Category: Family

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The Best and Worst of 2010

By Jim Spiegel

It’s been another exciting year, and we want to thank you all for reading and, if applicable, posting comments on our blog.  Once again, we would like to close out the year with some summary remarks about good and bad stuff related to film, music, books, politics, and family.

Best Film Experiences:

  • Jim:  Shutter Island and The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  Though these are films in different genres, they are both superbly directed, well-acted, and have compelling stories.  And both films successfully transport the viewer into an alternate reality (or two).  But while Shutter Island leaves you questioning your perception of the world, Dawn Treader inspires you with the hope of transcending it.  Oh, and Toy Story 3 was brilliant, too—transporting the viewer in still another way.
  • Amy:  No Man of Her Own, Emma, and Tangled. In reviewing my viewing choices this year, I must acknowledge that my standards have lowered a bit this year.  These films are a bit more movie than film but great nonetheless.  No Man is a fab film noir starring Barbara Stanwyck.  While there are enough adaptations of Jane Austen’s Emma to sink the Titanic, this one is excellently done and it’s two discs long!  I just took our two youngsters to Tangled a few days ago as an act of love and ended up laughing (and crying) along with them.

Worst Film Experiences:

  • Jim:  This is an easy call: Greenberg.  What a colossal waste of time.  Yet, this reviewer at A.V. Club recommended it, while admitting that this film, like all of director Noah Baumbach’s comedies, is “plotless, self-consciously literary, and populated by characters who flat-out suck from the time they roll out of the bed until they angrily switch out the lights at night.”  He’s right about that much.  But he also finds the film to be “hilarious” and “a pleasure to look at.”  I wonder if we watched the same film.
  • Amy:  Inception.  Maybe this film doesn’t deserve to be called the worst I watched, but it was such a disappointment that I am placing it in the worst experience category.  I anticipated a smart and mind-bending experience.  What I got was an action movie with a side-serving of love story.  I actually fast-forwarded several sections of shoot-me-up.  A close second is The Last Air Bender.  I only make it second because I couldn’t actually make myself watch this much anticipated live action version of our most beloved Nickelodeon show.  I had heard it was awful and made the kids watch it.  Even they hated it.  M. Knight Shyamalan, you’re killing me!

Best and Worst Musical Experiences of the Year:

  • Jim:  Josh Ritter’s So Runs the World Away and Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs.  I actually purchased both of these CDs on the same day, so I spent the next month in musical bliss, bathing in the musical beauty.  For the most part, I avoided stinkers, due mainly to my careful research before purchasing new music.  But what I could not avoid was hearing the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling” everywhere I went.  Blecch!
  • Amy:  I am starting to sense a pattern of shallowness in my aesthetic sense this year.  I am sensing a New Year’s resolution coming on. Anyhoo, my musical selections were mostly limited to good workout music (“Stuck to You” by Nikka Costa, “Strip Me” by Natasha Bedingfield and “The Way I Are” by Timbaland).  I have just purchased albums by Rosanne Cash and Emmylou Harris, which I hope to enjoy in the New Year.

Jim’s Favorite Sports Moment of the Year: Two of my three favorite NFL teams playing in the Super Bowl.  Well, the run-up to the Super Bowl was actually more satisfying than the game itself, which at times felt like watching my kids fight.  I was sad for my Colts but thrilled for my Saints, with whom I have suffered as a fan since the early 1980s.  Who Dat!!!

Jim’s Most Disappointing Sports Moment of the Year: All of the LeBron James summer free agency hype, culminating in an hour-long ESPN James announcement TV special.  LeTacky and LeShameless.  My interest in the NBA and respect for ESPN have declined faster than the U.S. economy.

Amy’s Best Eating Experience of the Year: While attending a conference with Jim in Atlanta, we “attempted” to visit the Atlanta Art Museum.  We sighed with regret as we took an afternoon siesta and mumbled something about going to the Art Museum.  We didn’t make it to the museum, but we did make it to the restaurant adjacent to the Museum.  I had rabbit with pumpkin ravioli.  That’s right—rabbit and let me tell you, Bugs Bunny was tasty!

Amy’s Worst Eating Experience of the Year: If we are talking overall experience, it would have to be an ill-fated family trip to Cracker Barrel.  The bad side was the service, which was horrible and slow; also, the food was cold and the manager snapped at me when I pointed this out.  The up side was that, in the end, our dinner was on the house.  I also hosted a dinner party at which I unfortunately served grey soup; not a shining moment in my culinary career.

