One of the Best Things: I Read

 I first joined a book group back in 2000, and I was hooked.  It fed my need to verbally process, and it confirmed my belief that Truth is something that pursues all humanity.  Artists show us well how Truth pursues us. 

Also, being in a book group forces me to read books that I might not pick on my own, and helps me continue to understand the points of view of others.  I've been in three book groups since 2000, each one has been filled with women coming from diverse backgrounds and from diverse experiences, but all come with the desire to keep thinking, wondering, and processing.  I love that.

So here are some of the books I read this past year and a short vibe of if I'd recommend you reading it.  Note:  They are not intended to be plot summaries.

Narrative of the life of Fredrick Douglas!  -Amazing!  This should be required reading for all high schoolers.  I'm a bit ashamed that it wasn't part of my high school reading.  That is shameful!  We should have skipped the history text and just read this man's personal story: a first-hand account of slavery and his quest for freedom and for the freedom of all slaves in our country.  I was wowed by his insight and my favorite line went something like this, "There is a difference between American Christianity and the Christianity of Jesus."  You can read this short, non-fiction on-line for free.

Handle with Care....an emotional roller coaster meant to sell books....skip it!

Unbroken!  -One of the best true stories ever....I blogged about this book earlier this year.  Another example of God pursuing someone, but also another essential read for students of history.  So much was in this book that does not make it in traditional history classes.  I knew the general facts of the Pacific front of WWII, but knowing the facts, and hearing someone's personal experiences are very diferent things.

After the Golden Age, when I looked at my notes of this book I wrote that I liked it, but I honestly can't remember anything about it...that is the best test, skip it.  Or, it means it is a good read for a vacation.

Dovekeepers, this was not a favorite by my book group, but I don't regret reading it.  It painted a picture of Israel during the destruction of the temple, and while we discovered that the author took a lot of fictional freedom with the story, I thought the setting stayed true to the facts and painted a framework for me of another time and place.  I actually think I'd recommend it.  It has stayed with me.

Marcelo in the Real World!  Another quality read, and it is a young adult book.!  If I was back in a secondary classroom, I would assign this book to my students!  The themes in this book are rich and deep and true.  Marcelo is "different" and sees the world as such, and we need him to help us see life differently. 

Passion of Artemisia, I read this back in 2000 with my first book group, and the images have stayed with me over a decade.  I loved learning about the artwork and artists of the Renaissance.  I should really travel Italy again after reading this book and just stand in awe and wonder.  I stood in awe and wonder the first time, but this book as brought a whole new layer of understanding to the culture of that time.

Visit from the Goon Squad!  I loved this book, and I think I was the only one in my book group.  If you are an GenXer, you will relate to the themes in this book.  It really captures our current American culture through music and technology.  The last scene is chilling as a man really wants to tell a woman he loves her, but can't do it face to face, too intense, so instead uses the latest gadget to send the message.  It starts in the 70's and ends some time in the future.  One whole chapter is told through graphic organizers.  This story was creative and unique and used the evolution of pop music to help tell the story of a culture and society that has changed.

Water for Elephants-I actually saw the movie before I read the book.  I loved the movie, and I enjoyed the book.  I'm not sure how I would have felt about the movie if I had read the book first, but I actually liked who the movie combined the two "evil" characters into one main antagonist vs. the book have two separate antagonists.

Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks-This book was made for a book discussion: race, inequality, medical ethics, liabilities, fogiveness, hidden pasts...everyone should read this true story.

Till We Have Faces-I want to like CS Lewis, really I do, but I just don't like his writing style.  I totally get that he's a good writer and that his ideas are amazing.  I love his themes and the concepts he uses to tell his stories, but I just never can get through any of his writings.  SO, this is the only book this year I did not finish.  But I did enjoy the discussion.

The Birth Order Book-Any parent of children can be an expert on birth order, but the book really wasn't revolutionary.  I didn't solve any parenting delemas or personal childhood angst by reading this book.  I didn't feel like it was very research-based either...just a man's gut feelings about a topic.  Skip it and just make your own observations.

