Stuff!

You  may have noticed that I am looking a bit thinner these days. You see, in the last few months I've lost close to 1500 pounds... of things, that is. You'd think that getting rid of nearly a ton of stuff would make a remarkable and significant difference in the appearance and functionality of our home. Alas, that is not quite the case. In fact, I'm sad to say that there are still piles on many of the flat surfaces, way too many clothes and toys, and a garage full of mysterious items with dubious histories and even more questionable futures. (Just how did a family of five end up with eight broken bikes, and what made us think they were all worth saving?) But, I'm making progress.


I come from a long line of packrats. (Sort of a disturbing mental image when you picture it literally - isn't it?) My paternal grandmother lived through the Great Depression, and saved things because of a real and rational fear of having to go without.  My grandfather on the other side was a farm kid, and knew the value of a bit of twine or a length of wire in a pinch. I think it's fair to say that the sound logic behind the saving has gotten weaker with each passing generation, though the desire to collect has not. Granted - everyone in my family manages our possessions with enough order and organization to ensure that they don't become a real problem in our lives. However, I sometimes have to ask myself whether I am the possessor or the possessed.

A dear loved one recently passed away. Long after she had settled her accounts, had her say,and  made her peace, she had one last burden that she couldn't seem to shake. With a heavy sigh late one night, she made me promise that I would help go through her home after she passed because she was worried that people would judge her harshly for all of the things that she had. I have never looked at my 'stuff' the same way since.


In a way, it was frightening to think that someone's last worries on earth would be about something so trivial. But, if I'm really honest with myself, I must admit that that's probably what I would worry about in that situation as well.  I sensed more deeply in that moment than ever before that stuff can be a blessing, or stuff can be a curse. It's all in the way you look at it. It was an amazingly liberating experience.

Since then, I've had a different perspective. I supposed it's possible that one of those broken bikes in the garage might be worth fixing (old me), but I can guarantee that not a single one of them is worth worrying over (new me). So, I got rid of them. I got rid of things I thought I could use, things I thought I might use, things I thought I would use, and even things I thought were way too special and sentimental to ever be used. And, boy - did it feel great! Around our house, we've started calling it "getting flexible". I've heard some call it lightening the load, de-cluttering, de-junking, letting go, giving up, and even getting free.Whatever you call it, I'm just glad that I'm the one who possesses my stuff these days, and am determined to never again let it possess me.

Readers' Favorites Series - Playing Grownup

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

 

Well, here I am attempting a second time to write a post with more of myself included. I am no longer pontificating... have stepped down off the soap box. Is it more human and approachable this way? Perhaps I'll consider this a group therapy session. After all, you must be reading this blog for a reason. If it's to search to answers, I can only tell you, in all honesty, that I do not have them. But, perhaps we can discover some together. I'll go first.

Hi. My name is Andrea, and I feel under-equipped to deal with life. I suppose there are so very many more things I could admit to - over eating, over sleeping, over doing. But, I think I've come a long way by being able to really distill what's going on down to such a pithy and provocative statement. You see, I've always been the one able to handle it all. Keep all the balls in the air. Keep all the plates spinning. Now I've come to realize that those things are what the analogy implies : games - just part of an act. It looks good (and feels good) on stage, but when the makeup comes off and the costumes are put away at the end of the night, there are still children to raise, souls to save, bills to pay. Life is not the circus act.

My best friend and I (both of us turned 30 this year) were wondering together on the phone the other day why no one warned us of what it means to be a grown up. Why did no one tell us how serious and earnest this thing called life can be? Why did no one think to warn us that we would endure indescribable difficulties even as we enjoyed unparalleled joys? Why didn't anyone let us know that this is what it would be like? I've been trying to abdicate my adult responsibilities for years, but they keep coming back. All this time I've had the sneaking suspicion that this thing called life is perhaps a bit more serious and taxing than I wanted to let on.

For my friend, it all started with her first vacuum. You see - it wasn't her mother's vacuum. It wasn't borrowed. It wasn't temporary. It was hers. Forever. You don't buy a vacuum unless you need it. You don't need a vacuum unless you have a home. You don't have your own home unless you're a grown up. See the connection? To this day I think that vacuum causes her pause on good days, panic on bad ones. It's a sign that she - all of us, really - is inextricably engaged in the forward march of life, and that can be a sobering thought.