Satisfying Reads of the Year:

  • Jim:  Howard Storm’s My Descent into Death was the most engrossing and inspiring book I’ve read in years (see my May 30 post).  Keaton, the classic Buster Keaton biography by Rudi Blesh, was also excellent (see my August 8 post).  I also enjoyed numerous short stories by Flannery O’Connor.
  • Amy:  The Help by Kathryn Stockett and The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley were both great book club selections this year.  I spent a good part of the year reading books with Bailey and Maggie so for tween boys I recommend the Gregor the Overlander series or Mr. Popper’s Penguins and The Moffats.

Political High Point of the Year: Kicking (a lot of) the bums out of Congress in November.  We’ll see how many of these newly elected folks turn out to be bums as well.

Political Low Points of the Year: Amy’s low point was the day after the November elections when she had the sinking feeling that all the newly elected Senators and Representatives would prove to be just as disappointing as the bums that we threw out.  Jim’s low point was the passing of Obamacare in March.  Already two U.S. District Court judges have struck down part of the health care law as unconstitutional (portending much bigger legal wrangling to come).  What a mess.

Good 2010 Memories of Our Kids:

  • Bailey learning to play guitar and his ability to imitate us with frightening accuracy.
  • Watching Sam finish first in the Fairmount James Dean race for his age group
  • Maggie having her first spend-the-night at a friend’s house.  Coincidentally, this was also the quietest night of the year at the Spiegels.
  • Andrew declaring himself the “King of Potato Wedges,” among other things.  He also is now fully potty trained—a major family milestone, to be sure.

Favorite Backyard Adventures of the Year:

  • Jim:  Installing a zip-line and watching the kids’ creative uses of it (not including Sam’s inadvertent back flip and landing on his shoulders)
  • Amy:  The raised bed in which we planted cucumbers, carrots, and onions.  The cucumbers dominated impressively.

Most Satisfying Shared Experiences of the Year:

  • Jim:  Eating at the 1280 Restaurant in Atlanta—the $18 scallops were worth every bite (which is saying a lot, as they averaged out to over $3.00 per bite).
  • Amy:  Any of our several family bike rides—the back of my bike is finally toddler free!  A close second was the camping trip the kids and I took to Indiana Dunes State Park.  I was so proud of myself for going, proud of the kids for being such troupers and amazed at the beauty of Lake Michigan.

New Year’s Resolutions:

  • Jim:  To read ten books in New Testament and historical Jesus studies; also to stop biting my nails (without having to forego following sports).
  • Amy:  To run a 10K race and read at least six books by C.S. Lewis (and not just his fiction).

Happy 2011 everyone!

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Confessions of a Home Schooler

By Amy Spiegel

You know that sick, forehead slapping feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when a regrettable discovery makes its way to the forefront of your mind just a little too late, when there is nothing to be done but sigh and live with the consequences? Sometimes those consequences are fairly minor like the brownies being a little flat because you forgot to add the baking soda. Hey, a brownie is just a brownie, right? And sometimes the consequences are more severe like realizing that candy bar does have peanuts in it right after your highly allergic son swallows it. And then, of course, there is the middle ground somewhere between flat brownies and a long night of Benadryl and vomit. This week I have found myself occupying this middle ground of regret.

It all started a few weeks back when a fellow “home educator” recommended a website selling pre-packaged unit studies for homeschoolers. Want to do a study of dolphins? Autumn? Or a wide variety of other topics? This enterprising saint of a woman has taken loads of cut outs, web resources, and reading lists and put them all together. For a small fee, you download all of it and away you and your child go to learn about the selected topic. Normally, this tips go in one ear and out the other, but I actually liked the idea and followed up on it. So this week, I found myself cross-legged on the floor, helping our youngest two do leaf rubbings and mini-books about the pigments found in trees. This may not seem like a particularly revolutionary act, but when I decided to begin homeschooling years ago I erected a mental force field around myself, blocking out any voices that might destroy my peace of mind. It wasn’t that I am unwilling to learn from the experience of others; in fact it was quite the opposite. I seem incapable of refraining from making comparisons. Their six-year-old is reading at a college level? I should read to my children seven hours a day so they don’t fall behind. Their kid is learning Latin while still in the womb? My children will obviously end up as homeless vagrants. It isn’t that I want my kids to be better or brighter than other kids. Like most other moms, I just don’t want to let them down.

