Showing posts with label presence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label presence. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Friday, September 17, 2010
Time Matters
The subject of time has been high on the radar as of late. It's hard to get six children of varying degrees of morning wakefulness dressed, fed, prepared for the day with lunch in hand and out the door; two by 6:45, the other 4 by 7:30. Even if we all get up at six, (which we all don't), there is a crunch to this span in the day. There are also the other three children who don't have anywhere to be, but do also wake and want breakfast and contribute to the general chaos.
Laying out the clothes the night beforehand, having the menu posted on the refrigerator for breakfast and lunch and book bags at the door and having my husband drive the first two to the metro while I get the other four ready for school, these things all help. Still, it doesn't account for the normal give and take, cat and dog moments that come from being brothers and sisters. It doesn't take much for the scheduled leave of 7:30 to get overshot.
Fights will happen as a matter of course. They're part of the breathing DNA of siblings. There will be spills. Disagreements about food or a lack of milk unanticipated as a result of late night snacking will happen. Sometimes a child will not get up on time even after repeated warnings, reminders and messages.
Then there are the intentional saboteurs. People have tried to cheat the systems we've put in place to expidite our mornings by putting their backpacks by the door but leaving their books and assignments in the other room where they did their homework. Why? I don't know! I don't know! They're kids is the only explanation I need and the only one that makes any sense. Two of mine will open their backpacks to check through for things and take things out that I put in, one sometimes goes through his lunch to see if he likes everything I made.
I become anxious if only because it means moving forwards is a constant upstream battle. Tears in pants and pecking order disputes over bathrooms cause confusion and delay. Shoes get lost and socks aren't matching. NO ONE CAN FIND A SINGLE HAIRBRUSH OR COMB IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE!!! "We're out of my favorite kind of toothpaste." "I don't like mass days, the sweater is itchy." He/she took my shirt/tie/socks/breakfast. "He didn't eat breakfast." "She ate mine." "It might rain, should we get out our coats?" (Sun is shining, sky clear). Some of the stuff we just ignore, but it requires a willingness on the part of my kids and me to overlook whatever it is that is less than perfect picture.
Ignoring a detail isn't always in the personality of the person dealing with the wardrobe problem, parent or child. We're trying very hard to launch this army on a daily basis but even getting up at 5:30 or 5:45 would not account for those moments where siblings decide to play bumper cars with the trash cans as they bring them down the walk and one kid gets soaked with morning dew requiring a complete outfit change minutes from departure time or I get absorbed in a conversation or a thought. Heaven forbid I or anyone else daudles in the shower! Ultimately, it's a fragile working but unforgiving system.
Time is a jealous mistress and she steals whatever she can. I can lose five hours to writing and phone calls and chores or blink through two years in an instant. Tomorrow is the Fall Festival. Last year I was delayed on the day of the event from being first at the school for set up because my car was stuck behind a funeral procession. Being anxious about many things as I sat waiting and watching people being anxious about the only thing that matters was not lost on me. Saying a prayer for the whomever and their family, and hoping both that it would not take long, and that this farewell had a lot of guest coming to say they loved this person's life, it was impossible not to be hit by the difference between being on time, and being aware of time and how often I lose that perspective.
Today, the morning seems to be drifting lazily along, but I know the undertow will pull me faster than I anticipate as I make up the list of things to do. Today is my youngest son's birthday and I cannot remember the exact moment he was born. My oldest is applying to college; his birth seems like yesterday and I can remember the smells of the hospital room. Where did the time go and why is it always missing after we notice, why do we always seem to retire one year too late, notice the gifts around us once they seem fleeting, find the beauty we almost missed when it is fading? Stopping to smell the roses ought to be done in its peak, yet I find I'm always noticing just as things begin to lose that awe of the moment; when a baby becomes a toddler, a teen becomes a man, when summer is becoming fall.