Silver Sparrow - This book was good!  It would be a great vacation read, very captivating and moved quickly, but was also written well enough that I still remember the plot and the characters and the themes.  It is about a man who marries two woman.  The one wife and daughter know about the first family and they live a few blocks from each other.  The first half is told through the eyes of the second family's daughter and then the 2nd half of the book is written by the legitamate daughter.  The book as many layers and is really more than just a book about polygamy.  It is a book about love, recognition, respecting yourself, etc.  Read it.

Well, those were my reads in 2012...2013 is looking to be another excellent years:  Irises, Pride and Prejudice, Anna Karenina...and many more.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  May you read and pursue and find!

Unpardonable Sin

I am about to commit the unpardonable sin, at least in our family…that would be on my side of the family, not my husbands.  I am pretty sure I am not mailing out any Christmas cards, pictures, or letters this year.  I say I am pretty sure, because I wonder if my guilt will win and at the last moment I will send my annual Schneiter Top Ten to the presses. 

There are several factors influencing my decision, and money is a big one.  I was recently at a holiday party with my college girlfriends…a much anticipated, yearly event.  Three out of the eight of us did not hand out any cards.  The others were being proactive and had been on-the-ball as to save a few bucks on postage.  I’ve just had too much going on this year to be that organized.  But then one of my friends spoke the truth, “It’s just a major budgetary item that I didn’t plan for this year, so I don’t think we will be sending out any.”  Exactly.  This year we caved and purchased a Wii for the boys.  How could we resist, “Mom,” my oldest informed me one day, “when we get a Wii, we will finally be like all the other families we know.”  Who knew I had deprived my children of such a life essential?  And it has been my parenting goal to be exactly like everyone else.

The other factor causing me to sin this holiday is our family picture.  I mean, it is stunning, and I do look fantabulous…always a key for a mom nearing 40…but it looks a lot like the one I mailed out last year.  Two of the boys are even wearing the same shirts.  I guess we didn’t change that much in one year.  We added no new babies to our herd, everyone has been out of diapers for a bit now, and my husband is still stuck in his braces…maybe when he gets those off and looks as fabulous as me, we will send out a matted  5 X 7 to everyone instead of the usual glossy, 4 X 6 size…or not.

And lastly, the reason I am turning my back on all that is good and right about this holiday tradition of envelopes, stamps, and family photos…my top ten lists are beginning to blend all together, sound a bit like the year before and the year before and the year before.

My husband is still teaching and coaching, our oldest two boys are still loving school and playing sports, I’m still writing and figuring out life, and our youngest is still breaking furniture and appliances.  We are still your normal, typical, family plodding through life.

So I think I’ll skip it this year, then next year when people receive our smiling faces they’ll think, “Wow, this one is so different from the last one we received.”  Then the revelation will dawn “Didn’t Hans have braces?  I think he got them off.  If you look really close you can see that his teeth are truly amazing.”

And that they are, Merry Christmas.

Family Pictures 2012

Conquering Crazy

I stared at my doctor, my allergist, "So basically I'm making all of this up, and I'm not allergic to anything?"

"Yep."

I laughed, "Awesome.  Always good to know you are a little crazy."  I stared at my arm with little prick marks tracing it from my wrist to my elbow, "You've had this happen before, right?  I'm not like the only one who thinks they are dying, but are really having panic attacks?"

He nodded.  I chose to believe him.  Not that I went immediately to the nearest seafood restaurant and ingested my growing list of food allergies: shell fish, hazelnuts, unusual cheese, hard cider....

"Something is triggering the beginning of your panic attack and that part is legitimate.  You had a real reaction to penicillin when you were young and the body remembers and so is mimicking the symptoms."  This made sense.  I remembered from my college acting class that truly, the body does remember.  You'd better be careful what you practice or when the show comes up...that's what you'll do.

"What do you think is the real symptom?"

"Heart burn?  Too much chocolate, so caffeine...racing heart etc."

I looked at him. I looked at my arm, "OK, I believe you.  This is cheaper than counseling."