So, in order to avoid a complete mental breakdown, for the most part I avoided large gatherings of moms and their above-grade-level learners, fearing the shattering of my ever-fragile mommy ego. I steered clear of homeschooling literature and blogs and would rather have run naked through the streets of Fairmount than attend a homeschooling convention. Granted, this is an overreaction to the natural impulse to compare ourselves to those around us, and the absurdity of my behavior struck me like one of David’s five smooth stones as I watched my kids benefit from my friend’s suggestion. How many other enriching activities had we missed out on due to my insecurities and fear of failure? True, sometimes mommy gatherings can turn ugly, but for the most part it’s just bunch of women like myself, looking for affirmation and support. Who can say what cross-pollinating moments I have missed because I was afraid of being judged and found lacking.

But no more! I am now prepared to go boldly into the world, ready to glean much from the wisdom of others and to try and take myself, and my job, a little less seriously. Just like my brownies, it may not be perfect but it will still taste pretty sweet.

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

By Jim Spiegel

Amy and I are constantly amazed at the things that come out of our kids’ mouths.  No, I’m not referring to regurgitant (though this can be amazing in its own right) but to their words.  Here are a few recent lines from our four little philosophers:

“I am the king of potato wedges” (Andrew Spiegel, 4) — This proclamation was made by our youngest after dinner one evening during our recent family vacation.  Because of his capacity to “put away the groceries,” as we like to say (not to mention his special taste for spuds) no one thought to challenge his claim.

“I’ve decided to sell some of my cute” (Maggie Spiegel, 6) — This statement was made by our daughter after I had developed the habit of telling her she was “too cute.”  Leave it to our little girl to interpret this simple idiom as a statement of a problem to be solved.  I forgot to ask her how she planned to execute her plan.

“The state bird for hell is the vulture” (Sam Spiegel, 7) — While driving Sam to one of his baseball games this summer the conversation turned to state birds.  Always eager to integrate theology with any topic, he came out with this one.  Strangely, I found it difficult to deny its truth.

“Cussing is just an adult’s way of whining” (Bailey Spiegel, 10) — Bailey made this assertion after hearing some people using foul language.  It has since come in handy on several occasions.  And it’s an insight that reminds me that all vice is, in one way or another, childish.

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The Best and Worst of 2009

By Jim Spiegel

It’s been another exciting year, and we want to thank you all for reading and, if applicable, posting comments on our blog.  Once again, we would like to close out the year with summary remarks about good and bad stuff related to film, music, books, politics, and family. 

Best Film Experiences:

  • Jim:  Slumdog Millionaire, Inglourious Basterds, and The Blind Side. Three very different films with one thing in common: a compelling story.  See my March 2 post for extended comments on Slumdog, and our joint review of Inglourious Basterds in our October 29 post.  As for The Blind Side, I confess that I went to see it begrudgingly, figuring it would subject me to two hours of eye-rolling melodrama.  On the contrary, this simple but powerful film had me in tears the entire evening.  And I’m no sentimentalist…
  • Amy:  Jim chose the ones you’ve heard of, so here are a few older ones you might not have seen: 1927 Academy Award winning Sunrise.  I am not a big fan of silent films but this one is amazing, a perfect movie. Another oldie but goodie is The Red Shoes.  Finally, Murder!  I am slowly working my way through all the works of Hitchcock and this was one I marked off the list this year.  It’s classic Hitchcock, which is to say, suspense with heart and soul.  Finally, this one isn’t an oldie, but since I spend a great deal of time watching children’s films I will give a shout out to my friends Charlie and Lola.

Worst Film Experiences: 

  • Jim:  Little Children—Three of my pet peeves in contemporary Hollywood films are:  1) stilted dialogue, 2) gratuitous sex scenes, and 3) plotlines that encourage viewers to root for a character to commit adultery.  Well, this movie features all three of these vices.  Some thematic originality or insight into truth might have helped to redeem the film despite these flaws.  But, alas, this one was disappointing down to the last, contrived and implausible, scene.
  • Amy:  The Reader, Japanese Story, and Summertime are three that standout in their badness.  There are bad movies which are flawed in one way or another (poor writing, bad acting, etc.) and then there are movies that are faulty on a deeper level; like people who are really smart that you enjoy being with as long as you don’t think about what they are actually saying.  These films would fall into the latter category.

Best Musical Experiences of the Year: 

  • Jim:  Wilco (The Album).  Jeff Tweedy & Co. have been making great music since the mid-90s, and their latest effort is more of the same.  2009 is also the year that I discovered the Kings of Leon.  Thanks to Jason Fortner for his insistent introduction to the beauty of the Followill brothers’ musical world.
  • Amy:  It isn’t a specific album but I loved my Christmas music this year. One of my faves included Sufjan Stevens Songs for Christmas, “What Child is This” by Andrea Bocelli, and Mary J. Blige and Emmylou Harris’ Light of the Stable.  They all strike the chords of awe, sadness, and rejoicing that I love about the season.

