). Allen didn't figure into the equation. It was all on me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5HfZFpBGFegKmTMXtd7N0bn82lHcyMqr5KK_QAmxv7_DfSg3AbUdTexLzgVOrfQobeaZS4LpjIlZWrMPeS1devsBvsAyjyR3kE6diuYXHOnbuaasZag-2U28aGxiDdFrbsIGcfwQ_bf-/s1600/8333838254_8e72656635_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5HfZFpBGFegKmTMXtd7N0bn82lHcyMqr5KK_QAmxv7_DfSg3AbUdTexLzgVOrfQobeaZS4LpjIlZWrMPeS1devsBvsAyjyR3kE6diuYXHOnbuaasZag-2U28aGxiDdFrbsIGcfwQ_bf-/s320/8333838254_8e72656635_b.jpg" width="213" /></a>In addition there was a general attitude that could best be summed up as "look out for number 1." I can see how this would have easily developed. You base a culture on beauty (with a heavy leaning toward external rather than internal), throw in the social contract, give a twist of secular humanism, see your country continually decimated in various wars, watch your population plummet and your culture therefore suffer some serious hits, and then, as a capper, have a good hunk of your children experience Nazi occupation. I can see how you would easily wind up with a culture where the only one you could really count on was yourself. I can even see how this would extend to the phenomenal level of social programs offered by the French government. If you can't count on anyone else to help you, you would want a guarantee of government assistance and if it benefits someone else, so be it. That's a happy accident. The greater effect on the economy or budget isn't really your concern. You need to take care of you. It sort of spreads out in ripples until you get to "France looks out for France."<br />
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When we interacted with people through their jobs, they were all friendly, kind, and generally quite competent. There was something of a key difference between other places, though, especially in Ireland. While you sometimes do get the impression that this person is simply doing their job and doing it well, you will often get the impression that there is also an element of this person just generally likes interacting with the masses. There is something motivating them beyond $12.50/hr. In Paris (and even more so in Disneyland), I got the distinct impression that it was all about the money. They will school you in how service with a smile is <i>done </i>but only because that is what they are paid for and also, because they are Parisian and obviously better than pretty much everyone. After all, if you are the only one looking out for you, you better be pretty damn competent.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhe8eXyBOJLTB5lrrVionv-uSumkq37efcBVLYSPO1OoZXYn9kIsxghcx4xDEdbhxM8ye504v3RFzeCWMrbFf9GyqtidjziEmp6Vajl6vBY_y4fhXLv3MMTRXhTDshLaU9yP6wCVSpVyOm/s1600/8333836450_1a8fca1798_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhe8eXyBOJLTB5lrrVionv-uSumkq37efcBVLYSPO1OoZXYn9kIsxghcx4xDEdbhxM8ye504v3RFzeCWMrbFf9GyqtidjziEmp6Vajl6vBY_y4fhXLv3MMTRXhTDshLaU9yP6wCVSpVyOm/s320/8333836450_1a8fca1798_b.jpg" width="213" /></a>Looking out for yourself extended to things like waiting in line. People casually and confidently wandering into the frontish of the line was pretty much how it was done. Fastpasses useful only during your designated time slot were completely incomprehensible. If you had a pass, you should be able to immediately board your chosen ride. Mothers were expected to be extremely assertive about assuring their children the best seats, best snack, best view, generally just the best. This was when I seriously had to buffer. I was expected to be constantly on guard so my angels didn't suddenly wind up behind a group of 25 (ask me how I know!). I was expected to wiggle and worm my way up to a reasonable spot near the stage. I was expected to dart through craziness to get the children their breakfast cereal. I was expected to throw a few elbows to get my children safely across the street. I didn't even try for getting them "the best," I was too busy trying to just keep the wolves at bay.<br />
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Paris wasn't my favorite place. It had a lot to do with not liking what I became after about 12 hours of exposure. I did step up. I did get assertive. I did throw elbows and get in profanity laced shouting matches and, by golly, I did wish I had gotten me some acrylics. It's sort of comforting to know that somewhere, deep inside, under the chocolate chip cookie recipes, breastfeeding experience, children's book knowledge and perfect for cuddles on the couch squishy belly there is mama grizzly but I don't really want to visit with her on a regular basis. Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4034780182263991103.post-63664770747820996922013-03-23T10:53:00.001-04:002013-03-23T10:58:16.844-04:00Lenten Musings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are considered something of an oddity in Ireland for a variety of reasons but a big one is due to our religion. Not only do we regularly attend church, we do it out of desire rather than obligation (or at least Allen and the children do, I find it to be a weekly exercise in homesickness). To add to the curiosity we are Protestant and not only<i> that, </i>we are also Methodist- a lesser known variant. We haven't in any way experienced anything but acceptance- no derision, heckling, discrimination or anything of that sort. But, we are definitely viewed as being out of the norm.<br />
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The thing is that I was listening to an NPR show (you can stream them on-line all over the world!) around the time of the election and they were talking about polling. The part that stuck out to me was about cultural question biases. If you poll people in the US asking if they attend church on a weekly basis you got some relatively large percentage 40% 60% (?). If you asked in Ireland you got about 20%. However, if you looked at actual attendance rolls you find that the percentage in the US and Ireland are about the same- 20%. The difference is that in the US attending church on a weekly basis is culturally applauded and in Ireland (and most of Western Europe) it is viewed as something you certainly <i>could</i> do, but wouldn't you rather have a nice lie in and a fry up?<br />
