The girls aren't the only ones ready for the beginning of school.
I am, too. I'm looking forward to a more structured existence, one in which an authority other than me dictates where my children need to be at a certain time. My own attempts at imposing structure this summer have failed miserably. I've taken to saying "Wait until next year," for I'm sure I'll be more successful then.
With 5 more days until school starts, I have run out of the intestinal fortitude needed to mandate reading time, impose limitations on sugary foods, monitor TV viewing, referee fights involving possessions and territorial transgressions, monitor computer use, police room cleanups, guarantee the safety of our cats, attend to mounds of laundry, find novel places to hold essential telephone conversations (the latest is inside my car with the windows closed), and preparing balanced meals.
I am ready for a change. And while I was anticipating spending my free time eating bon-bons, watching soap operas and listening to talk radio, there's an even bigger change looming on the horizon.
It's time for me to return to full-time work.
I'm more excited about this than I could have imagined. After almost 10 years of working mostly out of the house, I'm ready to actually GO to WORK. I'm ready to engage in adult conversations without interruptions. I'm ready to put on my work clothes and get down to business. I'm ready.
Wish me luck.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
a fever pitch
Emotions are running high in the Strzelecki household. We are waiting -- not patiently -- for the first day of school.
With both children experiencing milestone years in their education (one will be in 1st grade; the other, 5th grade), the anticipation began almost immediately after school let out in June. We are now at Defcom 2.
An unprecedented level of frenzy has taken over the place. School supply inventories are checked daily. Closets are reviewed, lunches planned.
On Tuesday, class lists were published district-wide at 4:00pm both online and at the school. At 4:01pm, we were urging our overworked computer along to pull up the site. After an agonizingly long 30 seconds, the fifth grader insisted we view the lists in person.
The news was not good. No familiar names in her class, which is not surprising because the middle school draws from four elementary schools. I understand this, but trying to explain it to her is fruitless. There were no tears, thank goodness, just a considerable amount of whining.
It didn't help that the first grader has several kindergarten classmates in her new class. You've all heard the familiar chorus "That's NOT Fair!!" You might say it's our theme song lately.
In between dodging emotional shrapnel and watching my bank account depleting, I realize that not much has changed. I'm not that much "farther along" than my girls, at least emotionally. I still tend to place unreasonable hope on the future, obsess about my stuff, and find my situation lacking when comparing it to others.
Sure, I'm a responsible adult with tons of helpful advice if only the younger crowd would just listen, but in my heart I can be a whining child wondering if my teacher will like me.
I just hope I bought the right kind of erasers...
With both children experiencing milestone years in their education (one will be in 1st grade; the other, 5th grade), the anticipation began almost immediately after school let out in June. We are now at Defcom 2.
An unprecedented level of frenzy has taken over the place. School supply inventories are checked daily. Closets are reviewed, lunches planned.
On Tuesday, class lists were published district-wide at 4:00pm both online and at the school. At 4:01pm, we were urging our overworked computer along to pull up the site. After an agonizingly long 30 seconds, the fifth grader insisted we view the lists in person.
The news was not good. No familiar names in her class, which is not surprising because the middle school draws from four elementary schools. I understand this, but trying to explain it to her is fruitless. There were no tears, thank goodness, just a considerable amount of whining.
It didn't help that the first grader has several kindergarten classmates in her new class. You've all heard the familiar chorus "That's NOT Fair!!" You might say it's our theme song lately.
In between dodging emotional shrapnel and watching my bank account depleting, I realize that not much has changed. I'm not that much "farther along" than my girls, at least emotionally. I still tend to place unreasonable hope on the future, obsess about my stuff, and find my situation lacking when comparing it to others.
Sure, I'm a responsible adult with tons of helpful advice if only the younger crowd would just listen, but in my heart I can be a whining child wondering if my teacher will like me.
I just hope I bought the right kind of erasers...
Friday, August 14, 2009
the tide of conspicuous consumption
Yes, the retail landscape is rather bleak: many strip malls have taken on the appearance of ghost towns, car dealerships are shuttered or replaced by independent used car peddlers, big box store parking lots are less than 1/3 full -- even on Saturdays.
Yet the phenomenon really doesn't upset me at all. I do feel for those who have lost their jobs or businesses because of it, and I wish them well. Yet it seems like a small price to pay for Americans to come to their senses.
A few less stores might mean a few less worthless trinkets exchanged as gifts or gathering dust in our houses; a few less new car dealerships might lessen our chronic compulsion to purchase the newest symbol of our "success;" a few less trips to the big box stores help us realize that the 24-pack of deoderant, even if it is on sale, is just something else to store on our already overflowing shelves.