Favorite Songs of the Year:

  • Jim:  “Breathe” by U2.  This song slaps you in the face, spins you in circles, then sits you down and caresses you into ecstasy.  What begins as an almost tuneless rapid-fire narrative resolves into one of the most melodically satisfying songs in the U2 repertoire.  Check out that entrancing combo of cello and guitar as well as the memorable lyrical images—e.g., “people born of sound” wearing songs “like a crown” and “the roar that lies on the other side of silence.”  Oh yeah.
  • Amy:  See my comments above about Christmas songs.

Jim’s Favorite Sports Moment of the Year:  The season-long dominance of the Saints and Colts (two of my favorite teams), both of whom earned home field advantage throughout the NFL playoffs.  I’m not naïve enough to think both will make it to the Super Bowl (#1 seeds almost never meet in the championship).  But I’m hopeful that one of them will play on Super Sunday.

Jim’s Most Disappointing Sports Moment of the Year:  The Detroit Tigers’ squandering their division lead on the last day of regular season.  It wasn’t so much a moment as a week-long, fated collapse.  Ugh.

Amy’s Best Eating Experience of the Year:  New Orleans’ restaurant Mona Lisa’s eggplant parmesan.  Spicy marinara sauce, crispy eggplant in a creative setting with friendly folks.  And the service is great—at the Mona Lisa everyone is treated like a regular.

Amy’s Worst Eating Experience of the Year:  “Zucchini and Basil Soup.”  In an attempt to cleanse our bodies of toxins, Jim and I did a cleanse diet which excluded all cheese, eggs, wheat, soda, and basically anything you might enjoy eating.  The diet was actually not that bad, but this cold “soup” was definitely the low point.

Most and Least Satisfying Reads of the Year:

  • Jim:  Antony Flew’s There is a God, in which the former atheist chronicles his journey to belief in God and masterfully summarizes the three main considerations which prompted him to embrace theism.  I’ve also greatly enjoyed the Arts and Letters Daily blog.  My least satisfying read was Kwame Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism—an attempt to salvage shared moral values while affirming cultural relativism.  I kept waiting for an argument, but it never came.  And until the very end I hoped Appiah would rescue his project from incoherence.  My hopes were never realized.
  • Amy:  Elizabeth Gaskell’s Ruth, Charles Dickens’ Little Dorrit and Same Kind of Different as Me were all inspiring.  They just don’t write them like that anymore.  I didn’t like The Girls from Ames.  Also, on three separate occasions, I began reading The Shack, but I couldn’t complete it.  Bad theology and even worse writing.

Political High Point of the Year:  Our hopeful sides want to celebrate the seemingly grass roots movement afoot in our country against government expansion and irresponsibility.  But our cynical sides tell us that it’s all just more talk that will, in the end, be undermined by profiteering.

Political Low Point of the Year:  The revelation that (now former) Green Czar Van Jones was a Marxist…or perhaps the revelation that (now former) White House communications director Anita Dunn was a Marxist sympathizer.  Or (speaking of Marxism?) perhaps the real low point was the health care bill.

Most Outrageous News Events of the Year:  The balloon boy hoax (what can you expect from a couple who would name their kid “Falcon”?) and Bernie Madoff (an appropriate surname, until the Ponzi schemer artist got busted) and climategate (when scientists feel they have to fudge numbers, this should give pause to even the most dogmatic believers in their theory).  Ah, the hits just keep on coming, don’t they?

Our Kids’ Most Memorable Statements of the Year:

Bailey:  “I think cussing is just adults’ way of whining.” 

Sam:  “Dad, just try to name a breakfast cereal I don’t like.”

Maggie:  “I think the wind is God whispering ‘I love you.’”

Andrew:  “I never want to get married, ‘cuz you have to kiss someone every day.”

Most Satisfying Shared Experiences of the Year: 

  • Jim:  Walking around the French Quarter together at the ETS conference in November.  Also, our August vacation in Houston with the incomparable Newcomb family. 
  • Amy:  Our various bike rides together as a family; also, seeing two of our kids become communicant members of our church and sharing the communion experience with them.

New Year’s Resolutions:

  • Jim:  To get to bed before midnight more than half of the time
  • Amy: To put Ranch Pringles behind me once and for all

Happy 2010 everyone!  And happy new decade as well!!

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Journey to the Center of the Knot

By Amy Spiegel

As the mother of four, ideas of dating, commitment and marriage are often on my mind and the topic of discussion between Jim and me. True, our kids are a little young (okay, really young, since most of them still require some assistance in the bathroom).  Nevertheless, my motto, sadly, seems to be “It’s never too early to worry about future events that are just as unlikely as likely to occur.”