Recently, I read a piece talking about how being on time is a form of mortification of the flesh, it requires sacrifice, sublimation and effort. I readily agree, but I also think tolerating those who show up late is a form of mortification of the flesh; it requires charity on the part of the person put out by those late, and humility and gratitude on the part of the tardy one(s). While I know the last shall be first, I do worry about the many things for which we ought to be prompt, and about actually or appearing to hit the snooze button on those moments when we must be wakeful watchful servants. This precious short span of life we are allotted, will get frittered by the minutia. I also stress simultaneously that the big picture of our family, of our lives will be lost because I didn't pay attention to details that would have made it an easier and better witness even just to ourselves.
And I'm never quite sure where we are, only that time is passing in leaps and bounds and I'm supposed to be vigilant and I'm not always. Ultimately, if we would love well, we oblige our lives to others. To love well, we must be present, and that requires presence. All presence requires of us in reality, is time.
Laying out the clothes the night beforehand, having the menu posted on the refrigerator for breakfast and lunch and book bags at the door and having my husband drive the first two to the metro while I get the other four ready for school, these things all help. Still, it doesn't account for the normal give and take, cat and dog moments that come from being brothers and sisters. It doesn't take much for the scheduled leave of 7:30 to get overshot.
Fights will happen as a matter of course. They're part of the breathing DNA of siblings. There will be spills. Disagreements about food or a lack of milk unanticipated as a result of late night snacking will happen. Sometimes a child will not get up on time even after repeated warnings, reminders and messages.
Then there are the intentional saboteurs. People have tried to cheat the systems we've put in place to expidite our mornings by putting their backpacks by the door but leaving their books and assignments in the other room where they did their homework. Why? I don't know! I don't know! They're kids is the only explanation I need and the only one that makes any sense. Two of mine will open their backpacks to check through for things and take things out that I put in, one sometimes goes through his lunch to see if he likes everything I made.
I become anxious if only because it means moving forwards is a constant upstream battle. Tears in pants and pecking order disputes over bathrooms cause confusion and delay. Shoes get lost and socks aren't matching. NO ONE CAN FIND A SINGLE HAIRBRUSH OR COMB IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE!!! "We're out of my favorite kind of toothpaste." "I don't like mass days, the sweater is itchy." He/she took my shirt/tie/socks/breakfast. "He didn't eat breakfast." "She ate mine." "It might rain, should we get out our coats?" (Sun is shining, sky clear). Some of the stuff we just ignore, but it requires a willingness on the part of my kids and me to overlook whatever it is that is less than perfect picture.
Ignoring a detail isn't always in the personality of the person dealing with the wardrobe problem, parent or child. We're trying very hard to launch this army on a daily basis but even getting up at 5:30 or 5:45 would not account for those moments where siblings decide to play bumper cars with the trash cans as they bring them down the walk and one kid gets soaked with morning dew requiring a complete outfit change minutes from departure time or I get absorbed in a conversation or a thought. Heaven forbid I or anyone else daudles in the shower! Ultimately, it's a fragile working but unforgiving system.
Time is a jealous mistress and she steals whatever she can. I can lose five hours to writing and phone calls and chores or blink through two years in an instant. Tomorrow is the Fall Festival. Last year I was delayed on the day of the event from being first at the school for set up because my car was stuck behind a funeral procession. Being anxious about many things as I sat waiting and watching people being anxious about the only thing that matters was not lost on me. Saying a prayer for the whomever and their family, and hoping both that it would not take long, and that this farewell had a lot of guest coming to say they loved this person's life, it was impossible not to be hit by the difference between being on time, and being aware of time and how often I lose that perspective.
Today, the morning seems to be drifting lazily along, but I know the undertow will pull me faster than I anticipate as I make up the list of things to do. Today is my youngest son's birthday and I cannot remember the exact moment he was born. My oldest is applying to college; his birth seems like yesterday and I can remember the smells of the hospital room. Where did the time go and why is it always missing after we notice, why do we always seem to retire one year too late, notice the gifts around us once they seem fleeting, find the beauty we almost missed when it is fading? Stopping to smell the roses ought to be done in its peak, yet I find I'm always noticing just as things begin to lose that awe of the moment; when a baby becomes a toddler, a teen becomes a man, when summer is becoming fall.