I, on the other hand, didn't have the sense to pause and consider the implications of my first vacuum. I was very young and idealistic when I plunged headlong into life. It wasn't until sometime after a college degree, two home purchases, a brand new car, three children, and a dying loved one later that I started to have the sneaking sort of panic that my friend's small appliances stirred up in her. Now I find myself very much entrenched in this thing called life, and feel ill equipped to handle it. Who am I to hold the hand of the dying? What do I know about helping those left behind in their grief? What words can I offer to bolster my brave husband, who faces the world with the weight of his family on his shoulders each day? Where will I go for the wisdom to bring forth these children that I feel so fiercely proud of and responsible for? How did I end up here?

Some days I think I'll wake to discover that it's all been a game of house. We (the good children, intently engaged in our play) will be called back to reality by our parents. We will put aside our drama and aprons and vacuums and go have a snack under the watchful eye of a capable and caring adult. Our vain striving over who is in charge, which person says what, where things will go, what we will do... it will all be forgotten. After all - if we are honest with ourselves in the deepest and darkest places in our hearts, we somehow sensed all along that it is foolishness to pretend we are really adults, didn't we? True enough, but what can be done about it? Therein lies the trouble.

And so, I will continue to be a little girl her mother's high heels. I will pray for wisdom in bringing forth and carefully preserving the treasures in my husband. I will shore him up on the days when I can see that he is a little boy in his father's tie and suit jacket. At least there is much comfort to be found in knowing that I am not playing this game alone. I will trust the promise God gave me that when I open my mouth, it is in wisdom, and the teaching of kindness will be on my tongue. When that promise is stretched thin and looks like it will run out, I will go to Him for a fresh slice of truth and a cold glass of grace. (Perhaps there is a kind parent who watches over this game of house after all...) I will guide and guard, praise and raise, teach and treasure my children each and every day. And, I will never, ever tell them what it's like to be a grownup - how earnest and serious life can be, and what indescribable difficulties and unparalleled joys you discover along the way -  because they deserve to discover it on their own.

Readers' Favorites Series - Out of the Mouthes (and Other Orifices) of Babes

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

The other night, while hurtling down the interstate at 70 miles per hour, I heard my precious toddler say to me from the back seat, "Here, mom." I knew her hand was groping forward in the darkness, with a special gift just for me. Sometimes in these situations I get stuffed animals to keep me company, pictures my adoring children have drawn for me, an offer just to hold my hand. Awww....

Of course, as much as I like to focus on the precious moments of parenting, I must admit that more often than not I am being handed trash, unwanted food, bits of miscellanea dug from the depths of a car seat, used Kleenexes, etc... But this time, it was even better. This time, the gift my two-year-old handed me was a booger. It took me a second to figure it out. I fumbled in the dark, trying to find the tiny little 'nugget' in her hand. Once I got it up front with me, I felt it carefully.  A lost tooth? Bit of food? Hmmm... round, smooth...Is this... is thisss.....? I couldn't help it. I found myself actually saying aloud, "Honey, is this a boogie?" To which she happily replied, "Yets, mommy." Hmmm... I thought so.

There was a time (not that long ago, believe it or not) when the idea of being handed a booger would have been enough to dampen my spirits, to say the least. Truthfully, however, it hardly even blips my radar these days.  It's not that boogers aren't gross, but they don't even rank in the top three anymore of nasty stuff I've handled. Who am I kidding with the past tense there? Really, it's nasty stuff I handle almost every day.

Case in point - my youngest is working on potty training. Tonight she sat on the potty for 2 hours straight. I, of course, had to sit with her. (Those of you who aren't parents might think that I am complaining. Actually, I was overjoyed to have spent my evening perched on the edge of the tub. Each moment she sits on the toilet gets us one step farther away from diapers, which is where much of the yuckiness that I must touch originates.)

Anyway, we successfully made pee pee in the potty (yeah!), but it came at a price. In order to not fall in, she had to lean all of her weight on the heels of her hands, which she had rested on the toilet seat. Periodically (anywhere from every 2 to 5 minutes) I was asked to kiss her owie hands. Though I resisted as long as possible, it became clear that this was becoming a stumbling block to achieving our ultimate potty goals. So, I did it. I puckered up and kissed, essentially, the butt of every person in  my home. And you thought boogers were bad.