Perhaps my worries stem from witnessing friends and family with older kids struggling with an aversion to dating when the subject relates to their teenage children. Of course, our oldest boys are developmentally at the stage where they are still quite certain that girls have cooties and would rather die than do anything other than pull their hair and run the other way. And our five-year-old daughter is at that glorious stage where she is torn between marrying her daddy and one of our college student friends. But I feel I can see just around the bend of the road ahead and anticipate the day when girls will suddenly be cured of their cooties and daddy won’t seem quite so appealing. So in the spirit of an ounce of prevention, I must confess to having fostered, especially in my boys, the idea that dating is for the birds and marriage is something to be put off like going to the dentist—you have to do it sometime, but there’s no need to be in a hurry about it.

tying the knotAn article in the latest issue of Christianity Today has me rethinking my assumptions, however. The article by Mark Regnerus, entitled “The Case for Early Marriage,” challenges conventional wisdom with regard to marrying at an early age. I am not sure what I think of the article’s argument but it has me wondering if there are some contradictions between my strong views on the importance of family and my discouragement of dating. When I think of any of my kids dating seriously in high school or early college, I am filled with trepidation. I have often told them that every commitment you make narrows your possibilities, so you have to think very carefully before committing to a relationship. Once you are in, you have certain obligations to that person that shouldn’t be neglected, a none-of-the-guys-go-steady-‘cause-it-wouldn’t-be-right-to-leave-your-best-girl-home-on-a-Saturday-night sort of approach. I want them to experience “life” before settling down, but what am I teaching them about the meaning of that life if I am saying “life” means freedom, lack of commitment and pleasure while family, responsibility and obligation are the anti-climax.

Jim and I recently had an enlightening discussion over dinner with a student friend—the one Maggie is determined to marry—and talked about the generational differences and how they contribute to widely differing approaches to vocation. Our young friend talked a lot about finding meaning in the journey rather than it all being about the destination. While I resonated with much of what he expressed, I couldn’t help but ask myself, if it is all about the journey, how does that reflect on my current location? As a stay-at-home mom, my journey is far from picturesque. Without a meaningful destination, most of the mundane things I spend my time accomplishing are without purpose. I should be really depressed, but I’m not. Far from it, I take pride in the fact that my hard work is a service to those I love most. I may not be “free” to see the world but my responsibilities bring a deeper meaning to my life that I wouldn’t trade for all the frequent flyer miles in North America. Of course, getting married isn’t the only type of commitment you can make. (One only has to join a church, commit to a deep friendship or volunteer for ministry to discover that.)

Now this doesn’t mean I am ready to start double dating with any of my kids this weekend, but it has informed my perspective on what I used to see as the impending doom of watching my kids discover love of the romantic variety. And hopefully, some day—many, many years from now—they will find true freedom in tying the knot.

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Over the River and Through the Woods

By Amy Spiegel

Our family is currently enjoying a visit with my mother-in-law, which, despite the stereotypical assumptions regarding such visits, is something I look forward to. This visit, while greatly anticipated by us all, does come at a cost—a long and desolate drive in the South over land so monotonous and dull that it makes Indiana look topographically diverse. We have made this journey many times, yet each time it seems to catch us all off guard. We forget how long it is (14 hours on a good day); we forget how boring it is (really boring); we forget how cranky we all get (really, really cranky). At about the four hour mark, when we have spotted every variety of truck known to man, managed to eat our allotted snacks for the day, and managed to spend more time in truck stop bathrooms than on the interstate, it all comes rushing back to us like a semi with no breaks on a steep grade. Just when we think we simply cannot stand to be on the road a minute longer, we arrive—to the smiles and greetings of my dear mother-in-law and her obese but lovable dog.

Today, somewhere in Georgibama, I began searching for any metaphorical significance to our trek. After all, if I can’t enjoy the trip, I might as well get some good blog material out of it. So here are a few random, though hopefully not entirely contrived, parallels that came to mind.

