Tag: home

Just Say No

Besides getting to read Little House together, one of the things I enjoy most about Kate’s new 8 p.m. bedtime is that we often end up talking about very serious issues in our half-hour without the little ones. Kate is mature for her age, and incredibly empathetic toward other people. This combination makes her something of an old but naive soul, so when we talked tonight about Saturday’s shopping trip, it quickly got deep and complicated.

We live in an urban neighborhood, and our local grocery store is full of…errr…interesting people. Its nickname is the “Fellini Kroger.” Apparently some Italian director named Fellini was known for his colorful characters, and it’s not a stretch to say that the people at our Kroger would make unique extras in any movie.

When you live quite near the homeless missions, you encounter many people with sad stories. At first, we were shocked and horrified, and we gladly opened our wallets to anyone who asked for a bite to eat or a gallon of gas. But after awhile, the stories began to sound the same. The third or fourth time we heard the exact same story about a flat tire, a wife and kid waiting in the car a few streets away, and the desperate need for $20, we began to be wary. Soon we found out from more experienced neighbors that many of these people had access to food and shelter via the homeless missions, but sadly were addicts who told stories for a few bucks for drugs.

As a Christian, I struggled terribly saying no to people who were so clearly in need. But knowing that our money was very likely going to drugs–when we already pay exorbitant self-employment taxes that contributes to medicaid, welfare, food stamps, and other programs for those who are down and out–woke me up a bit. Our church makes and serves a meal at the Rescue Mission every sixth Saturday, and my eyes were opened further when I would kindly refer hungry people who asked me for money in the Kroger parking lot to the Mission down the street for a hot meal, and they would practically spit in my face and walk away toward someone else in search of cash.

So I struggle with this issue, because I want to err on the side of generosity, but I don’t want to aid and abet a terrible habit. It would be easier to just shop at the “Disney Kroger” a few miles up the road–the one that’s brand new, has everything, and seems to attract only suburban middle-class folks. But I don’t.

And when Kate has her own serious questions about the homeless and the Sheep and the Goats passage in Matthew 25, I realize how utterly inadequate my explanations are. No matter how I rationalize it, it looks bad. It is bad.

I’m not going to shield our kids from drug users who are homeless because of their life choices. It’s good to talk about how bad choices can wreck your life, and we have ample proof all around us. But it’s also hard to tell our kids that we can’t help, because the only kind of help they want is a kind we’re not willing to give.

I always thought that as a parent I could give my kids black and white answers. But darn it if they don’t hone in on the stuff I myself find to be impossibly gray.

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November 14th, 2011
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The people in your neighborhood

All around us everything was changing in the order of things we had fashioned for ourselves.

The neighborhood changed….

Chaim Potok, The Promise

Our neighborhood is changing. When we moved in, our house was a shiny new facade amid unkempt homes, trash-filled lawns, chain-link fences, and scary-looking dogs. (Not that our yard was any better, but at least the house was beautiful.) Church members were…um…surprised we’d chosen to live in the ‘hood, but it’s a mile from the church and school. So easy to run back and forth, and I get to eat lunch with my husband almost every day. We also truly love our home. Every single day I look around and am practically teary-eyed over this place and our beautiful view.

Almost six years later, the neighborhood is turning around. People have died, moved away, abandoned their homes to foreclosure sales. I used to call our neighborhood the “poor cousin” of the two historic districts next door. Now younger couples are moving in. We see a lot of hipsters out walking their dogs, renovating treasured old houses, spiffing up the place. But it’s still a mixed bag. Between the revitalized homes, the old guard remains with their chain link fences and “Beware of the Dog” signs.

Now, after many good changes, our block is falling apart.

A few weeks ago, the third floor of the closed school building across the street collapsed into the second. The building is historic and we hope it can be saved, but are weary of the possibilities never turning into a concrete project.