Not that convincing my body that I wasn't going into anaphalactic shock would be easy, no way!  My challenge was great and my admiration for my mind was unparalleled.

I told my story to my friends.  I refused to be ashamed.  I think this was perhaps the first part toward conquering my mind.  It is always good to admit you are crazy, right?

First I decided to try rare and delicious cheese.  My mind began to work: my heart started to race, and I was sure my throat was constricting.  I sipped water and told myself over and over that if my throat was constricting then I would not be able to drink the water I was swallowing.  Slowly I calmed myself down and the symptoms went away.  The cheese was delicious.

Next I moved on to hard cider.  This was tricky because the night when I was sure I was having a reaction to this drink, my friends all saw the red rash climbing up my throat and neck.  It seemed so real. I had witnesses.  But then I remembered the words of my doctor, "No one is ever allergic to alcohol.  Many people come in here thinking they are allergic, and they are just not used to the effects of alcohol or they are eating really rich foods and having heartburn." (Mine was probably a combination...we were all enjoying some nachos together, nachos and jalapenos.) I pushed through the panic, and trusted the evidence.

Hazelnuts were fairly easy to break since they were my most recent allergy, and the panic attack I had associated with them was fairly minimal, plus I really wanted to continue my love affair with Nutella.

But the shell fish.  That one I wanted to hold on to.  I mean, couldn't my doctor have been wrong on at least one of his tests?  I mean, people die from shell fish allergies.  The time I reacted to shellfish the reaction had been so immediate, so real, so connected.  I decided to avoid all seafood except salmon.

This last weekend I was helping myself to the Thanksgiving snack bar and didn't realize the dip that I was thoroughly enjoying had crab in it.  Into my second helping I cautioned myself, "Wait, that looks like crab."  Sure enough, my symptoms began.  I tried to battle it myself, tell myself that I only began to have the reactions once my mind knew what it was, but the crab panic was hard to break.  I pulled my husband aside and told him what was happening.  He laughed.

And so did I.  "No, that's good...make me laugh.  That will help me relax.  So he did.  I sipped some water and he made fun of me."  Victory!

This has been a powerful experience for me, really.  One I am glad I've had.  I have new respect for panic attacks in general.  I think I might have made this all sound too easy, but really it has been almost a year of working through these matters-of-the-mind.  I also have great sympothy for people who have panic attacks.  It is really horrible and gets worse with each attack.

I know so many people who have gone to allergists and are told they are not allergic to anything, but they disagree. They find another "expert" who gives them a list of intolerances and they continue to avoid many delicious foods.  I hardly want to recommend doing what I did...I mean, what if I'm wrong, but I certainly can't be the only one out there.  I know I'm not the only one who has had this happen to them or is letting this happen to them.  Right?  Thoughts?

(Note:  Food concerns/beliefs have become fairly major in the last few years and there are some very real allergies, but I just wonder if a lot of it is all in our heads.  I feel a bit risky posting this because beliefs on food can be just as sacred as beliefs on religion or politics.  Let the comments begin!)

Why Is Three So Hard?

Why is three so hard?  My memory is not kind either, because unfortunately I’ve forgotten how tricky the other two boys were at this age.  In the moment, I feel like A is my nemesis, my nightmare.  He’s the one proving to the world that I am an unfit parent, mother.  Hans tells me B and C were both rough at this age.  I seem to have forgotten.  I’m sure A is the hardest.

My nightly reading is a book titled, Knowing Your Three-Year-Old.  I find comfort and encouragement from this read.  My favorite line goes something like this, “The three-year-old sees his mother as his enemy at age three-and-a-half.  This is a good age for the mother to enroll her child in preschool, to give her and her child a few hours off from each other.”  Unfortunately it is hard to take this book’s advice since I am my son’s preschool teacher.  Oh dear.  We are doomed.

I have put all my faith, hope, and love into the fact that his 4th birthday keeps getting closer and closer.  February, come quickly. 