But how could any rational person do that? It's nasty. It's gross. It's unsanitary. Yep, it sure is. But, parenthood is all about taking risks to improve your odds. You don't survive this game without nerves of steel and an immune system to match. I've been in training for so long that I've got my game face on, and nothing is going to stop me this close to the goal. (Besides, since I do the housework I know the toilet got cleaned a mere 24 hours earlier, and I didn't really make contact with her hand. Jeesh...That would be disgusting.)

I am hoping that at some point in the future I will gradually stop having to handle such things as boogers and diapers and toilet seat hands. God willing, barring a career change into nursing or wastewater treatment, I will eventually stop having to deal with anyone's bodily functions but my own. Until then, I will continue to willingly reach back when someone says, "here, mom" from the back seat. Be it bottles or boogers, toys or trash, valentines or vomit (and I am sooooooo not making that last one up), I am always willing to lend a helping hand. After all, I've already kissed my pride good bye, and watched my overinflated sense of self importance be flushed down the toilet. What more could I possible have to fear?

 

Readers' Favorites Series - Menu Minimalism

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

Tonight we're having beef for dinner. Each afternoon around 4:00, I seem to know that much, and not much more. Despite four or so years of being a vegan, the hub for my meal planning still comes down to which animal gave its life in order for me to eat, at least for supper. (The rules for lunch, of course, are totally different.) Anyway, so I find myself with a cut of meat in hand (sometimes literally) and no other plans. Oh, I could go for the usual side dishes that I fix every other night of the week, but is that the kind of person I want to be - a mac and cheese user? A woman with a frozen vegetable habit? Is that how I want my children to remember me!?

I could go old school - meat, potatoes, and a vegetable. This suits my 1950's housewife fantasy nicely. (Funny thing, that fantasy. Never once has my house become magically cleaner, my children more polite, or the shows on my television more G-Rated just because I put on a frilly apron and high heels. Go figure. It has once induced my husband to ask for a mixed drink, however, upon returning home from work. ) Besides just the all-American appeal, the trifecta meal planning method also does make for some darn tasty eats. Alas, it also invariably requires me to rummage in cupboards, dig through the freezer, and uncover a bag of taties that's been sitting too close to the window (sprouting), or too long in the dark (moldy). Curses, foiled again.

Never one to do anything in moderation, I then swing back to my hippy-trippy days, seeking to recall what were once the superstars of my kitchen reportoire, but which will now just be side dishes for my slab-o-meat. This, I am sure, is exactly how ex-Country stars feel at having to follow up children's singing groups and local talent shows on County Fair stages across the nation. So, will it be black beans and rice? Rice and red beans? Spanish Rice and refried beans? (Perhaps I am beginning to see why I am no longer a vegan. Hmm....) A quick thumb through my tattered New Farm Cook Book doesn't yield any appealing solutions for tonight, though it does remind me that the people who think I'm crunchy-granola now just don't even have a clue about ol' Earth Momma Annie at the height of her broomstick skirts and Birkenstocks days.

All of my freezer-fumblings, fifties-fantasies, and Farm cookbook remembrances have cost me an hour, and yet I am nowhere closer to having a side dish in mind. Meat and....? Meat and.....? Let's face it, I'm going to rely on my same old standbys that I always do. It will be meat and canned corn, probably with tortilla chips, because that's how we roll around here, baby. Why? Because we always seem to have canned corn and tortilla chips around, and I know that my famiy will eat them. Sometimes I might throw in some cilantro, or serve some salsa up on the side, but when it comes to supper I've got my Fave Five (give or take) ingredients that see me through. They are my go-to items, and as long as they never let me down, how can I turn my back on them?

It's good to know that I can still whip up a pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and broccoli with cheese sauce that would make the Beav's mom proud. Or, that my quinoa tabouleh recipe is still where I can find it should the need arise. (I can't help it - I'm chuckling here because I know good and well that at least three people reading this blog will not only mangle the pronounciation of that dish, but also spend several seconds wondering if perhaps I just made up some gibberish words to make myself look hippyfied. One of you might even Google it.)

