Family

Love Is A Choice

Posted on October 10, 2008 by Debora

I struck up a conversation with a woman at church last Sunday, and talk turned to the circumstances of my marriage and separation. I got about four sentences into it when she said that I absolutely needed to read a book called Love Is A Choice, that would throw the situation into a whole new clarity for me.

Naturally, no one likes to hear that they don’t already have a clear grasp of their own situation. I nodded and didn’t give her suggestion much thought. Except she KEPT bringing it up, there in church AND later on the phone when we were discussing a possible trip to the beach with our kids. So I told her I’d look for it at the library next time I was in Temec. And I did, and they had a copy, so I checked it out. And read it.

And holy crap.

This book is an honest-to-goodness MUST READ for anyone who endured a dysfunctional childhood and now finds himself or herself repeatedly dealing with unhealthy relationships in adulthood. A lot of it I had already figured out for myself, of course, but so much of this book was one blinding revelation after another.

I realized that I’ve spent my adult life in relationships that in some way mirrored my original childhood family dynamic, subconsciously convinced that if I just can manage to do everything “right” I can FIX IT this time and finally have it all turn out okay.

I realized that for my whole entire life, almost all the people who claimed to love me have essentially said to me, “You need to learn to be more forgiving and tolerant so that I can continue to treat you like shit without having to acknowledge your pain, because that’s the way things are supposed to be and the sooner you accept it the happier we’ll all be.” And on some level I believed every one of them, at least for a while.

I realized exactly why Steve has done the things he’s done, and why he’s unable to let go of his parents. And while it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a total douchebag, it evaporated all my feelings of anger and resentment toward him. Because seriously, the boy’s got a hard road ahead of him.

I realized that by some miracle, and by the grace of God, the fictional character that Steve invented and impersonated for me to fall in love with, combined with the cold reality of who he really is, was somehow exactly what I needed to draw me (slowly and painfully, but in a more-or-less straight line) out of my old codependent patterns and into a healthier way of seeing things. And when I had reached a sufficient level of sanity, I knew that the marriage wasn’t working and I left it behind. Not all at once, but as each new truth replaced an old lie it became easier and easier to let the whole mess go and move on. So again, as excruciatingly painful as it all was, and although it certainly wasn’t his intention, Steve really did me more good than harm in the long run. And I’m genuinely grateful for that.

These may all seem like little things, but for me just understanding them throws the world into a different light. It’s a strange feeling to see your experiences detailed in print as textbook examples of how a dysfunctional upbringing affects all of a person’s perceptions and choices.

The book is called “Love Is A Choice,” by Hemfelt, Minirth and Meir. If it sounds like something that might shed some light on your own experiences, do check it out. I promise you’ll be glad you did.

Categories: books, Christianity, Family, Friends, Life, Love, Marriage | 2 Comments

Choices

Posted on October 9, 2008 by Debora

I loves me some Calvin and Hobbes. I bought the complete box set when it was released a few years ago to replace my incomplete collection of yearly anthologies; Elizabeth was seven at the time, and naturally wanted to investigate this ginormous box of big heavy tomes. I was a little reluctant to let her read them — Calvin isn’t exactly a stellar role model — but in the end I decided that we could work through whatever problems might come up. Elizabeth immediately glommed onto the misadventures of the naughty six-year-old and his wisdom-imparting stuffed tiger, and for weeks she was completely immersed in that world as she worked her way through all three volumes and then revisited her favorite parts over and over.

I’m still trying to decide whether or not I made the right decision. On one hand, the strip had a profound influence on her visual storytelling style. If Elizabeth ever makes her fortune as an animator or graphic artist she’ll have Bill Watterson to thank, no doubt about it. On the other hand, Calvin is SO unapologetically disobedient and self-absorbed, and Elizabeth wasn’t old enough to grasp that it’s the very unacceptability of his behavior that makes the strip so funny. She took his egocentric life-view to heart, and began getting into whole new kinds of trouble at school. And the stories she drew started to take on a rebellious tone. Eventually I put the C&H books away and forbade her to look at them anymore. She was, um, dismayed and resentful about that. A lot. I was the most horrible mother in the entire history of child abuse, to hear her tell it. But gradually her behavior and her attitude got back on track; deprived of Calvin’s subversive influence she eventually reset to being a basically agreeable and cooperative little person. Several months later she explained to me that she had seen the error of her ways, and that Calvin was a lousy role model, and that she would like to be able to read the books again just because they’re funny and this time she wouldn’t be led astray by Calvin’s naughty example.

She’d been doing very well at school, so I agreed to let her get the box set out again.