On the end, a beautiful old home was shut down by the health department. We don’t know the full story, but it has something to do with black mold, according to the next-door neighbor. Two doors down, our neighbors recently died of cancer. Their cars are still parked out front, and I feel sad and empty every time I walk out the door, look over, and remember that they’re gone.

Our next-door neighbors are also moving. Their two boys are my girls’ ages, and the girls were ecstatic to have playmates all summer long. Now they’re lonely and too listless to even ride their bikes. I send them out, and they’re back within minutes. “It’s boring without Jonathan and Zachary.” “I don’t want to play with her” (indicating sister).

Sad changes all around. King Solomon put it best in Ecclesiastes 3 (aka a ’60s song by The Byrds),

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.

We are entering our season of a lonely ‘hood. But we’re here for the long haul. Winter is coming, and the girls won’t be outside as much to notice the vacant empty space next door. Our other neighbors’ home will be sold by their families, hopefully to a lovely young family with children. And after all the summer drama with “girlfriend this” and “boyfriend that” and me and the boys’ mom telling the kids they were far too young for this sort of thing, I think I’d like some girl neighbors this time.

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October 4th, 2011
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I’m a mother, hear me roar*

I am a wife and a mom.

I cherish these vocations.

I love my husband and children more than anything on this earth.

Of course I have other interests and activities outside of my kids. Sometimes I need a break from them (hello, early bedtimes!). I work part time and enjoy what I do, that mental stimulation from switching between diapers and dinner to deadlines and the nuances of grammar. Derek and I are best friends, but we still have our own “things.” He brews beer and plays volleyball, and I, um, hmmm…I read and bake a lot when I have time.

In general, the family gig we’ve got going is pretty solid.

That’s why I don’t like it when other women, in a feministic push for solidarity, want me to agree that neglecting my vocation as a wife and mother is “good” for the hubby and kids.

Like not cooking dinner or washing their clothes. “Good” for them, because they will realize how much I do for them (ha! ha!).

Like putting my job before my family. “Good” for them, because the children will grow up with a mother who had ambition.

Like making my husband shoulder a bigger burden around the house even though he works almost three times the hours I do. “Good” for him because we live in a modern society and men need to be enlightened and women freed.

It’s not PC to want to be a wife, to want to be a mother, to want to serve your husband and children in your vocation, to “sacrifice” your career to do these things.

To which I have just one question: Then what is an atheist feminist doing reading Mormon mommy blogs and secretly wishing in deep places she won’t really explore that she wants the husband and kids and happy home?

We’re born this way, people. Created from Adam’s rib, in God’s image. Embrace it. Being a wife and mother doesn’t mean you can’t be anything else. (Just hear Walt Whitman’s take on the matter.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself“

That’s the beauty of vocation in the Lutheran sense–we are called to serve in many ways, and we don’t have to abandon the very vocations we have been called to serve in. I’m willing to vouch that my husband likes it–and learns–infinitely more when I perform my vocation rather than abdicate it to teach him a lesson, just as I like it–and learn–infinitely more when he kills critters, earns a living, catechizes our kids, and does his husbandly and fatherly things.

I am not afraid of being a stereotype in our culture.

I am a wife.

I am a mother.

Rooaarrrrr.*

* This is Jonathan’s current favorite sound. We say it a lot ’round these parts, and everybody laughs a lot. It’s one of the many, many perks of having kids.

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September 27th, 2011
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Too many creatures, great and small.

Nothing disturbs my equilibrium quite so much as an unexpected visitor in the house.

We have a family of birds living in our guest room ceiling. Occasionally one of them gets lost in the wall. They’ve ended up in our bedroom, the basement, and the kitchen. It’s quite an experience to arrive home to weird noises in the back room, grab the pepper spray and the phone, ready to call 911, and rush in, heart pounding, only to find a bird that’s every bit as frightened as you are.