Tonight, I will have beef and canned corn and tortilla chips. Tomorrow night I will have chicken with mac and cheese and a frozen vegetable. The night after that I will mix things up and have lamb with canned corn and mac and cheese (tricky,  no?). But - here's where the 1950's potluck mentality meets with my creative flower child - the next night, I shall have a casserole. And everyone knows, that it's no holds barred on casserole night...

 

Readers' Favorites Series - Late Night TV

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

I'm up late (again) and watching a mindless show on Public Television. (Ever since the big switch to digital TV we get 3 PBS stations. One of them is a knock-off Home and Garden / DIY channel. I guess it's a fair trade - we gave up 6 fuzzy stations for 3 clear PBS channels and NOTHING ELSE. Digital really stinks in the country.) Anyway, this particular episode is one of those 'make your whole life and home and meals and family all better on less than $0.37 a day!' shows. I can't stand those.

Right now the suspciously perky hostess is showing me how to glue mismatched tea cups onto an old silver candelabra for a festive centerpiece. An assistant is in raptures over what a good idea this is. Problem is, you just KNOW tomorrow she'll be explaining how mismatched tea cups at a tea party are all the rage, especially if you have a tarnished candelabra with some funky candles in the middle of the table. Where will that leave me? I'll tell you where - with super glue fingers and an out-of-style centerpiece. DIY show projects invariably lead to regret. Just remember that next time you're tempted to rush out for spray paint, floral foam, and copper tubing at the urging of someone who wears a home made apron with a lady bug painted on it on national television.

Next comes a 'money saving' menu idea. Turns out, Kelly (or Katie, or Kathy... whatever her name is) has never actually used leftover hamburgers. With a giggle and a toss of her teased hair she lets slip the secret that she's been throwing away perfectly good grilled hamburgers at the end of her cook out parties. After all, they are a bit dry and unappealing, she tell us. Sure hope my children never catch on to that, since I have been a daily leftover user for years.Sometimes I have been known to use leftovers twice or even three times in one day. (Don't worry - I am in rehab now ever since my family planned and executed an intervention for me.) Anyway, apparently it is entirely possible, with the guidance of a seasoned television professional, to actually use these leftovers to create tasty meals. Who knew? Tonight's suggestion is for a taco. Seriously? All she did was break up the burger (which included a close up on her dazzling French manicure), sprinkle on some salsa and cheese, and throw it in a tortilla. For THIS she has her own show?

Now we're on to practical ideas for the home. Don't you just hate it when you burn your table with a hot pan? Well, Kendra is going to show us how to turn old wine corks and heavy gauge wire into hot pads!! From underneath the work bench the hostess produces an enormous tin bucket full of corks. (I think I'm beginning to understand her frantic perkiness a bit better...) Doesn't anyone wonder about this woman? She can afford hundreds of bottles of wine, but not a few hot pads? Poor money management, a drinking problem, and she's been throwing out perfectly good hamburgers for years? Who hires the hosts for these shows, anyway!?

On the one hand, they're suggesting craft ideas suitable for pre-schools and/or in-patient mental institutions. But, don't be fooled! The moment you let your guard down you will find them instructing you on how to knit, their fingers and cryptic terminology flying left and right. I once tried to follow along on a 'simple' beading project and ended up with a sprained pinkey, a piece of beading wire embedded in my left thigh, and a squint that has only recently left. My poor husband came home to find me crying softly, saying over and over again, "but what if I DIDN'T end up with a third string? What should I do then....?"

Forget about it. I've had it with this little-miss-homey! Until someone contacts me to host "The Andrea Farrier Style of Living" I'm done forever with this insanity. Rest assured, dear readers, my show would ROCK and be full of genuinely practical tips. Things like:

• The definitive guide to knowing when food has gone bad (even cottage cheese!)
• Masking all your home odors the easy and effective way
• Dust Art
• 37 things to do with a chicken (and only the last 10 are for after they've been butchered)
• Decorating the creative way with clutter
• Knit your own sweater from the hair your pet has left on the furniture
  
• 128 uses for instant mashed potatoes
  
• The proper care and feeding of dust bunnies
• Making food your children will love to eat (OR - how to make your children eat the food you make)
• Make a handy organizer for all your favorite take-out phone numbers
• How to do ... well... EVERYTHING at the last minute
  
• 10 ways to reuse dryer lint.

