Easy is a Moving Target

I have a friend whose children are five months younger than mine. So her oldest is not yet two, and her littlest is about two months. She is in the "crazy" stage and we had a lot of "fun" (wink wink) commiserating when she came to visit the other day, laughing about how ridiculously hard some days can be. You know, those days when your kids are crying and screaming and so you end up crying and screaming and then by the evening you're in a puddle on the floor thinking, "God, I am a horrible mother, why did you think this was a good idea?!" Those kind of days.

I think it is so important to have mother friends who have been where you are. So important. Partly so that you can laugh about the bad days with them. There is nothing like someone else's stories to give you a little perspective!

I have a lot on my plate right now. I have some writing commitments I'm struggling to meet, some editorial work, and some work I'm getting paid to do but has a deadline and is time-consuming. It feels like I have a part time job. And in the meanwhile Michael has more energy than ever, and he needs me to be present for him. The twins are starting solids, and I'm trying to get them on a nap schedule, and every time I think we've found a routine that works BAM they change things up again.

Ever since the twins were born I feel like I've been clinging to the idea of some future time when things will be "easy" again. I've read through forums, I've asked other twin moms, I've searched on Google: when do things get easy?

But listening to my friend, I realized ... six months ago, if I could've seen my life now, I would have called it easy!

I think this is partly because things have gotten easier. The twins sleep a little better, they're content on their own or with their brothers for much longer periods of time, they're happy nursers. I no longer have to stay in Michael's room for half an hour at night until he falls asleep because of nighttime separation anxiety. I am cooking dinner every night, going grocery shopping once a week, and for the most part my clean laundry all gets folded in a timely manner. All things I could only dream about six months ago.

There are still plenty of other challenges. Naps that are too short, nights that are disrupted, exhaustion that leaves no room for writing or quality conversation with my husband or the myriad of projects we want to tackle with the house. Encouraged by the fact I had meals under control, I signed up to take some meals to new mothers in the area. That was a mistake and I ended up flaking on all but one of them. I am still in a position where I need help rather than give it.

And of course there are some new challenges. Michael is ... well, he's two years old. Dominic is about to start crawling. Etc.

I think I am coming out of survival mode. But life is by no means "easy."

Except for once a few weekends ago, when I was home alone with just one baby. THAT was easy. And yet being home along with a baby would have been so hard when it was just Michael.

Perhaps life doesn't have to be easy in order to be good.

Rosie, a fellow twin mom (who is expecting her fifth! yay!), once told me that things get easier and then harder and then easier again. I am starting to experience that for myself. Things keep changing, and so I keep changing. As a parent you are forced to stretch, to grow, and growth is hard.

In any area of life when you master one thing, when something becomes "easy," it's time to move on to the next step. Except I have always had a tendency to want to stay where it's easy. To stick with what I already know and can do. Which eventually leads to stagnation.

Parenthood doesn't let you do that.

And so I trust that even hardship, even my failures as a parent, are a mercy, are a source of grace, because they are leading me to become a better person who has more to give, to my family and to others.

Consent isn't enough.

I'm sure most of you know about the rape case in Steubenville, OH. If you don't, a quick google search can tell you all you want to know. I haven't been following it too closely because to be honest, I have a hard time dealing with it emotionally. I don't want to know all the details. I have a pretty active imagination, to the point where empathizing with the victim makes me feel ill.

But it is hard for me for another reason. Namely, that I am the mother of a son. And when I (involuntarily) imagine myself as the mother of those sons, it is pure agony.

We like to think that we're good enough parents for that never to happen, but our children, in the end, are their own beings, free to make choices for good or for evil. I know nothing about those parents; I don't know what good and bad choices they made in raising their sons. But I do know that we live in a culture that wants to shape our boys, if not into rapists, then into men who have no idea of the dignity of women, of themselves, and of sexuality. As a parent trying to raise sons (or daughters), it's a battle to even stand in the checkout line of the grocery store, where magazine covers teach through headlines (and more importantly pictures) that women are objects to be consumed--and by extension, men's bodies are reduced to the tools of that consumption. The desires of men and women are distorted and then exploited by people who want their money.

People want to teach men not to be rapists by emphasizing consent; but rape starts long before that moment when a man decides to violate another's body against their consent. It starts long, long before that, in the way that men, as boys, are taught to view women. If you teach your son to view their own dignity and that of women with respect, then you will never have to even use the word "consent," because rape is something they would never even dream of. "Consent" was not a word that was part of my sexual education, because it was a GIVEN. And frankly, it's not enough, because consent isn't always clear cut. What about the woman who feels pressured, or who doesn't want to have sex but wants to prove she loves her boyfriend and so remains silent?

Simply emphasizing consent is not only inadequate, but exacerbates the problem by presenting a distorted view of sex. If consent is the ONLY requirement for sex to be hunky dory and okay, if everything else is fine from pornography to sadomasochism to whatever ... you are not preventing rape. Rapists are the people who choose to ignore consent, so throwing that word at them over and over does nothing. If we are not teaching our sons that our sexuality MEANS anything beyond base animal instinct and self-gratification and feeling good--if it is only about our bodies and not our souls--if it is only about pleasure--if we are not required to learn virtue and the strength say no to OURSELVES--do you really expect everyone to learn to listen when others say "no"?