Most road trips start out as rather happy occasions. One thinks much more of the destination than the process of getting there. Sure, you have mentally acknowledged the distance from point A to point B, but on a map nothing looks that far. It is impossible to imagine mile after mile without doing a bit of condensing. Besides, a map can only represent the mileage. MapQuest is shamelessly optimistic when it comes to traffic jams, flat tires, bathroom breaks, and dead batteries. So it is in the life of faith. I have yet to hear the testimony which begins “Well, I decided to become a Christian because, golly, the whole pick-up-your-cross-daily bit just seemed like it would be more fun than a barrel of monkeys.” Of course, we think we know what we are getting into, but then we thought we knew everything about marriage and raising kids, too. Man, are we stupid. Despite the fact that the cost is always greater and more painful, we seem to suffer from severe short term memory loss like a slightly more comical version of Guy Pierce in Memento only with fewer tattoos and less homicidal. “Sure, I’ll serve on that church committee. What could be better than hanging out with a bunch of fellow believers, week after week, trying to tease out the meaning of ‘baptism’?” “Sure, I’ll commit to mentoring that college student. When I’m not hanging out with my church committee friends, I love nothing more than talking to someone who has her entire life figured out and doesn’t hear a single word I say.”

So is this road trip optimism a character flaw of the Christian or does it somehow serve a higher purpose? Perhaps in some instances, it is our pride telling us that we have grown and matured and we’re ready to conquer this stretch of highway. But maybe it is also a blessing in disguise. If we did remember all the prior bumps and detours, how many of us would set out to begin with? So much is accomplished by simply beginning. Growth follows obedience and, fortunately for us, we aren’t required to know the full cost of our obedience beforehand.

The other thing that struck me as we thankfully pulled into the familiar driveway, weary but happy, was that we always arrive at our final destination. Maybe not when we thought we would or smelling like we had hoped, but we get here. I have yet to hear of the family that started out for grandma’s house and never got there. So too with us. Things may not go according to our plan but there is a plan and we will get where we are supposed to go. The cross has already been carried on our behalf and when we consider the journey taken to see it and ourselves delivered, our road seems much easier and our burden light. Unlike our road trips which mess up our hair and trash our cars, the trials of faith we face are shaping us for our destination. All we have to do is get in the car, buckle up for the ride and follow the directions we have been given. It may not be easy but it’s simple.  And frankly I wouldn’t want to be headed anywhere else, even Grandma’s house (but don’t tell her or the obese dog I said so).

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A Case for Motherhood

By Amy Spiegel

There are some phrases that you are destined to hear countless times over the course of your life. I certainly have a few, and sadly none of them involve people pointing out my striking resemblance to Fiona Apple. My birthday is December 23rd, and I usually follow up this announcement with a quick, defensive “Yeah, it is really close to Christmas, but I don’t find sharing my birthday with the season in which we celebrate the birth of our Savior the least bit annoying. Thanks for asking.”

Being a stay-at-home mom of four kids has added a new set of rhetorical questions to the public’s repertoire:  “You’ve sure got your hands full, don’t you?” “You sure are busy, aren’t you?” (People sure are sure of things, aren’t they?) I usually smile wryly and answer with some platitude, depending on how well the kids are behaving. But there is one phrase lately that has begun to rub me the wrong way. I will be standing in line at the grocery store, trying to act like I don’t know those children who are methodically destroying the carefully crafted displays meant to turn them into avid materialists by age two (not that I’m bitter), and the cashier will strike up a conversation in hopes that I won’t notice the overpriced total for my groceries (not that I’m bitter) and then ask if I am a stay-at-home mom. I swallow my scathing reply that “No, my children are off at daycare. I just like to pick up children at random and let them slowly torture me through the aisles of this lovely establishment.” Instead, I say “yes,” smiling and trying to look fulfilled and content. The cashier will then smile condescendingly and shake her head, saying “I could never do what you do.”

Perhaps I am not the most rational creature at this point in the day, after having traversed myriad aisles chanting, “Don’t touch that. Put that back. No, it’s not on the list. Don’t touch that. Put that back. No, it’s not on the list.” But nonetheless, this seemingly complimentary phrase acknowledging the difficulty of my vocation feels more like a backhanded insult than a compliment. What I hear sounds more like “I would never want to do what you do.” And frankly there are plenty of days I would share this sentiment. But there are a lot of other days when I think my job is pretty cool and has more than a few fringe benefits not offered in other professions. For example I can show up for duty in my pajamas and remain that way for most of the day. I am the dictator of my workplace; our entire schedule is determined by me including our activities and menu. I spend the day with four very interesting people who think I am really great (except when I am making them brush their teeth, clean up their room, or do their long division).

Beyond these obvious advantages, motherhood is highly spiritually profitable, though more for myself than for my kids, I fear. There is method in the madness of the daily grind of sharing of yourself, your time and your energy (not to mention anything that might look good on your plate or any drink you were really looking forward to consuming). What I find frustrating about being a mom is that often people seem to put you in the category of saint, just below Mother Theresa and Saint Francis but definitely on the road to perfection. I don’t do this because I am some unearthly creature without selfish ambition or pride. To put mothers in that category demeans the sacrifices they are making. We aren’t called to be mothers because we are without fault; we become less flawed because we are moms. We aren’t the making of motherhood; it is motherhood that makes us.

