Construction Zone

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.” Proverbs 14:1, NIV

This scripture caught my attention a few years ago, for a variety of reasons that would be enjoyable to explain, some other time perhaps. I even jotted this scripture on a Post-it and stuck it on my computer monitor at one point. 

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to attend--for the second year in a row--a rather large homeschool convention in North Texas. In addition to browsing the dizzying number of curricula and homeschool organization booths, I attended a few presentations. 

One of the presenters I chose because I once read her thought-provoking book on motherhood. Her name is Sally Clarkson and while I genuinely enjoyed aspects her book, I didn’t expect to like her presentation as much as I did. (I suppose, ridiculous as this is, I hold a few lingering stereotypes regarding homeschoolers. Shame on me, because stereotypes regarding homeschoolers leave all kinds of room for surprises.) 

I adored Sally Clarkson! She was warm, down to earth, independent, practical, and inspiring. And, she said a few words about “my” scripture. 

“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.” Proverbs 14:1, NIV

I will paraphrase what lingers with me from her remarks. 

In the bible, the word “house” connotes far more than a simple dwelling. A “house” can mean generations within a family. An entire history, ongoing memory and legacy. 

So, when the wise woman builds her house, she applies herself to a task that is greater than her individual life. The “house” she builds (with God’s help) might end a generational cycle of decline. She might raise a leader or leaders for this generation or the next. She might create an environment which will ultimately influence her grandchildren or great-grandchildren. 

Sally noted that “wisdom” in the bible is often referred to as “she,” in the feminine form. A woman building her house has the opportunity to speak wisdom into the lives of future generations. 

Talk about taking the long view! What an empowering concept for women who are constantly surrounded by rhetoric that devalues the work of motherhood. 

I liked it when Sally posed the question: 

“Really, what does it sound like when a house is being built?”

She paused, and my mind conjured images of bold yellow diggers moving bucketfuls of earth, day after day. Beeping, thudding, groaning, leveling the earth. Tools clanging, banging, crashing, nailing, sanding, cutting, shuffling. People shouting, sweating. 

Building a house is hard work. It is noisy, rough, exhausting stuff. Yet, without investing the hard work, we never even see the frame, let alone the finished product. 

The scripture does not say “The wise woman decorates her house.” Or, “the wise woman cleans her house.” (Sweet! It does not say these things!) And yet, don’t I so often long for a quiet, organized, well-behaved, convenient house? Right now? I spend an enormous amount of energy trying to find ways to accomplish what I want and make it snappy. Because holy crap, I am tired, and it would be nice to just lie down. 

But Clarkson reminded me that hard work comes with the territory, and to take the long view when the short-term threatens to overwhelm me. With all my heart, I want a house that will last. So, my day’s not over yet. And I'm going to remember to thank God more for the work I still have to do. 

365 Days of Sage

Dear Sage, 

You will be ONE in less than a week! Below are a few things I’d like to remember about your first year of life.

This is you, just hours after you were born, sleeping right through your newborn exam, here in your very own home. Your debut into this world was so beautiful!

• The first night of your life, I could not stop holding and rocking you, our soft, sweet little miracle! My body was stunned, but my spirit was soaring. 

• 48 hours after you were born, I stood at my upstairs window and watched your precious four year old sister pedal down the sidewalk on a bike without training wheels. Your proud, happy Daddy jogging behind and beaming up at me.
• At two weeks old, a dentist used a laser to separate the tight connective tissue on your top lip that made it difficult for you to nurse. It was a sad day for mama, though I knew it was the best for you. I held you tight and tears streamed down my face. You gave us all a piece of your mind after that! 
• I swaddled you into little burritos all day long.

• Your favorite place to sleep the first few weeks of your life was on your Daddy’s chest.

• You slept between us in our bed for the first six weeks.
• After that, in a bassinet in our room until four months.
• After that, I moved you to a crib in a separate room, a stone’s throw away, and we missed you being so close to us. 
• You were high maintenance your first six weeks. You wanted to be held and moved constantly. Only “The Bobble” (holding you upright and gently bouncing you up and down) was effective. We bobbled you for hours. 
• I was beginning to think you might be colicky, but around six weeks you mellowed into the calmest, happiest, cuddliest little creature around.
• Your first gummy little smiles knocked me out. I adore the more recent toothy version, too.

• You made happy little gurg-ly noises that amazed me. I would listen to you and remember when you were still just a wish.
• As soon as you could bust out of your swaddle, you showed a clear preference for sleeping on your tummy. I would lay you down on your back in your crib, and in one smooth move, you would turn over and get comfy. You still do this.

