The Autodidact

     I never make New Year's resolutions; I never gave them much thought.  I have always figured they were for people with a lot of will power and ambition, things I do not have in great supply. Instead of being addicted to exercise, I'm addicted to chocolate.  I'm not very good at saving money, nor am I overly organized. I don't read enough books or play enough games with the kids. I don't have time to take up a new hobby like knitting or ice skating, mostly because I'm too busy eating chocolate in my unorganized house, not playing with my kids.  Ugh.  There are so many potential resolutions to be made in my life!       But something has been rattling around in my head lately, something nudging me.  Maybe there is something to making resolutions- something about being resolved on a course of action. And, while running 2 miles a day, swearing off sugar, organizing my house while learning how to knit AND having loads of time for my kids all sound great, I think

     This morning I went in the little girls' room to get the baby up and dressed.  The 7 year-old had crawled in the crib with the baby and both were snuggled under blankets.   As I changed the baby's diaper and dressed her, the 7 year-old began talking about tomorrow being Christmas and asked: "When are we getting up tomorrow to open presents?  Do we have to wait for you and Daddy to get up to open presents?  Do we have to wait until 8 o'clock to get up?"  All I'm thinking is how tired I am from  last night's party, and maybe I could get a nap in today if I get all my baking done before church tonight.  She is so excited about tomorrow and opening presents and having a whole day of just family time and games and maybe a movie.  This kind of excitement is so typical of someone her age, and I love watching the anticipation in my children build every Christmas.  But what if we adults were that excited about Christmas?   What if we were that excited about C

So Monday, I decided to make some toffee for Christmas.  On Tuesday, I got out the butter and sugar, and processed about a cup almonds and left them on the counter, where they sat overnight because I didn't get to it until Wednesday.  Hey, why rush things?  So all Wednesday I stared at those ingredients and finally, when there was a break in my day, I got started.  But, not until I found the pan I wanted to use, which was, of course, dirty.  Wash the pan.  Then I get distracted by one of the kids.  Back to the kitchen, where it takes me a while to remember what I had been doing.  Then I put the pound of butter and the 1 3/4 cups of sugar in the pan and turn on the burner.  Rats!  The recipe said to melt the butter first, then put the sugar in quickly.  Oh well, no turning back now.  I add 1/2 teaspoon of salt and stir for 10 minutes. At least I get that part right.  While stirring, the 4 year-old needs me, so I turn the stirring over to the 12 year-old and attend to the little guy.

     The other day, my nine year-old was being unkind to the 4 year-old, and the 12 year-old told him that he should be treating his younger brother as Jesus would.  She went on to say that we should always try to be more like Jesus in everything we do.  (Thanks, dear!) Being a practical-minded 9 year-old, he asked if we are never going to actually be like Jesus, since we are imperfect to begin with, why should we even try?  At that point, I was called in by the 12 year-old to take over.  Taking a big breath, and wishing Jay was there to help, I launched into a theological discussion with the nine year-old.  This job of mothering sure does require a lot of thinking on my feet, and I'm not very good at that.  I prefer to mull things over for a few days, thinking of a good response, trying to find the right words. I would like time to tinker with and tweak my answer.  But kids need responses now, not in a few days when they have forgotten what they were asking!      On the surface

     The most recent shooting incident has been much talked about in our house. As a mom, my heart aches for those parents who lost their little ones. They were so young, babies, really.  How do I explain rampant evil in this world to my own children? How do I help them wrap their heads around little children gunned down? Some of my kids are hurting and disturbed by this, especially since we have 3 kids roughly in the same age range as those murdered. How can I help them feel safe? How can I help them understand when I barely understand? There are so many news articles out there in various media forms that give parents talking points and tips on how to deal with this. They are all well meaning and somewhat useful, but most leave God out of the equation. And that just falls short of any really helpful solutions.      So, I started with 3 facts: 1. There is evil in the world, all around us. A cursory look at history makes that obvious.  2. There is good in the world, too, and it's