I try and remind myself that he is cute, sweet, plays well by himself, is smart, creative, and ingenious…focus on these things.  But it is hard when he seems so volatile.  I pleaded with his oldest brother to play with him and build a furniture fort with our little demon on a day when A was especially difficult.  A was so excited, so giddy.  He adores B.  “Yeah, let’s build a fort B!”  But something wasn’t quite right with the fort.  A’s toes stuck out and were exposed to the harsh weather elements of our living room.  Rage ensued.  Couch cushions scattered.  B looked for an escape.   

“B, you don’t have to play with him.”  Relief.

A was devastated, “But I wanted to build a fort.”

“Yeah, but when you get angry like that it is scary to play with you.”  Tears.  Favorite blanket, chair snuggle…calm.

At preschool last week we were at a total impasse.  A refused to sit and eat his snack with the other children.  He crumpled his pathetic body into the corner of the classroom.  It had been a rough morning up to that point and it felt like my limit of tolerance.  I was ready to call Grandma and send him home.  I knelt down beside him, “Can you use your words and tell me what is wrong?”

“But I wanted to share my fruit snacks.”  I wanted to cry.  This stubborn tantrum came from a really good place.  Here I thought he was just being obstinate, but instead he was devastated.  I had no idea that the fruit snacks he asked me to buy him were supposed to be passed out and share with his friends.  Sweet boy.  “Let’s go get them.  I think they are in your cubby.”  Up he bounded, joy in his step…making sure each classmate got a handful of his special treats.

I have to remind myself to look at what is motivating the meltdown.  Usually it is sadness, frustration, or disappointment…not pure anger…just miscommunication.

And then the memories begin to come back.  B, at a young age had to sort out his feelings over his new baby brother, C.  Oh the meltdowns!  Whenever it was time to nurse this new intrusion, B, would wail and moan as he tossed and turned all over the living room carpet.  C had certain expectations and desires at age three too.  He threw a royal fit during his swim lessons when his instructor handed him the pink floating noodle.  Wow, what a scene.  I was at a total loss.

And guess what…C and B are very nice little boys.  I always get compliments after play dates and birthday parties.  No complaints from their teachers.  They are kind and thoughtful; they communicate their wants and desires, and can balance their emotions with the world around them.   

Still, I forget this, I forget how far they’ve come.  It is always good to take time to remember.  However, in this particular era, A is very frustrating, and I’m still looking forward to four…along with everyone else.

(I wrote this after a week of intense power struggles with A.  This last week has been blissful.  He's been sweet and good at communicating.  We've had special one-on-one times, like making his famous cookie pie and playing games together.  But when I wrote this I was in a very frustrated state.)

No More Hugs

The first blatant sign happened this fall when my oldest, B, walked off the bus and crossed the road to the safety my arms…except he didn’t walk into my arms.  That was the sign.   For the last two years I have always gotten an exuberant, best-mommy-ever-hug each and every afternoon as the big, yellow, bus delivered my oldest to me.  I still get a hug from the middle brother, C, who almost knocks me over like a lab puppy, but not from B.  He made it clear on that first day when he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I think I’m too old to hug you anymore.”

I smiled and touched his hair, probably totally embarrassing, “OK, maybe we can give each other a hug later when no one is watching.”

“Yeah” he liked this option.

This is what we want.  This is what his dad and I have been working towards:  independence.  I didn’t get upset, throw a fit, take it personally…it was what it was…a sign of the times.

B is still very much a little boy.  The other day he saw me in his school and raced over to grab my hand only to have his little eyes fill with tears when he learned I wasn’t there to work in his classroom.  I wanted to cry too.  At night he always wants a snuggle and could, “You please run your fingers through my hair.”  But there is a little “leave and cleave” going on within him.  Today when he got home from school I asked him for a hug, once we were in the house and no one from the bus would be able to see us, and he looked at me and said, “Maybe later, like tonight.”  That one did hurt a bit.