Last year one of these stopped by, via a box of clothes in the attic:

He was huge–about three inches long. Naturally, I screamed like a girl when I saw him, then collected my wits and got out the vacuum. The only problem: he went through the vacuum, but didn’t die. I could see him through the clear plastic, trying to get out, so I did what any reasonable person would do and put the vacuum cleaner outside until Derek could come home and dispose of him.

Derek was not impressed.

This morning, I was upstairs getting the kids ready for church. Sophia ran down ahead of us, and promptly came back up. “Mommy, there’s something downstairs!” she announced. I tensed up, because her tone was weird. Did someone break in? I ran down, just in time to see a black furry thing scurry past and disappear under my bed.

This time the girls screamed their heads off.

Naturally, Derek was gone, so I had to man up instead of screaming with them. I got the broom and a flashlight, and tentatively poked around. Suddenly the black furry thing dashed out and into the dining room, and to parts of the house unknown.

It’s Rally Day, the beginning of the Sunday School year, and we were 20 minutes late because I spent the next half hour poking through every nook and cranny of the house looking for that dumb thing. The girls trailed behind me, alternately screaming, shrieking, and keeping a running commentary that was far worse than the mouse.

Now I’m sitting here, jumpy, staring at every shadow and tensing with the tiniest noise. I want to know where the mouse came from and how it got in and when it will leave.

I want a cat.

I don’t care if Derek is allergic.

Maybe it’s time to get a Devon Rex.

He's ugly, but I bet he's a good mouse-catcher.

Update 9/12: The termite guy is here checking our foundation, and he said the little mouse probably migrated from across the street, which is an old abandoned (historic, beautiful) school. Last week the top floor collapsed into the second floor because of all the rain, and termite guy thinks the mouse’s nest might have been disturbed.

Whew.

Not that it isn’t still freaky, but it’s less freaky than the thought of a nest in our house.

Update 9/13: I arrived in St. Louis feeling extremely homesick after being in France for a whole week and barely home again, and I called Derek to say so. Only he was in the kitchen, setting a trap, because there had been a Mouse Sighting. Suddenly, I’m not so homesick anymore.

 

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September 11th, 2011
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5 things I love about our yard

The landscaping at our house was worse than nonexistent when we moved in. We’ve been working to remedy the neglect for, oh, six years now. We’ve poured hours and sweat and funds into yard projects, but still I tend to look around and see all the things we haven’t done yet. It’s a long list.

Here are five things I do like about our yard. They’re small, but meaningful.

Here’s my kitchy, crazy windchime. Near the girls’ school was a little shop full of dusty old trinkets. I saw this windchime hanging in the window and stopped in one day. The shop owner had made it herself with wacky materials like cheap green beads, old forks and spoons, and random fake coins. Yep, classy. But the chimes are so pretty, and I love to hear them from my office while I’m working.

 

I planted these six crape myrtles four years ago. (Actually, I drug Derek out on a hot August Friday afternoon four years ago and told him where they needed to be planted.) This photo is terrible (told ya I was bad at photos) but the trees are in bloom from June to August, and they’re just gorgeous. I’m pruning and shaping them each year, and they’ll be so pretty in our city strip when they’re all grown up. In the background is our 100-year-old magnolia tree. It’s quite stately.

 

This little baby ivy is growing up the rainspout near one of the front porch corners. It’s just cute and I smile every time I see it. No idea where it came from, but I love surprises in the garden. They’re called “volunteers” in plant parlance, and we do live in the Volunteer state!

 

Another Southern plant I’ve fallen in love with is the mimosa tree. Here’s a little baby one. The leaves look like ferns, and the flowers are these wispy hot pink things that look like they belong in a mimosa (the drink, that is).

 

Finally, here’s our baby maple out on the western side of the house. It’s a little strapped right now in this August heat, but one day I envision it shading that whole side of the house and cooling it by several degrees. We, or the future owners of this place, will appreciate both its autumn foliage and its money-saving shade.

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August 22nd, 2011
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