(Confession time - I do really have a great tip for reusing dryer lint, and the chicken thing is totally true also. The rest, I might have to study up a bit on.) Anyway, must run... Even though it's late I'm going to go work on my manicure. I'm just POSITIVE the network will call tomorrow, and I want to be ready for my closeup.

 

Readers' Favorites Series - Success By Any Other Name

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

I was voted most likely to succeed in my high school class. Well, most likely to succeed, or smartest. I don't really remember, and it's not worth digging out my yearbook to find out. To be honest with you, it didn't mean a whole lot to me then, and it still doesn't today. In fact, I haven't even thought about any of that stuff in over 10 years, until it was brought to mind in a somewhat jarring fashion today.

A colleague of mine recounted a conversation she had recently with  someone who 'knew me then'. When this woman found out that I was spending my time changing diapers and helping fellow home schoolers, she shook her head and said of me, "she had so much potential..." Apparently, at least according to her, I could have really been someone. I guess that's a nice vote of confidence, but I was as disappointed by her statement as she must have been by my lack of "success".

See, all this time I've been laboring under the misconception that I am not just someone waiting to be, but that I already am someone important. I guess I figure that I have been living up to my full potential - making a difference in the world in a meaningful way, doing good deeds, living a life of purpose and importance. A life of wiping noses and cleaning up spilled beverages, to be sure, but an important life, none the less.

I can't really blame her, I guess. I know that, by the standards of this world, I have failed to achieve the success that I could have. I don't have a high-falutin' job or a fat paycheck. I don't have a big, fancy house or an expensive car. I don't even have cable. My children still wear hand-me-downs, and I shop at secondhand stores for clothing, and discount stores for everything else. How can I be sure I'm meeting my full potential when I don't even meet any of the standard measures of a success these days?

Well, it turns out that there are better measures to be found. Just this evening my youngest child came up to me, in all of her innocent, earnest, three-year-old wisdom, and asked, "Mommy, how tall do you weigh?" I replied (in what I thought was the most appropriate answer to such a question)  "I weigh 5' 10".

Apparently I was wrong. She said I weigh 22 minutes, and that that's too big. Hmm.Who knew? Just goes to show you, even valedictorians get the answer wrong once in a while. (Ok, technically I wasn't valedictorian of my class, since I graduated early and wasn't eligible to be considered for the honor, but it fit into the theme of the blog nicely, so I just went with it.)

I know, I know... my three-year-old's unit of measure doesn't make any sense. (And, who said that 22 minutes is too big, anyway? Sure, I could stand to lose a few seconds here and there... But, I think that I'm very healthy at 22 minutes, especially if you take into account that I'm a tall girl - I do weigh almost six feet, after all!)  Anyway, her unit of measure may be not be logical, but neither is any other if you think about it. The fact that I had the time to talk with my daughter tonight is worth far more than a six-figure salary. Having her help me make supper was better than a power lunch any day, and the fact that she really knows me and I really know her are far, far better things than any amount of fame or world-wide notoriety I could have achieved.

When I graduated from high school, I was ready to take on the world. To leave my mark in life. I wanted to reach for the stars. I wanted to succeed.  I finally realize what that all means. What good is it to gain the whole world, but lose your soul by selling out, giving in, and giving up what matters most? How can you leave your mark in life when you are so much like everyone else that you don't leave a lasting impression?  This summer I laid on the lawn with my giggly girls watching a meteor shower. My five-year-old would gleefully reach up and try to catch God's fireworks as they shot across the sky. We may have failed to actually ever reach any of those blazing stars, but the fact that we were there and trying together is its own kind of success...

 

Getting My Hopes Up

You're all aware, I'm sure, of the contest I've entered to win a six-month blogging contract for $30,000 and a laptop computer. (I mean - you are aware, right!? You're voting every day - aren't you!!??) Well, winning this contest, clearly, is a long shot. And yet, I am as giddy as a a thrifty shopper at a half-price sale. I can't seem to wipe the smile off my face. Certainly, much of my excitement is due to the overwhelming response that people have had to my requests for votes. Frankly, I'm both astounded and deeply humbled to have so many  folks doing so much on my behalf. Seriously - Me. Little ol' me...