Wishful thinking, perhaps? Is consumerism too ingrained in our culture to overcome? Is frugality simply a fad?
I detect a bit of self-righteousness in the parents who've been quoted lately that they see no need to buy brand-new school supplies for their kids when they can "make do" with supplies laying around the house or (gasp!) use the same backpack Junior used last year. Why is this such a novel idea? Why is it only now "cool to conserve?"
And don't get me started about "consumption" as in the waves of new restaurants that spill onto the landscape. The economy has slowed that tide as well, and I say good riddance. We really don't need a White Castle in our town. No, we really don't.
Goodbye Linen's & Things, Pier One, Baker's Square. We can get along just fine without you. Maybe better.
Yet the phenomenon really doesn't upset me at all. I do feel for those who have lost their jobs or businesses because of it, and I wish them well. Yet it seems like a small price to pay for Americans to come to their senses.
A few less stores might mean a few less worthless trinkets exchanged as gifts or gathering dust in our houses; a few less new car dealerships might lessen our chronic compulsion to purchase the newest symbol of our "success;" a few less trips to the big box stores help us realize that the 24-pack of deoderant, even if it is on sale, is just something else to store on our already overflowing shelves.
Wishful thinking, perhaps? Is consumerism too ingrained in our culture to overcome? Is frugality simply a fad?
I detect a bit of self-righteousness in the parents who've been quoted lately that they see no need to buy brand-new school supplies for their kids when they can "make do" with supplies laying around the house or (gasp!) use the same backpack Junior used last year. Why is this such a novel idea? Why is it only now "cool to conserve?"
And don't get me started about "consumption" as in the waves of new restaurants that spill onto the landscape. The economy has slowed that tide as well, and I say good riddance. We really don't need a White Castle in our town. No, we really don't.
Goodbye Linen's & Things, Pier One, Baker's Square. We can get along just fine without you. Maybe better.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
slippery slope of self-improvement
God must have laughed heartily when I embarked on yet another quest to become physically fit, be healthy, eat less sugar and stop drinking coffee. All was going well, I was biking and/or walking daily, eating more salads and drinking less colas...
...and then I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies (allegedly for my family) and that was the begining of the downward turn. Of course, failure is always a good excuse, and I've given myself wholeheartedly over to culinary debauchery, despite some feeble attempts to break my slide. Ice cream every other day, two or three diet (sometimes) colas a day, random bite-size pieces of chocolate, and the dreaded McDonald's lunch.
Don't think that fat free creamer in the coffee is making much difference anymore.
I say God must have laughed not because he's sadistic and enjoys seeing me fail. I say that because he (and I) know what usually happens when I embark upon these endeavors to be a "better" person, when I place cosmetic improvements at the top of the list of things to work on. I think he's shaking his head with a wry, knowing smile, yet still loving me.
I'm laughing, too. It all seems so ridiculous, like putting up a tent during a rainstorm or driving through a muddy field after you've washed the car. There's a definite path to good health, and I keep trying to take a detour. It's time to stop kidding myself.
...and then I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies (allegedly for my family) and that was the begining of the downward turn. Of course, failure is always a good excuse, and I've given myself wholeheartedly over to culinary debauchery, despite some feeble attempts to break my slide. Ice cream every other day, two or three diet (sometimes) colas a day, random bite-size pieces of chocolate, and the dreaded McDonald's lunch.
Don't think that fat free creamer in the coffee is making much difference anymore.
I say God must have laughed not because he's sadistic and enjoys seeing me fail. I say that because he (and I) know what usually happens when I embark upon these endeavors to be a "better" person, when I place cosmetic improvements at the top of the list of things to work on. I think he's shaking his head with a wry, knowing smile, yet still loving me.
I'm laughing, too. It all seems so ridiculous, like putting up a tent during a rainstorm or driving through a muddy field after you've washed the car. There's a definite path to good health, and I keep trying to take a detour. It's time to stop kidding myself.
Monday, August 03, 2009
another hill
I've rediscovered the joy of riding my bicycle!
Sure, it's great exercise, but the exhiliration of speeding along in the open air is really quite addicting. Add the green explosion of this cool mid-summer scenery and the wildlife -- yesterday I saw three deer and a hawk -- and I'm taking rides whenever I can and enjoying every single minute.
Except for the hills.
My aunt Carol, who lives in upstate New York around the northernmost tip of the Appalacian mountains, laughs when I groan about "the hills." For her, it's nothing to turn the corner and face a road vaulting at a 45 degree incline. As for me, I'm still getting used my village's many undulations, and I've lived here nearly 7 years.