I’m also learning to give him space in other areas, trying to give him room for his personality.  C and I are verbal processors.  B is not.  I finally agreed to stop asking him about his day right when he gets home.  He promised to eventually tell me about it, especially if he thinks anything very interesting happened.  I’ve been trusting this process, and it appears to be working for me.  B’s actually telling me more stuff about school than he has ever before.  And it is way more interesting than the forced short-answers I was getting before about if he chose a chicken burger or hamburger for lunch and if he played kickball or soccer at recess.  (I’m learning things like, “Miguel is really fun.  He said…”

However, I’m glad we had a third boy, A.  I think I might be quite emotional with all this growing up if I didn’t have at least one more preschooler at home.  In no way do I want to go back to that era of blending baby food, toilet training, and sleepless nights, but the nostalgia visits are sweet.  I do hate that my memory does get hazy with time.  I was so certain I would always remember.

Still, I can take myself back to those first days when I brought home my first newborn to a quiet and peaceful house.  I can hear the way the wood floor creaked under my tip-toes.  I can smell the special bath lotion that I used religiously each night at the kitchen sink, and feel the cozy texture of those first sleepers.  Our world slowed a bit and became focused on one little person.  There is a simplicity in becoming a new mom that can only be discovered once, and so I take the time to remember and savor it because there is nothing quiet and calm and simple anymore about parenting.  My counters are full of backpacks and lunch boxes, soccer uniforms to be washed and folded, homework to be monitored, and little lives to be fostered towards more and more independence. 

These moments of no-more-hugs are really affirmations that all is going well.  And I like that.

 

You Are Teaching What?

When I entered college back in 1995, it was my sincere goal to become a high school history teacher.  I was determined to inspire hundreds of students.  I would change perceptions.  My line was, "I will not be a boring history teacher.  History is exciting.  Students should experiencing this."  I was one of the very few freshman who declared their major on the first day of their first year of college, announcing with confidence to my orientation group, "Yep, social studies teaching major."

I stuck with my plan, except I kept getting pulled toward a random writing class here and there, wishing I could double major, but wanting to finish in four years I stuck to my plan.  Then I graduated.  No high school principal would hire me.  I don't blame them now.  I was 21 and looked 17.  So, I landed my first job, instead, at a middle school teaching in a self-contained, multi-age classroom.  Oh and I was the science rep for our middle school house.  This lead me to taking more classes and adding my language arts endorsement.

My next job was teaching language arts and social studies to just 7th and 8th graders.  I loved middle schoolers, still do.  When people heard the age I taught most reactions went something like this, "Wow, why would you ever want to do that?"  Ouch.  Is something wrong with me that I like middle schoolers?

Then life transitioned me again.  I became a mom.  I started tutoring a bit on the side, tutoring preschoolers and grade schoolers and high schoolers at my kitchen table.  I enjoyed it.  I loved teaching the younger kids.  I was learning so much about those middle school students I had been teaching for seven years.  I was understanding the pieces they were missing in their writing and reading development when I worked with my much younger students.  I was growing as a person and as a teacher.

But there was something else I wanted to try: writing.  I got a gig writing a humor column for the Newberg Graphic.  I had a bit of success with some other freelance work.  And then I scored my dream job: teaching writing at George Fox.  I couldn't believe how perfect this job was and how passionate I was about it.  I knew I loved writing and I loved teaching writing to middle school students, but teaching it to freshman at college...this was brilliant!  They absorbed everything I taught them.  The growth they made was incredible.

An opportunity came.  We moved.  Oh how I wanted to stay at Fox, but I chose something different for my family.  We were being moved in a new direction.  We headed back to the family farm: more space; more access to nature.  There were plenty of days we thought we'd made a mistake, but again and again God confirmed our decision, and we pressed ourselves into it.

I signed my oldest up for a preschool co-op sponsored by our local community college.  I dove in.  This program changed my thinking about early childhood education.  I learned much.  I became a believer.  I waited.  And then I felt it again, another transition was coming.  I opened myself up for something new and different.  I have gotten better, as I've gotten older, at holding life loosely.

And that is where I find myself now: preschool teacher.  If you would have told my 17-year-old self that I'd be teaching and facilitating a preschool program I'm not sure I would have believed you.  But I am not that same 17-year-old girl.  I'm in a different space, and it is good.  I'm excited.  I didn't force anything. I waited.  And here it is.  For this I am thankful.