      It's 6 p.m. and I have dinner ready.  Daily, I am always surprised when this happens; it seems miraculous that I even remember to make dinner, let alone a tasty one. The day flies by so fast, if I don't think of dinner by noon, it might not happen. In getting to the table, there is a flurry of plates and forks, milk and cups, napkins and children getting to the table. There is a scramble for the chairs. Who is sitting where? I want to sit next to you. Don't sit next to me! Don't put those two kids together, Mom, they almost killed each other today. Where is the 12 year-old? Someone put the baby in her chair; someone find the baby! It's a nightly game of musical chairs, except there is a chair for everyone.      The food is carried to the table: Don't trip over the dog.  Don't put that hot dish near the little ones. Everyone get to the table and sit down! Someone get the broccoli. Everyone, quiet, please! Jay walks in the door after a long day at the

Merry Christmas from the Marinos! A few brief notes about the family: Ellie, 1, speaks 4 languages fluently. English is not one of them. Margaret, 12, is funny and mysterious. Mysteriously funny. Lewis, 15, shot his first deer. Jared, 9 wants to travel. To Mars. Deborah, 17, is simply lovely. Edie, 7, invented a new school subject: Cursive Math. To really appreciate it, it helps to be 7 years old. Natty, 4, likes to rip off the heads of his sisters' dolls to :"see if there's any stuff inside." Jay and I celebrated 20 years of marriage this year. As you can see, we keep getting thinner and younger looking. But all kidding aside, we wish you a blessed Christmas season. May you know God's Peace and Presence now and all year. "For unto us a child is born. To us a son is given." With love, Jay, Katie, Deborah, Lewis, Margaret, Jared, Edith, Nathanael, and Eleanor.

     I love sitting in front of my Christmas tree and looking at the ornaments and lights, thinking about where the different ornaments came from. It's quite an eclectic assortment; there is no theme.  Some were gifts, some handmade, some are mementos from trips. There are ornaments for all the children that have accumulated over the years. Among them are a few in memory of our first baby, Andrew.      Many years ago, when we were first married, I discovered I was pregnant with our first baby.  It was our second Christmas together- what a great present!  Christmas and New Year passed blissfully into spring, when Andrew died, and I gave birth to our first child, a son; here in this world, but already in the next. It was agonizing; I was angry at everyone and God, and it was tough time for me.      The next Christmas found us with no children still, although I was expecting another baby at the time.  As we prepared to decorate our tree, we decided to find a few ornaments for Andrew

     We are sitting at the kitchen table doing school work. The nine year-old is doing long division and the 7 year-old is learning about parallel and perpendicular lines. The 4 year-old putters in with his drawing pad and pencil and pulls up a chair. The 1 year-old crawls up in his chair and proceeds to "help" him. The 12 year-old walks in and wants me to quiz her on her science chapter about fossils and uniformitarianism and catastrophism, and do I have a minute?  Even though breakfast was an hour ago, the 4 and 7 year-olds are hungry and ask for a snack; I say yes, and the 1 year-old manages to push the chair she is standing on away from the table. I catch her as she falls just in time as I am explaining right angles to the 7 year-old as she tries to cut into an apple. The 12 year-old is eating as well, and the 1 year-old, who has crawled in my lap, wants some. I try to pay attention to the science lesson as I remind the 9 year-old to stop looking out the window, and I am

     I never know what kinds of treasures I will find when I walk into a child's room. There will be no pots of gold, or bags of jewels, or piles of money (although there may be some spare change here and there). No, I am talking about real treasure; not the kind that fills my bank account, but the kind that fills my heart.      Behind the door of the little girls' room lies a room that is never messy; everything is in its place. I go in to check on them at night, and I find the 7 year-old  sleeping, the bed linens folded neatly beneath her chin. A pile of clothes is at the end of the bed, on the floor. They are not the clothes she wore today, but  clothes for tomorrow, an entire outfit, neatly folded. Her 1 year-old sister is in her crib, sleeping in a nest of blankets; not neatly covered, but surrounded. She is aware of me as I stroke her peach-fuzz hair and silky cheek. She coos and snuggles up to her special toy and blanket, and I pat her back and leave.      I always cau