Recently, I read a piece talking about how being on time is a form of mortification of the flesh, it requires sacrifice, sublimation and effort. I readily agree, but I also think tolerating those who show up late is a form of mortification of the flesh; it requires charity on the part of the person put out by those late, and humility and gratitude on the part of the tardy one(s). While I know the last shall be first, I do worry about the many things for which we ought to be prompt, and about actually or appearing to hit the snooze button on those moments when we must be wakeful watchful servants. This precious short span of life we are allotted, will get frittered by the minutia. I also stress simultaneously that the big picture of our family, of our lives will be lost because I didn't pay attention to details that would have made it an easier and better witness even just to ourselves.
And I'm never quite sure where we are, only that time is passing in leaps and bounds and I'm supposed to be vigilant and I'm not always. Ultimately, if we would love well, we oblige our lives to others. To love well, we must be present, and that requires presence. All presence requires of us in reality, is time.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Posture of Prayer
This ran on Catholicmom.com but I edited it to improve the flow.
With my first name being Margaret, I appreciate the genius of Saint Margaret of Scotland’s prayer life that enabled her to glorify God while multi-tasking to manage her many children (6 sons, 2 daughters), and kingdom. However Saint Margaret never lost focus of why she was praying. For me, multi-tasking prayer began with the best of intentions. For a time, I rationalized, “God knows how busy things get,” but that put the thankfulness on God’s part for my praying. Not good. Not correct. We cannot serve two masters. The prayers made me just aware enough of my own diminishing experience of “trying” to pray. Our Fathers, rosaries had become part of the things to do, that got sandwiched into the process of getting through the day. The multi-tasking hurt me in other ways too.
Everywhere I felt distracted. Everywhere, I felt I wasn’t giving the time and attention necessary; and the days got harder and harder and harder. Cooking the meals; doing the dishes and even reading the stories, there was something of me holding back, being unwilling to give or be present because as I rationalized, I was doing so much. It was true in all things, everywhere, I was restless; everywhere I was somewhere else. For a time, I told myself I was being too critical and to relax and ignore it. After all, I was still praying. I was still doing. But the prayers done on the fly while still a gift, were not done mindfully; and the tasks done on the fly, while still acts of service, were not done mindfully. I was cheating myself of the full presence of God and others by being distracted.
Our parish priest suggested kneeling or going off into a room and light a candle to bring about a more prayerful mindset. I knew already that this was the correct advise because my brain came up with a thousand reasons not to do as he said. I could hear with all those excuses of what I could be doing if I just prayed as I worked but the words “Martha, you are anxious about many things.” popped in my head as a response. And I was. “How could I subdivide my time even more?” I wondered. The answer was, I wasn’t supposed to subdivide at all.
“Could I not stay?” I could hear. It wasn’t harsh in my head, it was more like a request, an invitation. Could I go on a date with God daily or not? If I would learn to be fully present to those I loved, shouldn’t I begin by being fully present to the One who is love? This was the spiritual food for which I had been starving but unable or rather unwilling, to seek.
The first stint lasted only seven and a half minutes; but tomorrow, I’m setting the timer for ten.
With my first name being Margaret, I appreciate the genius of Saint Margaret of Scotland’s prayer life that enabled her to glorify God while multi-tasking to manage her many children (6 sons, 2 daughters), and kingdom. However Saint Margaret never lost focus of why she was praying. For me, multi-tasking prayer began with the best of intentions. For a time, I rationalized, “God knows how busy things get,” but that put the thankfulness on God’s part for my praying. Not good. Not correct. We cannot serve two masters. The prayers made me just aware enough of my own diminishing experience of “trying” to pray. Our Fathers, rosaries had become part of the things to do, that got sandwiched into the process of getting through the day. The multi-tasking hurt me in other ways too.