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There is obviously a great deal of cultural baggage around religion, especially in Ireland. Not only does the Church of Ireland/Anglican Church historically have close ties with political and cultural oppression but the Catholic Church hasn't done itself any favors. In between sex scandals, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/feb/05/magdalene-laundries-hunger-strike" target="_blank">the Magdalene laundries</a>, child abuse scandals, and generally being less than welcoming to young children (which I really can't understand- if you encourage everyone to be fruitful, you really have to be ready for some crying babies and potty training toddlers) I can understand why the current generation has turned away. <br />
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The thing is that it just makes me sad. If you are a happy atheist, go on with your happy self! But, it seems like a I encounter rather a lot of people who aren't so much happy. I've encountered a lot of lost souls; a lot of hopelessness; a lot of confusion and aimlessness. There seems to have been a throwing of the baby out with the bathwater. <br />
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The thing that is so easy to forget but is vital to remember is that:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">while the heart of the church,</span> </div>
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any church, whatever divinity floats your boat, </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">is divine, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">the hands of the church </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">are very much human. </span></div>
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The human hands of the church in Ireland have managed to completely overshadow the Divine for any number of people. When I talk to others about why they decided to no longer attend church there is a great deal of discussion about the difficulties of getting children to sit quietly during Mass; a lack of bathrooms at church; the lack of integrity shown by the Priesthood; the lack of need for Divine guidance in knowing how people should treat one another; a frustration with many demands with no return- tangible or intangible, or, worse, a squandering of sacrifices. I hear about people believing in God but not the church. I hear about and have experienced a reliance on doing things "the way they have always been" without thought as to what the scriptural or spiritual basis may have been or where it may be leading. There is an over-reliance on the legal strictures of religious observance without the underlying uplift of Divine Inspiration. While there is something to be said to finding the Divine within the repetition of the mundane, there is also something to be said for not losing the Divine spark within human constructs.<br />
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The thing that I have found most notably missing, especially from my Methodist faith, is the emphasis on social justice and personal revelation. There is a great deal of discussion in every sermon about what Jesus did 2000 years ago. There is a fair amount of emphasis on "Jesus loves you" theology with a smattering of how you should love Jesus and the occasional fire and brimstone billboard (usually from the Salvation Army). There is rarely even a nod as to <i>why</i>. Why does Jesus love us and why should I care and for that matter, very little concrete discussion about what <i>you</i> should be doing <i>now, right here, </i>with all this love you've been gifted with. <br />
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I have come to wonder if this might be the end result of 2 elements somewhat unique to this culture. <br />
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First, religious instruction is built into the public school system in Europe and especially in Ireland, where most all schools have a religious affiliation. This means that there is no Sunday School for children and thus, no Sunday School for adults. The upshot is that the sermon then becomes something of a Sunday School lesson and those lessons tend to focus on Bible knowledge rather than application of principles. <br />
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Second, the state has become the main dispenser of social justice and reform. While I agree with the general idea and feel that there are areas that are more suited to government action than religious (for instance, I don't think a parent who wishes to stay home with their child should have to work outside the home simply to obtain affordable health insurance. I am quite comfortable with the trade off of paying more in taxes as a preventative measure.), the church has not been nimble in responding to a changing call. Instead of adapting to changing social needs and filling the crevices that are always gaping between what society needs and what the government can offer, the churches have simply given up and given over. Their human hands were flawed. Their endeavours were tainted. Instead of giving people a reason to come together to try again based upon those very same Bible verses we spend so much time discussing as history lessons, I hear ministers bemoaning dwindling coffers and empty seats. <br />
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The thing that motivates me to remain strong in my Methodist faith is two-fold. First, I believe that there is a spark of Divine in that which the church undertakes and implements with good faith. I believe that somehow, my not enough becomes plenty when mixed with the hopes, faith, and offerings of others. Second, I believe that at the heart of the Methodist faith is the belief that all have the Divine within and with it, a calling and responsibility to fight for the weak. Methodists are rabble rousers, do-gooders, and trouble makers. While other faiths do similar work, this is the faith tradition I feel closest to.<br />
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I can not speak for other faiths within Europe, but I can say that I have observed a notable lack of discussion about the second half of what I consider a key tennet of my faith. When more time is spent hunting for Bible verses than learning how to apply them to the very important work you are to do during your very precious time on earth, I can see why people are left wondering what all the fuss is about.<br />
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<a href="http://youtu.be/Or4H6W75kTc" target="_blank">Come together, over Me.</a><br />
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<br />Beckyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09963493181798474313noreply@blogger.com1