     I have often wondered how some people can just let events roll off their back and emerge mostly unaffected.  My husband is like that, but I am not one of those people. It's a good thing we are balanced like that, but I am convinced I am more fortunate to have a steady person by my side than my husband is to have a bundle of emotions by his. I am profoundly affected by spoken words, good and bad, but as you can imagine, it's the bad ones that affect me more. Angry, mocking words- I feel they are hurled at me and I can never get out of their way in time to duck, and they are splattered all over me. And I can't wipe them off. They stick to me, like wood stain sticks to your fingers, and sink in, only to be removed by time. I try to not think of them, try not to rehash them, but there they remain, working their way out of my mind in their own time. I pester myself with questions, replaying what was said, as if I could change things. Was I wrong? Were my answers soft enough

Joy, humor and laughter: most of the time they do not come naturally to me; I must choose them. Finding them in momentous occasions or milestones or in times of great blessings is easy. But what about the rest of the time: the daily routines, the chores, the little moments? It's not so easy then; and I find I am merely enduring life, rather than embracing in it. When the baby spills a vase full of water all over the dining room table and floor, I am not amused. Or, when I am stuck in a long line at a store, or receiving poor or, worse, non-existent service, I am tempted to sigh and complain. When one of the kids can't find something and comes to me to find it, I impatiently mount a search. And there is always the repetitive happenings: the scramble to find shoes at the last minute; the agony over how someone's hair or clothing looks; the squabbling over who gets what seat at the table or in the car. And as I bang my head against the wall, I ask myself: "Haven't th

This time of year I am bombarded with the phrases: "give thanks", "be thankful", "with a grateful heart", and so on. And these phrases, although appropriate and heartfelt, usually refer to material possessions, or health, or happiness. And I am thankful for those things; I should be. Yet all those material things will eventually pass away like dust. I long for a thankfulness that's deeper, more meaningful, and not centered on me, but, rather, centered on eternity. Lately, I have been searching my heart for such things and have found a few. Things such as a marriage that God has placed me in, not for my own benefit, but to reflect the relationship of His son and His church, in order to benefit others. Or maybe it's sending me a child that I thought I was going to keep for my happiness, yet could not keep, in order to comfort other women who had suffered a similar loss. Could it be that all those children, upstairs in bed, were not just for my own f

     For twenty years I have shared a home, a life, my heart, with one man. Twenty years ago, I pledged my whole being to this man, to live as one flesh with him. And yet the one flesh part remains a puzzle to me. It is real and physical, and yet elusive and mysterious. The physical union of a man and wife is easy to figure out, even when life intervenes in its implementation. But there is so much more to being one flesh than that, indeed a more important aspect than mere physical closeness.  It's hard to imagine how two flawed, selfish people can have their hearts, and souls, their very minds, knit together, becoming more than who they were before, and yet remaining individuals.      Sometimes it's steady. I feel it when he finishes a sentence for me, or knows exactly how I would feel about something. It happens when I just give him a look, and he knows what is in my heart. It was there when we suffered the loss of our first child, when parents sickened and died, and even whe

The morning rush is over. Breakfast dishes are cleaned up, teeth are brushed, children are settled down doing schoolwork. I sit with the 9 and 7 year-old discussing addition and multiplication, months of the year and the difference between Celsius and Fahrenheit, and the 4 year old asks what 'less' means. The baby crawls into my lap and I bury my face in the back of her neck, inhaling her baby sweetness. The kids look out the window at a squirrel eating nuts, and a Blue Jay stealing eggs from the compost pile. The 4 year old asks what does 'adding' mean? I must start giving him more attention. They all need more of my attention but there is only so much of me that can go around. The 15 year-old is struggling with Algebra and needs encouragement to take on more leadership in a situation he is facing. The 12 year-old needs me to listen to her and smile at her more and help her with her writing. The 17 year-old doesn't think she needs me, but she does. All day, I will