• As a newborn, you loved your pacifier, but soon wised up and began to spit it out with disdain.
• When you found your fingers, you sucked on a random combination of the ones in the middle (not the thumb.) 
• You also loved to suck on your toes. 

• At four months, our pediatrician grew concerned about your rate of growth. In my heart I believed you were just perfect. It was rattling, but I trusted my instincts. Today, you are thriving! Just little! Quality vs. quantity, for sure!
• You made the sweetest little milk-drunk faces. 
• As you grew, you reached up and touched my face as you nursed. 

• You love to nurse! In addition to countless feedings at home, I have nursed you all over creation. In the car; at sister’s dance, tumbling and art classes; Starbucks; once, on a moving hayride at the Fort Worth Nature Center. That last one was not ideal, but I had no bottle with me and it had to be done. I was covered up, and figured if the people on that ride had gone to such lengths to admire mammals in their habitat, they could damn well give me some grace, as we, too, are mammals. :)
• I loved being your lifeline so much that I found myself grieving when it was time to introduce solid food. It’s not that nursing is all roses, but it is a unique, special responsibility that I will have twice in my life. We travelled a long way together just you and I, little Sage! From newborn to rolling, grabbing, giggling, babbling. Mama just needed to feel really sentimental for day or two for all we accomplished as a team!
• When I was ready, I began to make your baby food. This time around, I knew the baby food season would be a short one, and in no time you’d be eating table food with the rest of us.  It was easy to make. I actually felt like a dope, in retrospect, for buying it commercially for your sister. It felt good to give you something healthy and tasty enough that I’d eat myself. :)

• Initially, you were like a baby bird, opening  your mouth on instinct to anything I offered.
• Now, you are a voracious little dinosaur, consuming anything and everything in your path.  Unlike your sister, who loved to hurl her food and bottles to the floor, you are so interested in food that you leave the plate on the table! It’s remarkable.
• What a lucky little girl you are to have such a sweet and loving big sister! Your sister sings to you, tells you she loves you all through the day, is fluent in your “language,” protects you fiercely, reads to you, builds special pillow forts for you and laughs gleefully at your ridiculous cuteness. You are so loved.
• There are few things in my life that come close to the joy I feel watching you and  your sister play and laugh together. I pray that you will enjoy a strong, healthy and supportive relationship throughout your lives.
• I have loved watching you ride in a red wagon together, cruise side by side in a double stroller, jointly “drive” the grocery cart, hold hands in the back seat of the car. 

• I completely underestimated how much fun it would be to dress you alike, and I believe I will do this as long as you let me get away with it. 

• You enjoy crawling into your sister’s room, and on multiple occasions I have walked in to find that she has had a field day with you and her dress-up clothes. It cracks me up.

• Speaking of fashion...someday you might grow up to be a dedicated follower of it, but that is not how I roll.You have spent a good 75% of your first year in pajamas. Yep, even in public. When you grow out of these Carter’s zip-up sleep n play outfits, I simply buy the next size up. Your signature look communicates: cozy, snuggly, practical, and approachable. I realize I am biased, but I just don’t think they make ‘em any cuter than you in your PJs! You are under one, and if there is ever a time to get away with this low-key approach, it is now. :) I save the bows and frill for special occasions!

• Your unique way of showing affection is to press your forehead into mine (or Daddy’s, or sister’s.) We call these “Sage-y loves” and they are gentler, snugglier versions of the head-butt.
• You didn’t consistently sleep all night until eight months of age. The cumulative effects of that took a toll on your Dad and I. You were killing us, smalls. I don’t even know what to say about that except that we are grateful you are more or less sleeping soundly now. Keep up the good work, baby-cakes!
• You know the hunter-gatherer cultures, in which babies are carted around day and night and never set down? You would have functioned well in those societies. The majority of your first  year you did not want to be put down. You’re quite the crawler/cruiser now, so you’ve entered a squirmier, more exploratory chapter. But being held is still your happy place.

• I love the way you snuggle into me with my whole heart. You are a precious baby, Sage.
• After I’ve been away from you for a bit (the gym, church, the grocery store on the delicious occasions I go by myself), you greet me in a way that makes me feel like a million bucks. You rock your whole body in excitement, grin crazily, squeal, and lunge toward me with gusto and IT IS THE BEST.
• When you eat, and when we ask you questions, you nod your head and rock enthusiastically back and forth. 
• I love the way your Daddy looks at you; the smiles on his handsome face; his belly laughs. When he puts his forehead into his palms as if your cuteness is just too great to bear (which it is!)

