Month: March 2012 (Page 3 of 7)

your judgmental tone is so loud I can’t hear a word you’re saying

March 20, 2012 / Michele Minehart

Much like H Boy only seemed to sprout new teeth over holidays, Baby C seems to conjure some sort of issue at the most inopportune times. The weekend I take all three to my folks while my sister arrives as solo parent as well? New teeth. The night before I have to fly to Rhode Island and back (leaving at 5am and returning at 11:30pm thanks to a 3 hour delay in DC)? An unshakable fever. For 3 days straight the girl was hot to the touch and getting hotter.

As I posted on FB, I decided to play to the mom guilt and take her to the doc – 3 days and 104 were my limits. However, I was fully prepared to get the “it’s a virus, plenty of fluids, dose up on the Tylenol” schpiel. But instead, doc said that it was likely some sort of infection, be it sinus (she was drippy), ear or even urinary tract, and prescribed a antibiotic.

It’s no secret I’m not a lover of the pharma industry or its sway on the medical community. Apprehensive is the friendly term I’d use for my response. I asked a few questions, as I think all patients should, including “so you don’t think it’s a virus?” But the doc felt pretty strongly that an antibiotic was needed as the fever was too high (agreed) and had been there for too long (agreed).

He looked through her charts and noticed that she’s not up-to-date on her vaccinations (read: hasn’t had any). I think I saw the “you’re one of those” light come on and then he threw in, “if you don’t want to do the antibiotic then we’ll have to go down to Children’s and do a full panel workup to find out what’s causing it.”

I hate fearmongering. Especially to moms, who live and sleep the “what if I would’ve” game. It’s not a fair card to play simply because you’re wearing a white coat. They gave us a dose of baby Motrin (right there at the office because I’m sure he was convinced I wouldn’t do it on my own, even though I told him we’d been doing Tylenol for the past 2 days) and asked me point blank if I was going to get it filled.

I left upset and frustrated. I felt bullied, backed into a corner. I stopped in to my chiro’s office (they share a building. Weird, eh?) and though she wasn’t available, I chatted with the receptionist, who I adore, and she made me feel a bit better. Later she called and said that Dr. A agreed and the antibiotics were the best route at this point.

I came home sorting through my frustrations. It wasn’t that the doctor prescribed an antibiotic; it’s that I felt he didn’t want to listen to a single concern I had. Because truth be told, I was willing to give her the medicine – I just wanted to talk through all options. And honestly, I would be satisfied with an “I don’t know how it might affect X, but I really think that it’s a secondary concern to the high fever.” That’s a fair answer. But in my situation, I was being treated like it wasn’t even a fair question.

I think perhaps the larger Christian community could learn a little something from my doctor. Perhaps we should know when to prescribe and when to listen. When to air concerns and when to say, “I hear you, but I think at this point, that’s a secondary concern.” (*Note: this means later addressing secondary concerns as true concerns, not just gloating about how you were right about the primary issue.)

In the end, the doctor was right. The antibiotics dropped her fever quickly and she was in good spirits this afternoon. I didn’t even have to give her a dose of Tylenol tonight. Does that make me want to call him up tomorrow and express how wrong I was and how glad I am that he whipped out the phrase “children’s hospital”? Not at all. I’m shopping for a new doctor. Because even though he’s right doesn’t mean he cares. Just because he can present true fact doesn’t mean I want to see him.

parenting as stewardship

March 17, 2012 / Michele Minehart

Most Octobers, I don’t enjoy Church because it’s budgeting season and we’re forced to hear how important our 10% is, both to God, the Church and ourselves. Whilest true, I feel the message would be more effective to talk about the 90% and how we steward that. We only have so much to spend, but do we see each purchase as a decision? Probably not. We just know we need more coffee and Meijer put Brand X on sale. That’s not stewardship, that’s math.

But today I read in the NYTimes Blog (Motherload) a book review on No Regrets Parenting (now on my wishlist); the author did the math and it turns out that as parents we only get 940 Saturdays through childhood (ages birth – 18). Less than a thousand. If you put a dollar in a jar for every Saturday that you get with your kid, when they graduate you’d not have enough to pay their first quarter’s tuition. Or even a decent car to send them away in.

Wow. 940. I keep rolling that number around in my head and wonder if I’m stewarding them well. Today hit the mark – we spent the night at grandma and grandpa’s, woke up for breakfast that we didn’t make, stopped at Indian Mill to throw stones, took the big kids to the park, grilled out some lunch and then played outdoors after naps. Of my 940, I’d say that’s a good way to spend one (or several).

I thought about the parents that I follow whose children are in a different stage of life; they get to spend their Saturdays at the ball diamond. I wonder if they enjoy one that way? Forty? What’s the best number to allot to childhood activities versus the number to spend simply being a child?