However, there is another element, besides just all the help and support and the thrill of the contest itself that is keeping me grinning from ear to ear. This is just one area in my life right now where God has recently been expanding my horizons. In a very real way, He is renewing my sense of possibility. Awakening my dream gene. Getting my hopes up, so to speak. That last expression - it's a curious one, isn't it? I have often warned my children not to get their hopes up.Told my friends that they should be realistic in their expectations.  I've even been angry at myself for hoping to reach a goal that ended up, ultimately, being beyond my grasp. But, why? Why do I do this to myself?

In all of my years of knowing God, He has never been stingy. The earth is the Lord's, and all that it contains. He is our good father, and it is His delight to give us good gifts. He doesn't say that if we seek His Kingdom first, a few things, or even some things will be added to us, but all things that we as humans need and seek in righteousness. Don't get me wrong - I'm not preaching a prosperity doctrine whereby every person will have a mansion and a garage full of luxury cars. God promised salvation and eternal life through Christ, not 40 acres and a mule. But, I'm also saying that we should not limit our almighty father to the things that we have determined are sufficient for us. Rather, shouldn't we dream big things and submit them to Him with a willingness to receive whatever He chooses for us? Read that last sentence again. Are you sure that you're really willing to receive what He grants for your life - even if it is good things beyond your wildest imagination?

I live with a poverty mentality. I have already spent each paycheck in my mind before it even hits my account, and I worry over where we will get enough money to cover the gaps that I imagine will pop up. I horde half-broken and obsolete items because someday I might need them. And, even though I claim to be in the world but not of it, I sure find myself willingly conforming to the limited opportunities it affords me. Again - why do I do this to myself?

Granted, as a family we've been through some tough times financially, and carefulness in handling finances is wise. But, worry is not. No matter how hard things might have gotten, we've never gone hungry. There has always been enough money to cover our need, and it was never my fears that caused things to work out alright in the end. And, while I've occasionally found myself very, very grateful to have had just what I needed just when I needed it because of something I had saved back, most of my stockpile of the 'potentially useful' ends up just being a burden I carry instead of a blessing that sustains me. If Peter - who was fully in the world and subject to its natural laws - could live in the reality of finding the money to pay his taxes in a fish, why should I also not believe that my God is big enough to not only provide for my every need, but to also surprise and amaze me while doing so?

All too often I find myself with tunnel vision - going to work, paying bills, putting food on the table. These are good things, and were given to me by a gracious Father, and I thank Him for them daily. But, while I am aware of them being a miraculous provision from Him, maybe others around me are not. Maybe God wants my simple life and gratitude to be a testimony to His goodness. Or, maybe - just maybe -  He wants to use my life to bring Him glory in a different way. Maybe he wants to do great things to and through and for me so that, through His actions and my acknowledgment of His actions, the world can be reminded that God is still big, and He still moves mightily, and He is still both willing and able.

If I do not win this blogging contest next month, I will still be grateful to God for His miracle provision of the steady jobs, warm home, and food on the table that He has already provided. If tomorrow God sees fit for my husband or myself to lose our jobs and for our family to be faced with real financial hardships like we have never known before, I will still be grateful to God for His miracle provision, which I know will always be what sustains us, no matter how hard things may get. However - today I am choosing to get my hopes up. To look up from my everyday miracles and be open to the God of hope and accept whatever else He might want to give to me - even miracles beyond what I've already received.

I will dream big dreams, and crawl up in my Daddy's lap to whisper those dreams in His ear. And, unlike the advice I have unwisely given to my children, my Father doesn't ever tell me not to get my hopes up. Instead, He smiles and shows me greater things than I could ever have imagined, and in doing so confirms my faith, expands my horizons, renews my sense of possibility, awakens my dream gene, and gets my hope in Him up in a new and fresh way. For, just as it would be wrong of me not to thank God for the provisions He's given up to this point, it would be wrong to be unwilling to accept more in order that He may be glorified. So, God - for your glory, bring it on!