• Lately, you point at everything and are trying so hard to talk. I can’t wait to hear all that you have to say about this crazy world we live in. 
• Your first word was “Mama.” (Woot!)
• You came into this world in the water, and you love it there! You love your bath, and for the past few months, you and your sister have attended swim class together. You are already going underwater for seven whole seconds! One day your Dad was able to come watch. When you finished your swim turn, you looked around, and when you found him, you smiled and waved just as grandly as if you were accepting an Olympic gold medal! I couldn’t stop giggling. Oh, Sage. :)

You have brought SO MUCH JOY into our lives. I thank God for the joy of knowing your beautiful little self, and for the privilege of being your mama. 

Happy Birthday, sweet baby Sage! You stole my heart, and I don’t ever want it back. 

Legitimate Faux-reos

This is too good not to pass on. 

My husband likes Oreos, and since it is his birthday week, I thought it would be fun to attempt a homemade version. Google generated several “faux-reo” recipes from which to choose. I tried this one from the Smitten Kitchen. (On another occasion, I made her blood orange olive oil cake, which turned out divine.) 

Back to the homemade oreos...they were delicious! I’ll be making these again, I predict. They tasted just like Oreos, but better. Warmer, fresher, more flavorful. They were not difficult. 

I started thinking how much fun it would be to try more homemade versions of throwback treats I ate as a kid (and an adolescent, and an adult, until I more or less stopped doing that.) 

Wayne Brauchman’s whimsical-looking cookbook Retro Desserts: Totally Hip, Updated Classic Desserts from the 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s suggests that there are others like me who find pleasure in recreating such things. I want a copy! 

Have you ever made homemade versions of things you have purchased at a gas station, say Twinkies, Oatmeal Creme Pies, or Swiss Cake Rolls? How did they turn  out? Do you have any sources to share? 

I’m off to search for an Oatmeal Creme Pie recipe. Those things are dirty, but oh, so good! :)

Heart and Soul-ful PB&Js

“Mama, I know! Let’s make a totally homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwich!”

So we did. 

We ground the grain into flour (Not by hand, silly! We used an electric mill.) 

We baked bread. 

We made our own peanut butter. (I have consumed ridiculous amounts of Peter Pan, so this step seemed magical to me!)

We made jam. Strawberry!

We slapped it together, cut it into heart shapes, and congratulated each other enthusiastically. 

Best PB&J in my personal history. 

Revenge of a Mortal Hand

Wislawa Szymborska, Polish poet and 1996 winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, passed away on Wednesday. 

I knew of her only because my favorite grad school professor--who happens to also be Polish--shared Szymborska's poem "The Joy of Writing" with our class. At the end of the poem, we mortals sat stunned, looking shyly around and exhaling insufficient things, like "that was awesome."  

I'd like to share it with you, too. 

The Joy of Writing

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence - this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word "woods."

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they'll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.

By Wislawa Szymborska
From "No End of Fun", 1967
Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh

© Wislawa Szymborska, S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh

Take it. I know you'll use it.

Every major change in my life has inspired a corresponding clean-out of the bookshelves. I’ve moved a lot, and it’s become a ritual to weed through my books, deciding which to keep and which to let go. If a book makes the keepers cut it is usually because: 1) I think I may refer to it again; and/or 2) it was influential to me and I’d like a visual reminder of it. 

For the past twenty years, the Spanish-English Dictionary my high school Spanish teacher gave me has made the keepers cut. 

I remember sitting at my desk shooting the breeze with a couple of my classmates when Mr. Gonzales walked up and set the heavy volume on my desk. 

 “Tomalo,” he said. “This is for you.” 

I blushed deeply, per my custom whenever I received unexpected attention. I was unsure. He nodded encouragement. “Take it. I know you will use it.” Then the bell rang, and he shooed me off pleasantly, without fanfare. Papers rustled, feet scuffed. I walked out the door and joined the thrum and movement of the hall, unexpected kindness and generosity ringing in my ears.  

Take it. I know you will use it.

There was also a letter to my parents. It was typed in Spanish, intentionally, so that I would fill the shoes of the translator. My parents did not speak Spanish. (This, too, I have kept for twenty years.)

[Mr. and Mrs. Bulsterbaum: 

It has been a pleasure having your daughter Karla in my class. She has a knack for learning the Spanish language. It is my hope that she will continue to study the language. Students like her make me feel that my work is worthwhile. You should be proud to have a daughter as intelligent and nice as Karla. 

Sincerely, 

Mr. Gonzales]

Gratitude and appreciation whooshed all over me that my teacher would recognize and encourage me. The truth was, I liked learning Spanish. And I was ambitious, in a general way. But I couldn’t help feeling lonely as I stood there, translating this letter for my parents. I was seventeen, and I had already grown in ways that they couldn’t share with me. If I continued to meander trails of language and culture, as I wanted to, that gap would surely widen.  Life as I had known it was coming to a close, and while the future offered many promises, the horizon was blurry. I knew my parents were proud of me, and I loved it that Mr. Gonzales reached out to them. But reading that letter was the first time it hit me that my life would be my own, that I could go in any direction, and doing things I really wanted to do might mean loneliness and estrangement from people I loved. 