Or we can switch days and instead of counting the recreational ones, we could count the spiritual ones. We get 940 Sundays to bring our kids to church, to set an example of prioritizing worship, of introducing them to a family of believers. Sleeping in sounds nice much of the time, but if we only get 940, and we spend 400 of them sleeping, shouldn’t we wonder what a life of faith would’ve looked like? Clearly church attendance doesn’t make the person a Christian (“any more than being in water makes you a fish”), but the simple act of putting on our pretty clothes, singing a song and hearing a message to center us on God means that we’re doing more to stretch our spirituality than if we stayed in our jammies and watched cartoons. I feel like it’s a worthy way to spend a Sunday.

940. I can’t stop. If I realize that I only get a limited number of childhood Saturdays, will I choose to spend them wisely? (And what exactly is “unwise”?) We don’t need to turn every Saturday into a production, but with this new knowledge I want to be able to begin to name the good and the bad, the worthy and the unworthy. What if I spent at least 100 of them serving others with my kids? How could that impact them? What if we spent at least 50 of them in other places – new states, countries, cultures and climates? How could that shape their view of the world?

An friend spends his Saturdays at the House of Breakfast with his daughter. Nearly every Saturday, unless extenuating circumstances arise. That’s worthy of a Saturday right there. And they return and still have a whole day ahead (until he has to preach, God bless his soul. *Pats shoulder appreciatively*).

What if I were to begin viewing Saturdays like money? What if I stewarded my precious time with my children, seeing each week as a decision between this or that. Yes, there’s X we could do. But I want to put my time and energy with my children toward Y. I don’t want another 50 Saturdays of such-and-such to eat away at my stash.

Stewardship, the idea that we control resources but cannot create them, seems such the church-y word to me, but yet that’s what we are here on earth – stewards. Nothing we owns goes with us; we simply use, enjoy and manage it for a short while. So it goes with children. We can control the resources. We can use, enjoy and manage the time with them for such a brief while. When they’re grown, we cannot manufacture new years of youth to be consumed again.

I’m glad I can go to bed tonight assured we spent one of the 940 in a most worthy way. And I have another week to plot and scheme so that the immediate future doesn’t slip through my fingers.

cool girls club

March 16, 2012 / Michele Minehart

John Meyer realized about 8 years before I did that there’s no such thing as the real world. Though I’m quite a different person than I was in high school, some of the mentality and perception of people and status and worth is still there, just in a different form.

I’m quite the blog creeper. I lurk in the shadows. I listen, consume, emulsify, and then come here and think aloud. Or I read it aloud to my husband, who really cares much less than I’d like to admit. But you know what would be more productive? To engage. Conversate. (Google, I make a motion to turn noun conversation into verb conversate. It’s the infinitive form of conversing).

But in case you spend your webby hours at cool places like spotify or twitter or Huffington or anywhere else I regularly peer into but become overwhelmed by, there’s a group of women writing in a way that changes hearts and minds. There’s Rachel Held Evans, who gives a voice to Christian women by proclaiming that we do, indeed, have a voice. And Jen Hatmaker, who took the fork in the road that I wanted to take. Today, I saw on twitter that they’ve become cyber-buddies (is cyber still used? Did that get voted out in 1998?). They’re friends. BFF. I walk into the cafeteria, and there they are, eating, laughing, changing the world. They’re saving a seat for Kristen Howerton, who also mentions both of these ladies in her well-followed blog.

And now, instead of me hoping to become webby friends and peers, they’re suddenly the cool girls club. My own little version of celebrity, only 80% of the population wouldn’t know them by name unless they’re in my particular sub-sect (meaning the nerdy-reading type that loves Jesus). I want to sit down with my packed lunch and ask how the Spanish test went. I want to find out what their topics for the research paper will be. I want to laugh at their jokes (we ARE hilarious) and tease about our obvious shortcomings in a way that only friends have a right to do.

But the sheer number of people who do read and love their work is large; the comment section runs on and on. Who am I to offer a thought, a tidbit? (Especially because they’ve said it so well already.) I seriously feel so high school. About commenting on a blog. Seriously, self. Get. Over. Yourself.

As I aspire do more things I love, I realize now that I need to get over my celebrity view of success. I need to stop wanting to be “one of them” and start simply doing what I do, but better. (Starting with: stop treating the blog as a diary and start offering real content. Starting tomorrow.). I need to create a measuring stick so that I can get better, but it need not carry the face of another woman at the top. I don’t want to be the red-headed version of someone else. So the mind games have got to quit.

I told KLR this week that I need to get over myself if I want to do my “other things”. I need to realize that being published in Time isn’t my success mark. I can do things small, and well, and allow myself a sense of satisfaction. If I only shoot large, I’ll never jump. I’ll never complete a marathon if I don’t go out and build a good 3-mile base run. And those 3-milers are home. Those 3 miles may not stretch me, but they build my foundation.

So I tell my internal struggle, my wavering from not-good-enough to too-prideful-to-try, to STOP. Just put on your running shoes and see how many miles you can get in today. Then, tomorrow, add one.

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original. (Gal 5:25-26)

Month: March 2012 (Page 3 of 7)

your judgmental tone is so loud I can’t hear a word you’re saying

parenting as stewardship

cool girls club

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