I can only hope and pray for the grace to help my son grow into a godly man, one who resists pressure to cave in his beliefs, who has the courage to do hard things and holy things, who knows that his body is a temple and so is that of every woman he will ever meet.

St. Joseph, pray for us.

Unhumble (or, Why I Will Never Be a Food Blogger)

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. I offered to bake her a cake, and she said yes. I was pretty excited, since I have an ever-growing cake board on Pinterest, but I rarely get a chance to bake cake. I mean, we're just two people here. (Or at least, just two cake-eating adults.) We can't healthily eat an entire cake by ourselves. Which means that if I bake a cake without an opportunity to offer some to other people, one of two things will happen: the cake will go to waste, or Keith and I will get fat. Both of which are tragic outcomes. ;)

(Keith is often suggesting that I bake things to give away. Which I love the idea of, but when I try a new recipe, I'm paranoid of giving it away without trying it first to make sure it actually tastes good. Also ... I just want to taste it, hehe.)

I have no pictures of the cake I made, but it looked a lot like this only drippier (think a solidified ring of ganache around the bottom of the cake, lol). I don't have the presence of mind to take pictures while cooking, and anyways I do most of my cooking in the evening when the light is horrible for photography. Clearly I will never be a food blogger!

Anyway, the only change I made was to make a ganache for the top instead of simply melted chocolate (in other words, I added heavy cream when I melted it). And I have to say, it was pretty good. Neither the filling nor the chocolate was too sweet. And everyone complemented my cake. And all I said in response was "thank you."

Four times out of five, I can't present my cooking without apologizing for it in some way, even to Keith. If I try a new or unusual recipe for dinner (like winter root pie, or berry cobbler with added lavender (which was really really good btw)), I dish it onto the plate and bring it to the table and say, "Well, we'll see how this turned out." Or, "This is okay, but the sauce is too soupy." Or, "ehhh, I should have cooked this a little longer." Always some imperfection.

And it's good I keep track of what I want to do differently or better next time, because that will make me a better cook over time. But the problem is, my automatic response to any complement is to point out my own failures.

I can't say that this comes from a place of humility. First of all, humility doesn't consist of denying your own strengths and successes (although it doesn't seek out acknowledgment of them). At best that's dishonest; at worst it's a form of pride. Second of all, it's not that I don't like the complements ... but this response is so habitual it's like a defense mechanism. Maybe if I point out my own mistakes I show that I'm more "mature" than, say, a little kid who proudly displays her artwork that no one can recognize? That doesn't seem compatible with true humility to me.

I do the same thing with knitting. These mittens, for example. I love stranded colorwork and I want to get Very Good at it. I have yet to knit anything stranded without some puckering somewhere from having too tight a gauge, and it kind of bothers me. So when I show you these mittens, it is only with great effort that I restrain myself from pointing out each and every place they pucker.

See the puckering down the palm--how the stripes sort of disappear into a fold in the fabric?

That being said ... I love these mittens. A lot. And I am proud of them. (Or at least, the one I've almost finished.) And of the many places where it doesn't pucker. ;) So here they are, without the catalogue of imperfections to accompany them. And I won't point out the other imperfections, on my blog or on my Ravelry project page.

I think I'll be able to finish this one tonight.

It's still Christmastide ...

... but things are winding down here. Keith's mom left very early yesterday morning, and we are likely just hanging out at home for a quiet New Year's.

Christmas morning, complete with snowman pjs

Amidst the happy busyness of visiting friends and family during the past week, I've really treasured the moments when I've slipped away to nurse Michael. (He needs a quiet room or he gets very distracted.) Especially since during that time Mama often had to be the bad guy (at least in baby's eyes) who enforced naps and so forth, that space of calm one-on-one time felt so necessary and peaceful, and Michael's smiles very special.

This Christmas I've been thinking a lot about humility and what it really means. I think it's one of those virtues that gets stereotyped quite a bit. I had wanted to cook my mother-in-law a meal while she is here. She always cooks amazing meals for us when she visits, but I have never cooked for her. For various reasons it didn't happen, and I was lamenting it as I did the dishes one night, because cooking someone a meal is, to me, one of the best ways to show hospitality and service. And then I realized--anyone can do the dishes. You might get thanked for it, but you probably won't get complimented on what a great dishwasher you are or how spotless you left the glasses. It is a very necessary task, but not very visible.

And that is an act (or rather an attitude) of humility: recognizing and generously responding to whatever needs must be met, whether it's cooking a delicious meal you will be recognized for or doing some small task that anyone else could do.

Right now chicken soup is simmering on the stove, and Keith is picking up bread from Giant Eagle on his way home, and the baby is napping. I will probably spend most of my evening knitting; I've decided I am DONE with this blanket by 2013, no matter what. I have one more ball of this fuzzy green yarn left, but we'll see if I manage to break into it before midnight. :-P

not my favorite shade of green ... 

I mean, the yarn is very soft and VERY warm, but I've been working on this blanket for ages. There are pictures of me knitting it from Thanksgiving of last year. 

Knitting and chicken soup on New Year's Eve ... we're an exciting bunch around here. ;)