Over the past decade, one of my favorite publications became Relevant magazine. I enjoyed the variety of perspectives offered by the editorial staff and the gamut of topics covered, like what you shouldn’t expect from marriage, how facebook is killing our souls and anything Donald Miller submits. I appreciate its movie & music section, and not just in a “which are the Christian movies to see” way. And the paper it’s printed on is just delightful to the eye and touch. I even got published once (well, the online version). I believe that was the climax of my coolness factor. Yes, Relevant saw me through quite a tumultuous time in my life, known as my 20s.
This week we say farewell.
Admittedly, I haven’t been most faithful as of late, only popping in on occasion. My print subscription lapsed a few years ago and I never followed through to renew (even though it’s a mere $12 for such joy to be delivered to your mailbox). Nowadays I even tend to delete the weekly email, known to us old-schoolers as the 850, based upon the subject line. So in our breakup, though articles about dating and college campuses far outnumber those that appeal to my demographic, if we’re honest, it’s not you. It’s me.
I’m turning 30.
There’s even an article highlighting my to do’s before the big three-oh, and now I’ve come to terms with my divergence from the hipster cool crowd. The piece offers a valedictorian speech adieu. It’s been a good run. We had some good times. We’ve seen Jesus in the News around the globe. We’ve dissected everything wrong with the church and world today and even offered [solid] proposals for what could make it better.
Now, if Strang could just offer a version for those of us who can’t wear skinny jeans and who limit caffeine intake after 7pm, perhaps the separation would be a bit more amicable. You know, something I could read while pushing a stroller.
Category: Uncategorized (Page 127 of 188)
I’ve got skinny kids. Wee little ones. M fits in her “appropriate” bracket of baby clothes (3-6 mo) and until this fall, H did as well, but the jump from the 18-24mo to 2T is a big one, and thanks to the fact he has a Wingfield Butt and skinny jeans are in style, we’re not forking out for new threads just yet.
But with both children, my doctor managed to consistently stress me out about their weight. They don’t follow the normal pattern and arc that his handy-dandy chart says they should. They plane off around 4-6 months and then after a few months of “real” food, make another jump. Well, H did, and I’m guessing M will too because she’s quite an eater as well.
I tell myself all the normal things – she’s not fussy, she doesn’t get mad at the end of a feeding like H did (not because he wants more but because he likes to eat. He gets it honest. Look at his parents). She’s developmentally on target; the little lady is even sitting up on her own pretty well, when mommy remembers to give her opportunity. Really, it’s a miracle any second child develops at all… And the mommy gut in me says, “she’s fine.” I could go on and on about that stupid chart – how it’s made by the formula companies – you know, the guys who want to sell more formula – or how it’s just an average, or how childhood obesity is a rising concern or how the WHO has a separate chart for babies that are exclusively breastfed, but that’s not even the point.
The point? This blog has a point?
The doctor, and the society we live in, operates on a baseline of fear, not hope. We fear what *could* happen vs hoping for the reality which is to come. Waiting and expecting good.
I’ve been following a blog, FreeRangeKids, which linked to a wonderful editorial in Australia today. The blog mostly covers the way we don’t offer our kids freedom to explore the world, or even walk to the bus stop, and encourages parents to let go just a little. It also exposes our culture of fear, and if you ask me, brings to light the many ways we’ve been marketed to simply because we’re scared of getting this parenting-thing wrong.
I have a friend who fears her daughter will choke on small foods. Another fears her son will impale himself an anything long and skinny. Clearly, I fear that my kids will grow up nutritionally deficient. We all have something and it can have the power to control us. We overreact to it. Well, everyone but myself… no one has ever seen me get slightly hysterical about anything, right?
I enjoyed the editorial’s thought:
Parents are particularly vulnerable to this cluster of anxieties. Ideas of nurturing go hand in hand with protecting children from danger. But if some protection is good, more is not necessarily better. Before long it becomes stifling and stultifying. It prevents children from learning to assess danger for themselves, and from thinking how to avoid it. Driving children to school rather then letting them walk, ride bicycles or catch the bus not only wastes energy, it encourages laziness and the lifestyle diseases that afflict growing numbers of the young.
Life is not perfect and cannot be made so. Certainly a small number of children are hurt each year. But by trying to eliminate risk from children’s lives, overzealous parents are stunting their development, and inhibiting the ability of the vast majority to respond to challenges.
So, here’s to a day that says There is no fear in love, because perfect love casts out all fear.
The other day, after two bites of one of the best salads in the world (thanks to recipe by cousin LBW), I was ready to share with the world of facebook the beauty of raisins and apples becoming friends in a green salad with a homemade poppyseed dressing. The walnuts joined and we had a party. Oh, how I love lunch when I don’t have to pack it in a box or a bag.
I realized, however, that the salad party I enjoyed might not be such exciting news to those who have not already hidden me in their facebook feed. After all, they might be stuck with a cold turkey sandwich with no mayo because it would make the bread soggy. Sorry if that’s your luck. Later in the day I had success with a cleaning goal and once again, I practiced restraint in posting the big news. Then I had a thought (like I usually do): Why in the world do I feel the need to give a step-by-step report of my day when I stay home? Rarely do I have the urge to give a status update from work, unless it’s at the expense of a candidate who gives a detailed account of the reason he was fired from a previous position.
I decided my hour-by-hour news stems from a liking of the idea of accountability. As a youth director, no less than 300 people made sure that I did my job correctly (ie, the way they wanted it done). At my current job I have several eyes upon me, from my PT manager and my account manager to the IT woman in the next cube who hates that I talk so loud. People care about how I spend my time.
So while at home, I have a tendency to think the same thing. If I’m not working, then someone wants to know how I spent my time, right? There has to be a Young & the Restless And BonBon Eating Police making sure that if I declare I’m home to take care of my children that they’re not running amok in the streets or strapped into their cribs. And because I rarely talk to anyone other than my sister and my mother, or the nurses who are in charge of reminding me of doctors appointments, FB seems to be the only other captive audience.
At times I worry that these accountability updates might be seen as a braggy attempt on my part, but I assure you it’s not. Much like the popular girl with no self-esteem, my status only tries to justify how I’m spending my time, finding worth in it. I may have opted out of opportunities to be functional in the corporate world, but I still retain value to my home world – even if only my children & husband’s reap direct benefit.
If I wanted to get all Freudian with you (which, clearly I’m about to do, or I wouldn’t bring it up), I’d say that it appears that I’m facing symptoms of an underlying doubt in my decision on how I spend my days. Even though I can tell myself all the positives and I can hear from others how lucky I am, the You’re Worthless Demon likes to whisper in my ear that homemade food and a regular nap schedule isn’t worthwhile. But I tell him, a fulfilled life isn’t calculated by the dollars you earn or the fancy pants you wear but the moments you enjoy. I enjoyed my time at work and now I get to taste a new flavor of savoring life at home. It’s like opting for sherbet instead of ice cream. Both are valid and tasty forms of frozen dessert goodness.
Perhaps I should report to FB that we’re going to the Dairy Queen….