Mr. Gonzales’ letter provided a bridge to my parents. Maybe Mr. Gonzales had children of his own that had grown up and away from the home he gave them, in directions he was unfamiliar with. Maybe he had some appreciation for how disorienting it can be to explore worlds that are not your own. My parents were proud of me, and they supported me in so many amazing ways to pursue the things I was interested in. But it wasn’t without frustration and estrangement at times. 

I think I have kept this dictionary all these years because at the end of the day, Mr. Gonzales gave me a blessing of encouragement, permission and freedom to move forward.Take it. I know you will use it. Go, live life! 

Mr. Gonzales, in case you are reading this, I want you to know that I used your dictionary! I lugged that dictionary all over the Western Hemisphere, as I studied, worked or traveled to Mexico, Argentina, Bolivia, Peru, Paraguay, Chile, Nicaragua, Guatemala, even Brazil. I have enjoyed layers of history and traditions in the Southwest more fully because of Spanish. I developed friendships, taught or tutored students whose first language was Spanish, held fascinating conversations and learned from people that otherwise wouldn’t have been available to me. I am no longer globe-trotting. I am raising and educating my children right now. But I still use Spanish, it is still a part of me, and always will be. 

As a mother, I want to pass this love of language and culture on. I hope hearing and learning other languages will be something natural and desirable for them. Even when I am in unfamiliar territory, I hope I can bless them to explore with confidence the things they have a knack for. 

As for the dictionary, it fits both my criteria for being a keeper. It is useful and a reminder of an important influence in my life. You were right that I would use it. It’s now quite beat up and makes me really happy when my eyes land on it. I have the best Spanish-English Dictionary ever. 

Sinceramente, 

Karla

2011 Happy Highlight Reel

2011 was, for me, the year that...

After an eight month hiatus from Facebook, I decided to get back on and open a new profile. I have many thoughts on this, so I might return to it later. (This is the least important item on my list, but of minor historical importance nevertheless.) 

I gave birth (at home!) to the sweetest, most beautiful, amazing, beloved little baby girl! Our family of three became a family of four, and there has been so much joy and love unleashed by that, my heart can hardly hold it. 

Our sweet, beautiful, amazing and beloved oldest daughter turned five, and learned to do all kinds of cool things. Riding a bike (she, um, never even used training wheels, if I might brag for a moment...), reading, swimming, tying her shoes and more! She amazes me and brings me so much joy every day. I know every stage of childhood is special. But five is really, really special. 

We celebrated our girl turning five with a birthday party at home. No big deal, right? Well, in the age of farmed-out commercial parties, throwing a home-based version felt like a whopping challenge for this mama--one that turned out to be so rewarding! It was a lot of work, but it was exciting and soulful to prepare for--the decorations, the food, the activities. She had fun, and I was happy and relieved that it went off without a hitch. 

Some women get super excited about jewelry and clothing. I like jewelry. I like clothing. But you know what I get super excited about? Kitchen equipment! This year, we added a food processor and a deep fryer to the growing list of tools we use to make from-scratch versions of the foods we love the most. That includes donuts. And tortillas. And other lovely things. 

As much as we enjoy camping, we decided that this year it would probably be equally fun and less hassle to pitch a tent in the backyard. I was a big fan of how, at the end of the day, the baby and I went inside to sleep in our own comfy beds. :) It was such fun that a few weeks later, we joined up with some of our neighbors for Round Two. The kids played outside for hours, exploring, making s’mores, giggling. 

Speaking of neighbors, we continued to get to know ours, and I feel so blessed to live exactly where we do. Barbecues, block parties, water balloon fights, holiday celebrations, not to mention the support we soaked up before and after the birth of our baby. I will always remember that. I love my neighbors!

I made a huge step towards forgiveness in an important area of my life.  It took a long time to get here. But, forgiveness set me free. It has dissipated bitterness, allowed me to love more freely, and allowed me to know more of the joy that I believe God wants me to know. 

I wrote a little. Not as much as I would have liked. But I enjoyed it so much when one of my posts was featured on a website I read. It was, for me, the first time a bunch of people I didn't know read something I wrote. I loved it, and I want some more of it! in 2012, I am going to make more time to write. Starting today, January 1, which is going down in the plus column!

Happy New Year! I hope your 2012 brims with health, vitality, love, peace, joy, and growth.  

Karla