When I started out in this whole mother business some nine and half years ago, I must confess that I thought Jim and I had a great deal to offer anyone fortunate enough to be our offspring. I had all the theories of discipline and nurture worked out and was frankly quite surprised that others hadn’t been able to figure out the mysteries of producing perfect children long before now. I am not sure when all that pride fell away in shriveled heaps, but somewhere between that first blessed smile and that first toddler tantrum I had my first lesson in humility. I have had many since and am sure more are to follow. So with Mother’s Day approaching, be sure to appreciate your mom and her hard work; not because she does her job perfectly but because she does the job despite her imperfections.

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Babysitter Blues: A Lesson in Unconditional Love

By Amy Spiegel

As summer approaches, the days lengthen, the temperatures warm, and a vague dread settles into the pit of my stomach. No, it isn’t that I am against sunshine, capri pants or backyard barbeques. Summer is, in many ways, my favorite season. As a homeschooler, I look forward to the days of just being mom, of nagging my kids to hang their swimsuits to dry rather than nagging them to finish their math homework. My kids and I camp out on the beach of a Taylor Lake and bask in our laziness. But as we while away the afternoon, a dark cloud is on the horizon. The feeling of impending doom grows more pronounced as the week draws to an end. Wednesday afternoon rolls into Thursday evening and I officially panic. The weekend is looming and my husband and I are without a babysitter.

For nine months out of the year, we live in a veritable childcare paradise, as Jim’s students provide us with scores of potential babysitters. I am always amazed at not only their willingness to exchange a Friday night with friends for interminable games of Monopoly and hours of Tom and Jerry but also the cheerfulness with which they submit to their fate. I sometimes feel ashamed at the relief with which I walk through door, practically sprinting to the car only to look back at some sweet young woman who seems perfectly happy to have four kids simultaneously begging for her attention. I love my kids—I wouldn’t know how to face life without them—but let’s face it, we all have our limits. Limited amounts of patience. Limited amounts of attention. Limited amounts of tolerance for noise. But I find myself thinking, is there something wrong with me that I long to escape their presence, if just for a few hours? And why does the babysitter look so at ease? Goodness knows it’s not the money. Sometimes my kids decide to pour salt into the wound of my guilt by begging me not to leave, crying in outrage that I would dare to leave them even for one night. Fortunately, I have caught on to this manipulation. Once my daughter, Maggie, seemed on the verge of swooning from despair as Jim and I left. I had promised the kids a special video, so we drove the few blocks to the library and returned with the promised film. Not wanting to be spotted, I snuck onto the porch in order to deposit the DVD in the mailbox and make a run for it. I happened to look in the window to see Maggie in the throes of a giggle fit. So much for swooning.

Too often I think that despite my overwhelming desire to get time away with my husband, it is I who has the hard time leaving the kids with a sitter. It isn’t that I fear for their safety or well-being. Jim’s students are always highly qualified and trustworthy. We usually return to a quiet house with the only sound being the dishwasher running and soft snoring emanating from the bunk beds. What I find difficult is the idea of the kids being happy with someone else taking care of them, someone who is more fun and energetic than I am. Someone who makes crafts and let’s them have a big brownie even if they don’t finish all their green beans. I am not really jealous of the affection they have for Miss Babysitter. However, the realization that my kids love me just because I am their mom and not because I am amusing or even nice some of the time is rather humbling. I certainly want my kids to love me, but I must confess to wishing sometimes it was a little less unconditional and a little more works-based. I want to be deserving of their seemingly blind devotion.

It’s a bit like our relationship with God. He doesn’t love us because of anything we do to merit His devotion. He loves us because we are family, for better or worse. The difference, of course, is that our kids don’t choose us and have no say in the matter of who they get as parents. God as our Father, chooses us to be in relationship with Him and the work is all His. Though it should be a comfort to know that my connections with my kids and with my Heavenly Father aren’t contingent on my earning their love, it is certainly a blow to pride. I suppose this is one of those instances when it is my kids and not I leading the way. In their unconditional acceptance of me, I see a glimpse of the eternal. Settling back into my sandy lawn chair, I take a long sip of Diet Coke, relax and let the dread recede. Maybe we don’t need a babysitter tonight after all.