The hills in my neighborhood are due partly to some glacier pattern thing and partly to the proximity of the Fox River. In fact, the flatlanders who bought the land for developing probably thought they had found some kind of anomaly, since they name it "Hillhurst."
The hills are one of the reasons why I didn't ride my bike much for exercise over the last 7 years. Too intimidating. Too exhausting. I was too out of shape. Not to mention the kiddie trailer then bike tandem that has been attached to my bike for God knows how long. One looks kind of silly riding solo when the wheels are definitely meant for more than one passenger.
But now I'm learning to love the hills. For one thing, what goes up must come down, if not in the next block, but down the road. The struggle is worth it for a brief but refreshing period of coasting.
The hills provide me with a variety of challenges. Some are exceptionally steep but short, requiring a burst of energy, sometimes with me standing on the pedals and grinding away. Others seem to go on at a steady incline for days, leaving me to feel as if there is not enough oxygen in the world and as if my muscles will simply explode out of my skin before I reach the plateau.
It's the latter hills that get me. I've learn not to fixate on the top of a hill like that, because it always seems like I'm getting nowhere. Instead, I focus on a point about 2 feet or so in front of my bike, only occasionally lifting my eyes. It seems to shift my perspective from how much farther I have to go to how far I've come. It helps me to make necessary adjustments in my breathing, to more carefully space out the downshifting.
Lately I've been contemplating on this method as a metaphor for life. God knows I tend to fixate on a point on the horizon, ignoring what needs to be done in order to get there and obsessing on the celebration when I arrive.
Like right now, for example, as I search for full-time employment. Every position I find provides a temptation to daydream about what life will be like having that job, that money, that commute, those responsibilities, etc. when I really need to be tailoring my resume, writing a cover letter, applying online, etc.
I need to focus 2 feet in front of me, shift judiciously, focus on my breathing, and do what needs to be done. It helps make the journey -- and even the hill -- much more enjoyable.
Sure, it's great exercise, but the exhiliration of speeding along in the open air is really quite addicting. Add the green explosion of this cool mid-summer scenery and the wildlife -- yesterday I saw three deer and a hawk -- and I'm taking rides whenever I can and enjoying every single minute.
Except for the hills.
My aunt Carol, who lives in upstate New York around the northernmost tip of the Appalacian mountains, laughs when I groan about "the hills." For her, it's nothing to turn the corner and face a road vaulting at a 45 degree incline. As for me, I'm still getting used my village's many undulations, and I've lived here nearly 7 years.
The hills in my neighborhood are due partly to some glacier pattern thing and partly to the proximity of the Fox River. In fact, the flatlanders who bought the land for developing probably thought they had found some kind of anomaly, since they name it "Hillhurst."
The hills are one of the reasons why I didn't ride my bike much for exercise over the last 7 years. Too intimidating. Too exhausting. I was too out of shape. Not to mention the kiddie trailer then bike tandem that has been attached to my bike for God knows how long. One looks kind of silly riding solo when the wheels are definitely meant for more than one passenger.
But now I'm learning to love the hills. For one thing, what goes up must come down, if not in the next block, but down the road. The struggle is worth it for a brief but refreshing period of coasting.
The hills provide me with a variety of challenges. Some are exceptionally steep but short, requiring a burst of energy, sometimes with me standing on the pedals and grinding away. Others seem to go on at a steady incline for days, leaving me to feel as if there is not enough oxygen in the world and as if my muscles will simply explode out of my skin before I reach the plateau.
It's the latter hills that get me. I've learn not to fixate on the top of a hill like that, because it always seems like I'm getting nowhere. Instead, I focus on a point about 2 feet or so in front of my bike, only occasionally lifting my eyes. It seems to shift my perspective from how much farther I have to go to how far I've come. It helps me to make necessary adjustments in my breathing, to more carefully space out the downshifting.
Lately I've been contemplating on this method as a metaphor for life. God knows I tend to fixate on a point on the horizon, ignoring what needs to be done in order to get there and obsessing on the celebration when I arrive.
Like right now, for example, as I search for full-time employment. Every position I find provides a temptation to daydream about what life will be like having that job, that money, that commute, those responsibilities, etc. when I really need to be tailoring my resume, writing a cover letter, applying online, etc.
I need to focus 2 feet in front of me, shift judiciously, focus on my breathing, and do what needs to be done. It helps make the journey -- and even the hill -- much more enjoyable.