I'm not a musician at all, nor any kind of a singer, and my children have all had to suffer with my singing to them as babies. But I love all kinds of music, and I love to sing, especially hymns and folksy type music. I often have music playing during the day, but there is another kind of music, a more important type, that I love to listen to: the music of my house. Sometimes I hear it when I am folding laundry or reading a book or cooking. I hear it when I am alone, as alone as anyone can be with a house full of 7 children. It's a song of life and love, of growth and change, of longing and dreaming and learning. It's someone practicing piano and singing along while others are watching a lesson on Latin, and the baby is babbling happily in her baby language. It's the 15 year-old practicing guitar in the basement while the four year-old is jumping off the couch in the family room to see how loud a thump he can make, and the 17 and 12 year-olds are in their room laughing

Yesterday I spent a few terrifying moments caught in the middle of a school bus convoy. I had dropped my oldest daughter off at a high school where she is temporarily employed as a seamstress in the performing arts center. As I exited the parking lot, a stream of buses started shooting out of a driveway that fed into the road I was using. I had the right of way, but as I inched along, hoping one of the drivers would yield, I could see them looking down on me in my puny Suburban, refusing to give way, sneering at me. Or maybe they were sneering because they were driving buses filled with screaming children. I do that when I have to drive all my kids somewhere. Anyway, there was a slight break in the train of buses so I slipped in and found myself in the middle of 10 buses all jockying for position at the traffic light. The light turned green and I was finally free, or so I thought. The buses in front and behind me ignored the 20 mph through two school districts, forcing me to do the sam

Recently, I spent 2 hours on the phone with AT&T's customer service department. I use the term 'service' lightly, and I would use a more descriptive term but for the chance that children may read this. I am done wasting hours of my life dealing with AT&T as I have switched carriers, but I got to thinking about time, and wasting it, and having a lot of time to waste. In particular, our prison population has a lot of time to waste. What if, instead of stamping out license plates 8 hours a day, prisoners were required to spend that time on the phone with AT&T, listening to horrible music while on hold? We could see a reduction in crime of monumental proportions! What if, instead of picking up trash on the side of the road, minor offenders had to devote some of their time trying to talk to someone on the phone whose primary language is not English and who cannot hear well? They would think twice before shoplifting! What if we punished dead beat dads with hours of ti

Something has been bugging me for years, but only recently have I been able to put my finger on it. When my husband and I got married we were told that we were entering a one-flesh relationship; that we were two, but now one. The state granted us permission to do so and gave authority to proclaim us so to our pastor. But at the same time, the state allows the union to be undermined. Here are some examples: We must have separate library cards and some libraries won't let one of us check out materials reserved on the other's card. Privacy laws! I can't use my husband's credit card; I have to have my own. Only one of us can be the parent on our children's savings account; I cannot transact banking business on behalf of my husband (or my child) if I am not the parent named on the account. At least my husband and I are allowed to hold a joint checking account!  One of us cannot resolve issues with PayPal or utilities in the other's stead if the other is the account h

It's going to be pool season soon. The kids can hardly wait to try out their new suits; the younger ones are looking forward to swim lessons, and the older ones will be working there.  But what kind of pool are we talking about?  The sign on the pool entrance (when the pool is closed) reads:                                         DANGER POOLS                                                CLOSED That's it- no punctuation at all.  My kingdom for some punctuation!  So, we are forced to read this a few different ways. The first problem is the word 'danger'.  What exactly is a 'danger pool'?  We could be talking about pools that pose a danger or are full of danger. But the word 'danger' is a noun, and we all know that nouns can't modify other nouns. To be grammatically correct, the word 'dangerous' should be used.  But then, no one in their right mind would go to the pool.  The second problem is the word 'pools'.  In cases where the