Everywhere I felt distracted. Everywhere, I felt I wasn’t giving the time and attention necessary; and the days got harder and harder and harder. Cooking the meals; doing the dishes and even reading the stories, there was something of me holding back, being unwilling to give or be present because as I rationalized, I was doing so much. It was true in all things, everywhere, I was restless; everywhere I was somewhere else. For a time, I told myself I was being too critical and to relax and ignore it. After all, I was still praying. I was still doing. But the prayers done on the fly while still a gift, were not done mindfully; and the tasks done on the fly, while still acts of service, were not done mindfully. I was cheating myself of the full presence of God and others by being distracted.
Our parish priest suggested kneeling or going off into a room and light a candle to bring about a more prayerful mindset. I knew already that this was the correct advise because my brain came up with a thousand reasons not to do as he said. I could hear with all those excuses of what I could be doing if I just prayed as I worked but the words “Martha, you are anxious about many things.” popped in my head as a response. And I was. “How could I subdivide my time even more?” I wondered. The answer was, I wasn’t supposed to subdivide at all.
“Could I not stay?” I could hear. It wasn’t harsh in my head, it was more like a request, an invitation. Could I go on a date with God daily or not? If I would learn to be fully present to those I loved, shouldn’t I begin by being fully present to the One who is love? This was the spiritual food for which I had been starving but unable or rather unwilling, to seek.
The first stint lasted only seven and a half minutes; but tomorrow, I’m setting the timer for ten.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Burning Breakfast
I missed it. It's my biggest fear.
With nine children, I'm always joking that it's a juggling game in which you have to trust that the balls you drop will bounce back. But like any parent, I worry I'm being too cavalier with my children. I know that every moment is a witness, so when my kids are late, their tardiness might not be viewed through the lens of "Oh, well traffic or oh well, she's disorganized or oh well, one kid lost their shoe or needed to go the bathroom." but "She has too many kids." and that's why they're late. Paranoia I know, but it sits in my head like a little demon, pecking at me to stress over things that don't matter and over knowing when I should be stressing and I'm not.
The demon pecked all weekend. Both basketball teams lost. The Academic Contest didn't go well. There were projects that took most of two kids’ spare time and I had to practically sit on one to get his math done. They didn't practice their music. I didn't read to the youngers. The demon loves to point out how other kids play three sports or make all "A's" or seem to be planning for the future far beyond what strategies they'll employ in the next card game of Magic or which set to play on Rock Band.
Everything they do, they do well enough to impress a bit, like silver that hasn't been polished recently, but isn't tarnished yet. Is it my job to scrub them until they shine or to let them learn to want to shine themselves? I'm not always sure.
Do I want them to score points at the game or ace the test? Absolutely. I scream with everyone else until I'm hoarse from the sideline. I suggest practicing often. I demand they do their homework. Sometimes I'm dramatic and hand them the instruments. I've even pretended to dust or stacked them in a crazy manner to get their attention.
But I wonder, because I don't check over work much and I don't jump up and down if they don't play, should I be demanding more? Should I be drilling more? How do I light a fire under them and not burn them away? How do I know if I'm using sloth to excuse my actions or inactions?
All these great ponderables were in my head as I made hot chocolate. Then I went to check the computer. One daughter asked for grapes. I started writing. My other daughter came to tell me the baby woke up and I walked away to get him. I came back to a large burned bubbly mess of milk. Wiping up the wasted breakfast treat, I felt irritated at myself for NOT PAYING ATTENTION. I'd multi-tasked myself into a kitchen disaster that could have been much worse. And the answer was there on the stove.
One thing at a time. Pay attention. Stay awake. Don't withdraw into the cyber world of emails, blogs and websites. There will be time to write. It's just not all the time. Here they are. Read to them. Be present. Don't burn the hot chocolate because you didn't pay attention. You'll lose out on good sweet things if you allow yourself to be distracted.