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A Valentine’s Day to Remember (by Jim, Annotated by Amy)

By Jim Spiegel

Happy Valentine’s Day everybody!  For me, this was certainly one to remember.  It began, like most Saturdays, with my making pancakes for the kids.  This is one of the few culinary endeavors where my ability actually exceeds Amy’s.  This morning I nailed it again, blowing the kids’ minds, with the most fluffy and tasty pancakes this side of the Mississinewa River.  Oh yeah. (I hate to disillusion Jim, here, but I believe that my pancake skills have actually exceeded his. Since this is one of only two things he used to be able to say he could make better than me, the other being milk shakes, I won’t tell him that the children are only being polite and secretly like my pancakes better than his. Poor man.)

After breakfast, I took Bailey to his basketball game, where his team, the Longhorns, played the Golden Hurricane.  Who won, you ask?  Nobody.  Bailey plays in the Upward league where they don’t keep score.  The stated rationale for this is that it encourages fellowship and learning the game, but everybody knows that it’s to discourage parental hysterics and abuse of the referees which is so common in such leagues.  Funny—when I was little, it was us kids who needed to be restrained, not our parents. (What Jim isn’t telling you is that he knows full well that Bailey’s team lost because he is one of those parents that keeps track of the score despite the “Everyone’s a winner” attitude of the league.  Not only does he know the score but could probably give you a play-by-play account of this and every other sporting event any of our children have competed in.  Sad but true.  Just like the pancakes.)

After Bailey’s game, we headed over to Lowe’s to pick up a new shower nozzle.  Our old one was leaking and badly needed replacing.  (Again, Jim fails to give the whole picture here.  I am beginning to feel unsettled by his lack of full disclosure.  Does he mention that I have been pestering him for well over a year to fix the showerhead?  Does he describe my “temporary” solution of tying a washcloth around the pipe to keep it from spraying water everywhere?  It actually worked really well, maybe even better than his solution. Just another area where I surpass him.  It’s actually sad to see how blind he is to his own competitiveness.)  The kids were thrilled about the new nozzle, which has both spray and massage settings.  This is the first time we’ve ever seen them want to take a shower. 

In the afternoon Amy and I officially celebrated Valentine’s Day by going to see Slumdog Millionaire together.  This wasn’t just the highlight of my day—this was the highlight of my life as a filmgoer, at least since I first saw American Beauty and perhaps even going as far back as Pulp Fiction, which I recall watching with Amy before we were an “item.”  Like those films, Slumdog Millionaire weaves a redemptive theme through a lot of suffering and wickedness.  (Kind of like my life with Jim.  Despite his delusions about his culinary skills and his ultra-competitiveness, especially when I am so obviously superior, I choose to endure.)  In Slumdog, Love triumphs over evil, but without any Hollywood clichés or patronizing—partly, I’m sure, because this isn’t a Hollywood film.  We both wanted to watch it again as soon as it was over.  Pure aesthetic joy.  Kind of like my life with Amy, now that I think about it.  Happy V-Day, Honey-Bunny.  (That’s actually really nice.  Maybe I should take all that other stuff back.  Everything except the part about the pancakes, that is.  Happy V-Day, Pumpkin.)

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The Difference Between Children and Wild Animals

By Jim Spiegel

Amy and I love our children.  In fact, we think they are the most fascinating creatures in the world.  But it sure is a lot of work trying to civilize those little people.  “Maggie, please stop making that chirping sound.”  “Bailey, don’t make fun of your brother.” “Andrew, why didn’t you tell us you needed to poop?”  It’s as if kids were pre-programmed to create chaos and generally make life difficult for their parents.  Recently it dawned on me how much easier it would be to domesticate a wild animal (just name a species) than a human child.  And, being an obsessive list-maker, I came up with ten reasons why.  So I present that list to you now for your consideration.  Bear in mind that these items pertain to various ages, basically covering the age range of our own kids at this time:  2 to 9 years.

Unlike kids, wild animals do not…

1. Have to be taught the value of work and self-discipline.

2. Fight over unimportant matters.

3. Make random noises just to irritate those around them.

4. Say or do things solely for the sake of hurting someone else.

5. Tell lies and fabricate stories.

6. Boast and brag.

7. Grumble and complain, even when all of their needs are met.

8. Envy.

9. Try to embarrass others for sheer entertainment.

10. Excrete on their own bodies.

This might seem depressing, but I take heart in the fact that I, too, was once such a savage beast.  Somehow my parents managed to tame me, so perhaps we will have some similar success with our little wild ones.  May God keep us sane as we try.  And may he bless the efforts of the rest of you zookeepers . . . uh, I mean . . . parents out there.