Friday, July 31, 2009
so hard to trust
It's inevitable: your child reaches a certain age and decides that Mom is not as powerful, knowledgable or even as funny as he/she once imagined. In fact (as witnessed by said child), sometimes Mom loses things, gets lost herself, and forgets critical items ("Mom, you forgot to buy Kookie Cookie Crumble cereal AGAIN?!!!!").
Let's not even get into the ever-widening gap between what makes Mom laugh and what the child considers humorous.
And this is the time period before the teen years, when Mom loses all credibility. Some kids reach this stage at around 9 or 10; my 6-year-old is already exhibiting the stage-related mannerisms surely learned from listening to her older sister ("Mom, PLEASE don't forget to give me my allowance AGAIN like you did last week!!!") At least she said "please."
One day, the three of us got into an argument about who had their facts straight about what day of the week it was, and I began to get just a little ticked off. I wanted to yell at them I'm the adult here, I think I know what day it is and why can't you just believe me!!!! and stamp my foot to prove my point.
Then it hit me: this is part of who we are as human beings. We think we know it all. And in general, we don't trust that anyone else knows as much as we do.
Even omnipotent, omnipresent, infallible God.
When my 6-year-old queries from the back seat as I drive her to her friend's house: "Mom, do you know where you're going?" I think of my own questions to God: Do you know what you are doing? Do you know where you're taking me?
When my older daughter is nodding and avoiding eye contact during my earnest attempts to take advantage of a "teaching moment," I think of how how quickly I focus on the injustice of a situation and brush off God's attempts to reach out to me.
It's who we are, especially in this country: we automatically mistrust authority, sure that the person in charge really doesn't know what he/she is talking about.
Let's not even get into the ever-widening gap between what makes Mom laugh and what the child considers humorous.
And this is the time period before the teen years, when Mom loses all credibility. Some kids reach this stage at around 9 or 10; my 6-year-old is already exhibiting the stage-related mannerisms surely learned from listening to her older sister ("Mom, PLEASE don't forget to give me my allowance AGAIN like you did last week!!!") At least she said "please."
One day, the three of us got into an argument about who had their facts straight about what day of the week it was, and I began to get just a little ticked off. I wanted to yell at them I'm the adult here, I think I know what day it is and why can't you just believe me!!!! and stamp my foot to prove my point.
Then it hit me: this is part of who we are as human beings. We think we know it all. And in general, we don't trust that anyone else knows as much as we do.
Even omnipotent, omnipresent, infallible God.
When my 6-year-old queries from the back seat as I drive her to her friend's house: "Mom, do you know where you're going?" I think of my own questions to God: Do you know what you are doing? Do you know where you're taking me?
When my older daughter is nodding and avoiding eye contact during my earnest attempts to take advantage of a "teaching moment," I think of how how quickly I focus on the injustice of a situation and brush off God's attempts to reach out to me.
It's who we are, especially in this country: we automatically mistrust authority, sure that the person in charge really doesn't know what he/she is talking about.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Today's question: How has God used suffering to wake you up spiritually?
I think the most important word in this question is "used," as in Jesus teaches us that God uses suffering, he does not cause it. If we persist in believing that the trials of life are delivered by God to create teachable moments, then he takes on the image of a sadistic professor intent on our misery.
Even devoted students would be discouraged by a professor who teaches simply for knowledge's sake.
No, our suffering comes from living in a fallen world shaped by the words and deeds of sinners. It comes from the reality of disease, the unavoidability of accidents, the inevitably of death. If we persist in believing that God causes these things to happen, there is no hope. If God doesn't use our suffering for good, then we are simply left with despair.
God loves us too much for that.
So, as for me, how has God used suffering to wake me up spiritually?
I think the most important word in this question is "used," as in Jesus teaches us that God uses suffering, he does not cause it. If we persist in believing that the trials of life are delivered by God to create teachable moments, then he takes on the image of a sadistic professor intent on our misery.
Even devoted students would be discouraged by a professor who teaches simply for knowledge's sake.
No, our suffering comes from living in a fallen world shaped by the words and deeds of sinners. It comes from the reality of disease, the unavoidability of accidents, the inevitably of death. If we persist in believing that God causes these things to happen, there is no hope. If God doesn't use our suffering for good, then we are simply left with despair.
God loves us too much for that.
So, as for me, how has God used suffering to wake me up spiritually?
- He has used physical pain to inspire me to take better care of myself.
- He has used tragedy to keep me mindful of my blessings.
- He has used struggles in personal relationships to lead me to better myself.
These are just a few points -- I'm sure I can think of more. Especially right now, with stores closing, people unemployed, our health care system up in the air, our international relations tenous, he is teaching me to trust in him.
The LORD is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life— of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1
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