So I microwaved some tea and gave the kids some crayons. They asked for a bath afterwards. I agreed.
So I'm here, finishing this up while they color, not crying over spilled milk. Thanking God for giving this silly woman a burnt cup of cocoa, and turning off the computer for the day. I can already hear the demon giving me all kinds of reasons to stay online, but for the moment, I understand her ploys. I have to stay awake. I have to trust that God will give me what I need and will help me give them what they need. Pay attention. All good things require a sublimation of the personal will, exercise, music, homework, parenting, writing, prayer. If I want a real life for all of them, I must submit. I can't be a virtuous mom if I'm a virtual mom. So, with that momentary epiphany, I'm going to go feed the baby and color now.
Have a great day.
With nine children, I'm always joking that it's a juggling game in which you have to trust that the balls you drop will bounce back. But like any parent, I worry I'm being too cavalier with my children. I know that every moment is a witness, so when my kids are late, their tardiness might not be viewed through the lens of "Oh, well traffic or oh well, she's disorganized or oh well, one kid lost their shoe or needed to go the bathroom." but "She has too many kids." and that's why they're late. Paranoia I know, but it sits in my head like a little demon, pecking at me to stress over things that don't matter and over knowing when I should be stressing and I'm not.
The demon pecked all weekend. Both basketball teams lost. The Academic Contest didn't go well. There were projects that took most of two kids’ spare time and I had to practically sit on one to get his math done. They didn't practice their music. I didn't read to the youngers. The demon loves to point out how other kids play three sports or make all "A's" or seem to be planning for the future far beyond what strategies they'll employ in the next card game of Magic or which set to play on Rock Band.
Everything they do, they do well enough to impress a bit, like silver that hasn't been polished recently, but isn't tarnished yet. Is it my job to scrub them until they shine or to let them learn to want to shine themselves? I'm not always sure.
Do I want them to score points at the game or ace the test? Absolutely. I scream with everyone else until I'm hoarse from the sideline. I suggest practicing often. I demand they do their homework. Sometimes I'm dramatic and hand them the instruments. I've even pretended to dust or stacked them in a crazy manner to get their attention.
But I wonder, because I don't check over work much and I don't jump up and down if they don't play, should I be demanding more? Should I be drilling more? How do I light a fire under them and not burn them away? How do I know if I'm using sloth to excuse my actions or inactions?
All these great ponderables were in my head as I made hot chocolate. Then I went to check the computer. One daughter asked for grapes. I started writing. My other daughter came to tell me the baby woke up and I walked away to get him. I came back to a large burned bubbly mess of milk. Wiping up the wasted breakfast treat, I felt irritated at myself for NOT PAYING ATTENTION. I'd multi-tasked myself into a kitchen disaster that could have been much worse. And the answer was there on the stove.
One thing at a time. Pay attention. Stay awake. Don't withdraw into the cyber world of emails, blogs and websites. There will be time to write. It's just not all the time. Here they are. Read to them. Be present. Don't burn the hot chocolate because you didn't pay attention. You'll lose out on good sweet things if you allow yourself to be distracted.
So I microwaved some tea and gave the kids some crayons. They asked for a bath afterwards. I agreed.
So I'm here, finishing this up while they color, not crying over spilled milk. Thanking God for giving this silly woman a burnt cup of cocoa, and turning off the computer for the day. I can already hear the demon giving me all kinds of reasons to stay online, but for the moment, I understand her ploys. I have to stay awake. I have to trust that God will give me what I need and will help me give them what they need. Pay attention. All good things require a sublimation of the personal will, exercise, music, homework, parenting, writing, prayer. If I want a real life for all of them, I must submit. I can't be a virtuous mom if I'm a virtual mom. So, with that momentary epiphany, I'm going to go feed the baby and color now.
Have a great day.
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