And within a few weeks history was repeating itself. Trouble at school, a difficult attitude at home, insurrection in her stories. Away went the books again.

But here’s the thing: I don’t like censorship. I never have. This goes back to my own childhood, when my mother used to try to control our very thoughts by insanely strict limiting of the information we received. She never EVER responded to a straight question with a straight answer. Her parenting mantra was “You don’t have to understand, you just have to obey.” Because of that, I stumbled into adulthood knowing precious little of anything useful about being a grownup. I had to UNlearn most of what she’d taught me before I could even begin to get along with my fellow humans in any kind of productive manner. My twenties were spent coming to terms with the profound disfunction of my upbringing; my thirties were spent rebuilding myself into someone I was actually happy being.

So, back to the issue of Elizabeth and Calvin. It rankled me that the only solution I’d been able to find was censorship of the book in question. Because let’s face it, kids are going to be exposed to that stuff their whole lives. Trying to shelter a child from subversive influences, rather than pointing them out and teaching the child to recognize them and understand why they’re ultimately self-destructive, is pointless and counterproductive and doesn’t do the child any favors in the long run.

So over the past year I’ve done a lot of talking to Elizabeth about choices and ethics and consequences and what makes a behavior good or bad and why. And last weekend I pulled out the Calvin and Hobbes books and we started reading them together from the beginning. Time will tell if this is going to cause more problems, but if it does I’m going to find some other way of solving them than hiding the books away again. I did notice that this time both kids were laughing at the sheer outrageousness of Calvin’s actions rather than admiring his audacity. About a quarter of the way through the first volume I handed it over to them and said, “Here you go, enjoy. If you start having trouble in school we’ll talk some more.”

So far so good, but that’s a secondary point. I want to teach my kids not just to rise above bad influences, but to face reality head-on instead of hiding the problematic bits and pretending they don’t exist. Sometimes love means giving a person room to make mistakes and then helping them to learn from the experience.

Happy Love Thursday, everyone. Here’s to learning from our mistakes and making better choices in the future.

Categories: books, Family, kids, Life, Love, Love Thursday | 4 Comments

Washed

Posted on October 6, 2008 by Debora

One of the drawbacks of home worship was that Luke and Elizabeth were never baptized. I myself had a more-or-less Baptist upbringing (with generous helpings of batshit crazy, but that’s another post.) (Or probably not.) so the baptism thing weighed a little on my conscience as the kids grew older.

Actually once, when Elizabeth was three or four, I decided it was time to address the matter. I figured I’d check out the local churches until I found one that I liked and have it done there. Luke was just an infant and Elizabeth wasn’t good at sitting still yet, so I left them home with Steve one Sunday and began my experiment with a nice-looking little Baptist church in our area.

I really enjoyed the sermon. It was about how Christian love was meant to be shared with everyone, not just people who are like us. How we should extend the hand of fellowship and brotherhood to all those around us, and that just because someone has piercings or tattoos or weird hair, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re possessed of a demon or anything, and that we should show them the same kindness and grace that God offers freely to all His children.

It was a message that fit perfectly with my own philosophy, and the minister delivered it with great eloquence and conviction. I felt that here was a man who would understand my request.

So after the service I went over to him and explained that we had been home-worshipping, but that I would like to have my daughter baptized before she started school.

He looked at me with thinly-concealed disapproval and said that he would never even consider baptizing someone who wasn’t a member of his own church.

Alrighty then.

That was the end of my personal experience with organized religion until a few weeks ago when I began attending a local non-denominational church that a friend recommended. I’ve enjoyed the services there, and I’ve made a new friend or two, but this time I didn’t bring up the subject of baptism. I figured if we liked the church well enough to stick around, there was plenty of time to deal with that issue later.

But last week the pastor suddenly announced that on the following Sunday he would have the tub set up, and that he would offer baptisms to anyone who wanted one. I perked right up. One week would give me just enough time to explain to the kids exactly what it was all about, and let them prepare themselves for the deed.

Then the pastor added, “Raise your hand if you would like to be baptized next Sunday.” Seven or eight hands went up in the congregation.

I hesitated, then told the kids to raise their hands. They obliged, with rather baffled expressions.

THEN the pastor said, “Hey, everyone who wants to be baptized come on up here to the front!”

This was truly awkward. I had never really talked about baptism to Luke or Elizabeth, and they had no idea what the pastor was going on about. I thought about dropping the whole idea for now, but it was really something that should have been taken care of long ago. So I whispered to the kids, “Go on up there. I’ll explain everything when we get home.”

Trusting little souls that they are, they got up and joined the others in the front near the pastor. He was talking to each person about why they wanted to be baptized and so on, and when he reached Luke and Elizabeth he said, “So you two want to be baptized?”

“Actually,” Elizabeth leaned forward and enunciated clearly into the mic he held, “Our mom just told us to come up here.”

The congregation ROARED with laughter at her innocent candor and her faintly disgruntled tone. I’m sure I blushed scarlet.

The pastor laughed too, and made a comment about Elizabeth obviously being an intelligent, clear-thinking person. She was pleased by the compliment and beamed a smile at me. I gave her a wry thumbs-up, wishing I’d followed my first instinct and kept my mouth shut.

Then the pastor turned to Luke. “Do you love Jesus?”

“Yes,” Luke said, plainly wondering where this was headed.

“DO you?” The pastor demanded in a tell-the-truth-now voice.

“YES,” Luke insisted, looking mildly affronted.

The pastor turned back to Elizabeth. “Do you love Jesus?”

She nodded warily.

“Okay then! See you next Sunday.”

So I spent the past week explaining the significance of baptism, the physical and spiritual process, and the importance of only having it done if you really mean it, because faking it is worse than not doing it at all.

Luke, who is made of love wrapped in compassion and filled with a desire to be good, was only worried about getting water up his nose and the potential coldness of the water. He said he would like to see other people survive getting baptized before he made a final decision. I told him that was fine.

Elizabeth, who has always led with her intellect rather than her heart, said that she didn’t feel ready to make such a profound commitment at this point, and that she would pass on the baptism this time. It wasn’t really what I’d wanted to hear, but I thanked her for her honesty and appreciated her respect for the significance of the act.

So yesterday at church Elizabeth unselfconsciously told the pastor that she wasn’t ready to be baptized yet, and he smiled and said he’d be there whenever she felt ready. And Luke watched the others undergo the ritual cleansing and offering themselves to God (in a big horse trough full of warm water), and then said that he’d like to be baptized now, please. And it was beautiful and perfectly Luke, right down to when he asked permission to hold his nose for the dunking. I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera.

So. One kid baptized, one to go. And I’m feeling pretty good about our new church, which is a nice feeling.

In other news, we’ve had to fire up our woodstove twice already this week, which is HIGHLY unusual for October in Anza. The weather has turned brisk and breezy and downright cold at night, and while I adore Autumn — It’s absolutely my favorite season — I can’t help wondering how long my store of firewood is going to last if we have another winter like the last one. And I just bought a batch of young chicks to replenish my aging flock of egg-layers, and the last few nights have been a bit too cold for their safety.

And at the same time I can’t seem to get too worried about those things. I’ve felt God’s hand in my life so vividly these past few months, guiding and teaching and providing, that my prevailing mood is one of trust and thankfulness and acceptance and occasionally pure joy. Fear, even seemingly legitimate fears about things like running out of firewood or losing my chicks to a cold snap, don’t seem to get a foothold lately; I just feel like everything will work out for the best. The chicks will be fine, the firewood will last as long as it needs to. Things work out.

AND! This morning someone told me that my little cardboard jail made the front page of one of the local newspapers this week! How cool is that? I’ll have to pick up a copy next time I’m near a store. Gotta love living in a small town. :^)

Categories: Christianity, Family, kids, Life, Love | Tags: | 4 Comments

Sampler Saturday: Where It All Began

Posted on October 4, 2008 by Debora

When Elizabeth was six years old she discovered candy corn. And oh sweet mystery of life, how she loved those little nuggets of corn syrup and food coloring.

Not to eat, mind you. No, they became action figures: new characters in the rich tapestry of her inner world. She wasn’t writing books yet, but for months her drawings were populated with sentient candy corn kernals going about the business of collecting food. This is a Walking Candy Corn:

In her world they were industrious creatures much like ants, who spent all their time stashing food away for the winter, usually to the consternation of whoever they were stealing the food away from.

One day she decided to sit down and create her very first Actual Book. She began with the title: Spots And The Walking Candy Corn. (Spots was one of her Fisher Price toys, a little giraffe.)

Then she got so wrapped up in Spots’ tale of woe that she forgot to actually include any Walking Candy Corns in the story.

This one is by special request: the first complete book Elizabeth ever made, at age six.

It’s an I Can Read Book!

Spots is the tiny creature at the bottom of the page. Parental figures are always towering giants in Elizabeth’s drawings.

Love the wiggly reflection in the water. Click on any image for a larger view.

Yeah, I’m thinking Spots could maybe use some Prozak.

Pull it together, man!

But what’s this…

A carnival! Now we’re talking!

Not sure why there are vicious dinosaurs at the carnival…

This is an erupting volcano. Spots is just having the crappiest day ever.

I love this image. Spots and his enormous mother sleeping snugly in a giant bird nest. It’s so cozy. :^)

And there you have it — Elizabeth’s first book, fresh out of the Wayback Machine. Seems like forever ago that she started writing them, but I guess it’s only been four years.

It’s been a fun journey. I can’t wait to see what she’s writing in another four.

Categories: Artwork, books, Family, kids, Life, Sampler Saturday | 6 Comments

Curse Those Internet Bugs!

Posted on September 30, 2008 by Debora

The kids’ school Fall Festival fundraiser was Saturday, and other than the fact that I TOTALLY FORGOT that I’d promised to make cookies for the cakewalk, the whole thing seemed to be a grand success. I was helping with the throw-darts-at-balloons booth, and we had brisk business from start to finish. I was mildly concerned that we might run into, you know, complications, what with handing sharp metal implements to tiny toddlers and rowdy eight-year-olds and goth teens, but we didn’t have a single problem all day. Other than the wind occasionally gusting up and blowing our dartboard down, which usually necessitated the replacement of a bunch of popped balloons. I kept an anxious eye on my cardboard jail a few booths away, and saw that they’d solved the wind issue in the simplest possible way: the guys running the jail booth just stood on each side and held onto it when it threatened to blow away. Kids loved the jail concept, and there was a steady stream of “prisoners” in and out of it the whole time.

Steve brought the kids to the Festival around noon and they seemed to enjoy it, though I didn’t get to see much of them while they were there. AND there were plenty of baked goods for the cakewalks even without my forgotten cookies, so all was well.

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One by one this past week or two I’ve watched my favorite bloggers succumb to the the vicious cold that’s been going around. Maybe I should have been more careful when I visited their blogsites, because sure enough that nasty little bug CLOBBERED me Sunday morning. I snuffled my way through church and our Sunday dinner party, went to bed early, and then got maybe four hours’ sleep because I felt too crappy to doze off. I really need to stay away from sick peoples’ blogs; those internet virii are freaking relentless.

Monday I dragged my sorry self down to Temec to do my weekly shopping. I would have put it off, but I had an appointment to get my hair cut and didn’t want to reschedule. I had her touch up my highlights at the same time, and asked her to match the chlorinated silver shade because I’ve decided I like it that way. I’d post a pic, but this cold is seriously kicking my butt. Aside from the pretty pretty haircut I’m about as photogenic as a day-old serving of cold Spam in a dirty ashtray right now. Pics later, when my nose isn’t red and my skin isn’t chapped and I don’t have purple shadows under my eyes.

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When I got home from Temecula yesterday I didn’t feel like doing much of anything that involved effort, so I went to hang out with the kittens for a while. They live in the back of the house for now (the kids’ rooms and the adjacent playroom), so I hadn’t really seen much of them. The kids attend to their food and water, and other than cleaning out their litter box a few days ago my life has been simplified rather than complicated by their arrival. But I felt like it was time for me to get to know them, so in I went to officially introduce myself.

Except they wanted nothing to do with me. They skittered under furniture when I tried to pet them, indignantly objected when I cornered them and picked them up, and wriggled free as soon as they got the chance. I was an unwelcome invader in their little kitten lives. This worried me, because I’ve adopted kittens in the past that have turned out to be irredeemably non-domesticable, and that wasn’t what I’d wanted for my kids. I finally left them alone, feeling disappointed in their lack of sociability.

That evening, Elizabeth called me into the playroom to show me something she’d made out of marbles and plastic blocks. Luke and the kittens were in there too, so after I’d admired her marble sculpture thingy I sat down on the steps to see if there was any interaction between the four of them.

HA. I needn’t have worried. The kittens treated Elizabeth like a big fun climby toy, and from time to time Stripes would leave off frolicking to come over to Luke for petting. He would absently stroke her while going on with what he was doing (building beautiful little houses and cars out of paper), and then she’d dash back and scramble up Elizabeth again.

So, no worries about the four of them not getting along. I guess I’m the only suspicious-looking stranger here. I can live with that.

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Elizabeth says she has renamed her kitten “Madcat.” You know, like Dr. Claw’s feline henchman. I’m not entirely comfortable with the fact that she’s named her cute little kitty after the evil pet of of an evil genius, but I suppose one must pick one’s battles wisely and let the little stuff go, right?

Is it bad that when I saw this pic at the Cheezburger site I immediately thought of my sweet girl?

Siiiiiiiggghhhhh.

Categories: Family, kids, Life, School | Leave a comment

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