Recommendations

When in the course of human events a woman becomes a mother, she discovers that motherhood is rich. Then she discovers that it is a tad limiting. If you belong to my generation of stay-at-home motherhood, the next thing to do is develop what I believe is often termed “creative outlets” in the interest of “self-care.”

I’m here to admit that while I have, through this purging experience of homemaking, largely set aside my youthful pursuit of excitement, I have also embraced a few hobbies of choice. I am not original. Can you guess? Houseplants and fermentation. Also this blog. I have so far avoided selling anything, and I have never made any candles.

I am not a real blogger. The nice thing about that is that I make my own rules. I do not link things. (Feel free to use your search engine.) But I understand that another thing that bloggers do is recommend things. I like recommending things. I have that bit of Mrs. Rachel Lynde in me. So here are my recommendations. 

First I do recommend motherhood. Sometimes I struggle to know what my place in bringing heaven to earth is because I have this worried little person in the back of my head that runs in circles telling me that unless I live like the Apostle Paul or Mother Teresa, I’m not really doing all I should to save the world. I’ve learned truth, and I hope to learn more truth.

All the same, it was refreshing to read in Kristi Mast’s Kingdom of Priests bible study (second recommendation) that the command to be fruitful and multiply is a command to spread the presence of God throughout the earth. I personally find it terrifying, earthshaking, and wonderful beyond expression to know that bringing my daughters into this world and raising them is spreading the presence of God.

If you want to know more about said motherhood, here are a few pictures. (Shameless plug.) I think they are loveable in the extreme which is good since it’s my job to love them.

As pointed out, however, the daily routine of motherhood isn’t exactly stimulating, and while it annoys me to admit this and while one day or one week of incessant childcare isn’t that unmanageable, a year of days of incessant childcare can be demanding.

It has been seven months since I wrote a blog, but I doubt anyone was counting. I don’t know if I would be here today, if it wasn’t for the urge to dabble a bit again. I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that if I can never do anything extra unless every single chore I will have to do today is done, then I will never do anything extra. This is me denying the urge to obsessively try to keep my home world in tip-top shape in order to have a more aesthetically pleasing environment in case I want to do anything relaxing or hobbyish. I am currently resisting the urge to finish the dishes and fold laundry and sort baby clothes for the tenth time this year, and I am writing a blog. I also got up early this morning, choosing alone time over sleep, because I realized that this might be essential to me doing this phase of life well. 

The rest of my recommendations have to do with the activities I have incorporated into this mothering life. 

Metaphysical speculation– I have engaged in this practice for years. Having a three-year-old has introduced new elements. 

Winter was praying for the sad children in Greece recently (the refugee ones), and she told me that when Jesus comes to her house, she will ask him to make the children happy. 

“Oh,” I said thoughtlessly, “Jesus lives in our hearts. So we don’t have to wait for him to come to our house to ask him. We can just pray.”

Win considered. “Jesus lives in my heart, and Sasha was in your belly.” (Remnant idea from when I was pregnant with Sasha.)

I saw no way to rectify this concept and left it. 

Several weeks later, Win awoke from her nap and asked for gum. “I’m not feeling very well. I need some gum to make me feel better.”

I replied with something absent-minded, unprepared for where the conversation was headed, and she added in a pitiful voice, “Jesus isn’t in my heart anymore.”

“He isn’t? Why not?”

“He got out,” still in the pitiful voice. “So I need some gum to make me feel better. Gum makes me strong so I can walk to my trike.”

Again helpless to correct this misunderstanding, I didn’t contest her theology.

On yet a third occasion, I was singing He Lives  in my best style. “He lives within my heart,” I caroled. 

Win, watching, cocked her head. “Jesus is in our hearts?”

“Yes,” I said, rashly. “If we ask him to, he will come to our hearts.”