The other day I decided to bake some muffins. Innocent enough, right? But things turned sinister when my oven went terrorist on me and decided to hold my muffins hostage by locking the door. Fortunately, my son and I outsmarted the oven by shutting the electrical supply off, saving my muffins from being burned to a crisp. I'm baking again today and will keep a sharp eye on that oven, you can be sure. On Mother's Day, my refrigerator, which had been emitting a strange odor for 2 days, started smoking. As in fire, not cigarettes. I considered calling the Fire Department, but unplugged the burning refrigerator instead.  A beautiful new one was delivered yesterday.  Now I'm hoping that the oven and the microwave become sentient, arm themselves and duke it out so I can get new ones. I'm thinking stainless steel would look good. I wonder if my homeowner's insurance would pay for that?

 My blood pressure is still high because of something I read this morning. Was it some gloomy story in the newspaper, or some tragedy I read about on the Internet? No. It was something quite simple and seemingly innocent. While administering the Iowa Standardized test to my 6 year old, my eyes wandered to the next section while waiting for my child to finish. And here is what I read (slightly changed to protect the guilty): "He eats faster than me."  It was a section testing on capitalization, not grammar usage. Anyone who knows me well enough can imagine my reaction. Nothing gets me riled up more than improper pronoun usage, except the misuse of 'lie' and 'lay.' Yes, there was  a lot of yelling and gesticulating on my part. My husband surmised that the test makers were probably using the vernacular because most children would have found the correct usage confusing.  I countered with the fact that spoken or written, it was still incorrect. Just because most p

Reading the newspaper can be so depressing. The Police Blotter is full of stories of folks who get themselves into all kinds of trouble. The editorials are full of angry letters. The news stories are often full of gloom and doom. Give me the comics and the crossword puzzle, please!  But this week's Police Blotter had a couple of heartwarming stories. A snapping turtle bravely tried to cross County Line Road in Gates Mills, causing a traffic hazard. The police saved the turtle from becoming road kill, and order was restored to the community. A day earlier, a woman reported strange noises in her house and called the police. Much to everyone's relief, it was just a bird, which was removed from the house and returned to safety. And that's that! No drug deals, no drunk drivers (although the turtle was reportedly weaving while trying to cross), no one was hurt, and it all ended happily. Furthermore, the only other two incidents mentioned in Gates Mills were a barking dog and some

"Not just good for your body, but  for your overall health." This was on the back of the cereal box in front of me this morning. We humans are made of mind, body and spirit, so it made me wonder: what else, other than my body, could oats be good for? My mind? Sure, we all know that a well nourished body makes us think better. But whether or not  a well-nourished body allows us to use our minds to make good decisions is debatable.  What about our spiritual health? Oats are good for that? I had no idea!  Does this mean that my relationship with God, my dog, my neighbors or the universe will be healthy?  The humble oat could help me there?  For that matter, is there any  food (other than the Bread of Heaven) that could really be good for my overall health? That's a pretty bold claim to make! Edie Brickell was right when she sang "Philosophy is the back of a cereal box."  This sort of thing gets the old brain warmed up in the morning, but I think tomorrow I'll h

The ice cream truck is making the rounds in my neighborhood. Do all ice cream trucks have a sign that states : "SLOW CHILDREN"? Ours does. I wonder if the truck is full of slow children, or if  the truck is making an announcement concerning slow children. What about children who are not slow? Is the ice cream man singling out slow children for a reason? This confusion could be cleared up by applying a colon ( not just for emoticons anymore!) in between the words 'slow' and 'children' with a black magic marker. Oh, how I wish I could correct this gaffe myself whenever I see the ice cream truck pass by! I could let my many children swarm around the truck, peppering the poor ice cream man with a dozen questions each about his products, and finally making a selection. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the owner of the truck in question, I  gleefully reach up and correct his sign with my black magic marker. But, I'm a coward, I readily admit. I'll never do it. So,