She promptly bent over and spoke into the general area below the chin. “Hello? Are you there…? Okay.” She looked up at me, all guilelessness and brown eyes. “He said he’ll come.” And added to her chest. “Bye.”

Okay, but how do you answer those people who go in for literal interpretation? I leave it to you. 

Fermentation– Per New Year’s resolutions, I started making Greek yogurt again, based on my sister-in-law’s method (look up Briana Thomas recipes and cookbook). It’s extremely easy. I also reignited the kombucha process. Charles will drink any liquid in great quantities, and it may as well be kombucha.

And… (trumpets and fanfare) I make sourdough bread, and I’m delighted about this. It’s so much fun. I recommend the recipe from the Hope’s Table cookbook. It is a no-fail for me, the first bread recipe ever that I can say this about. This all sounds incredibly healthy of us, but actually I just enjoy the process. I get excited the night before bread day when I feed my starter. It’s like adult mudpies.

I should add here that there is nothing in my practice of these things that does credit to my knowledge of science. I do not enjoy researching things. I try what works for a selected individual who can explain it in clear, concise terms. I avoid anything that requires DIY research. I particularly hate watching DIY videos which is unfair of me, but there are enough of you that do enjoy them that I feel no compunctions. This is another reason that I can never be an Instagram influencer. Woe is me. 

Plants– I have no wisdom to impart. I have no acquired knowledge. I do not even know the names of most of the plants in my house. The plants live and die. I give them water and an occasional, experimental glance. By now the hardiest ones have established themselves, and the rest have gone the way of all the earth. However, the plant hospital in the basement bedroom hasn’t seen any new additions or subtractions recently.

I like all the green. They are a background source of pleasure to me, a reminder of something deep if I cared to pursue at metaphor at this time. I don’t, so no metaphor, and the plants fight on.

I still manage to read a little bit, and it remains a vital point of growth and exploration for me.

I finished Leo Tolstoy’s Resurrection the other morning. I saved my coffee till I got my routine morning work out of the way, then dashed through the last chapters while Sasha napped and Winter sat at my elbow and examined a Richard Scarry book. Richard Scarry unnerves Winter. She keeps an eye out for the scary part, and after I picked up the last one at a thrift store, she asked me to please not bring anymore home because they are scary. All the same, she likes looking at them.

Resurrection was an interesting read, a dismal but a fascinating perusal of the trouble with criminal punishment systems. I suspect Tolstoy’s social doctrines may be a product of the thinking of his time and open to scrutiny. I have no real conclusions to proffer. There can be no two ways about it, however. His kingdom of heaven doctrine was spot on, and the burden remains on those of us who believe in a kingdom of heaven. None of us are in a position to refuse forgiveness and mercy to a fellow sinner.

Winter and I read one of my favorite children’s books for naptime today. The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack. It was a childhood favorite that I hadn’t seen in years and spotted at my neighbor lady’s one day. She promptly gave it to us, and it has taken on new appeal to me as an adult. Ping is an irresistible story about a little duck who lived on a wise-eyed boat on the Yangtze river who wants to avoid a spanking because he was late getting back.

I have one more for you. Tolstoy is perhaps an acquired taste for a particular type of reading, but this one is for anyone who just likes a nice book to curl up with. Green Dolphin Street by Elizabeth Goudge is a well-written and perhaps lesser known novel about two sisters who grew up on an island in the English Channel. About half the book takes place in frontier New Zealand which has fun parallels to the North American pioneer stories that we all grew up on, with a few cannibals thrown in. There is a love intrigue with the added blessing of some solid examples of unconditional love in the face of adversity. There are also a nun and a convent on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic. How much more do you need? Such a good book.

There. Enough recommendations. If you want anymore, just ask.

P.S. This blog took so many weeks to produce that I have moved on to entirely different things. If you like videos of people talking and you like thinking about marriage, try this video that Charles and I watched the other night. (I will link this one.) Making Marriage Work by Dr. John Gottman. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKTyPgwfPgg