SAHM I am (11 page)

Phyllis

My heart goes out to Phyllis and Brenna. I know how you feel! Even yesterday, after I posted my decorating ideas to the loop, I sat around feeling a bit blue because all that interest in interior design that I usually keep bundled away came to the surface. I spent the rest of the morning on the Internet looking up interior design jobs, depressed because I couldn’t apply for any of them.

Then Marianne called. She’s my friend from college who got a degree in home economics, just so she’d be a good wife and mom. I didn’t even let her explain why she was calling—just dumped all my moodiness all over her. And you know what she did?

She LAUGHED! I couldn’t believe it! I poured out my heart and she thought it was funny. I started to get mad, but she said, “No, I wasn’t laughing about how you’re feeling. I’m laughing at God’s perfect timing.”

Then she went on to explain that she was calling because she’s on the steering committee for MOPS this year, and they wanted someone to come in and do some workshops on home decorating. So of course Marianne thought of me. I’m now scheduled for three workshops, plus I can even hand out business cards to all the moms if I want to offer design ser
vices privately. I’m so excited! God is so good, and He has a great sense of humor.

Love,

Dulcie

I’m just getting caught up on this week’s e-mail. Tyler is complaining of an ache in his lower spine and in his left knee and ankle. I don’t know if he pulled a muscle in his soccer game or what. Anyway, I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I wanted to encourage all you moms who have struggled with the feeling that you’re losing your sense of identity. Now that Shane and I are teaching a parenting class, I make it a point to tell both parents—no matter who is or isn’t staying at home—that they MUST take time for themselves. This season of parenting doesn’t last forever, and if we don’t continue to grow as individuals, we’ll get to the end of this phase and not know how to move to the next one.

So, Phyllis, you may not be able to start a doctoral program at this point, but you can write, read, and research the areas you are interested in. Brenna, you could probably find correspondence courses in image consulting and start your own business in Oklahoma! Dulcie, I’ve been telling you for a while now to do interior design from your home. Why not? God gave you these talents and interests, ladies. He isn’t some big Cosmic Tease. Our husbands find a way to be both father and career-guy. There’s got to be a way for us to be good moms and also pursue our dreams.

Okay, gotta run. Cassia has dance class tonight….

Love,

Jocelyn

P.S. I don’t want to hear a SINGLE WORD from either Connie or Rosalyn. We all know how you two feel about this subject. And I say that with love.:)

new
step-grandchildren. How am I supposed to explain it to her?>

Rosalyn, I did NOT schedule Stanley’s party on purpose to conflict with Suzannah’s tea. I’m fit to be tied about it myself! But before you go pitching a hissy fit, I don’t think it’s fair to blame ME for Mama and Daddy’s choices. It’s a far enough piece from Chicago to Houston, but Hibiscus is a whole nuther thing. And you’re not the only one with grandkids now, so you can’t expect to have Mama and Daddy all the time. My kids are in much greater need of grandparents than y’all’s. Don’t Chad’s folks live in Seattle? Besides, I’m sure if you simply communicated to them how important it is for
them to come to something, instead of getting all het up about it, they’d do their best to make it. I’ve learned in the business world how necessary it is to state your needs and wants clearly, without apologizing or being hesitant. I know it’s easy for you, being home all the time, to get into the habit of expecting everyone else to read your mind, but the real world just doesn’t work that way. There ya go. Just talk to them next time, okay?

Ronnie

Competent Conversationalists,

This week’s topic comes from a discussion I had yesterday with my sweetheart Chad. We were discussing on the way home from church why the subject of communication skills comes up so frequently in our couples’ Sunday school class. After all the books written about communication, after all the teaching done on it, why is it still such a difficult skill for most people to master? Chad and I don’t have a problem with it, of course, but we thought maybe the rest of you could help us understand why it’s a struggle for you.

So, please, let’s communicate about…COMMUNICATION!

Yours in humility,

Rosalyn Ebberly

SAHM I Am Loop Moderator

Darling,

Why did your mother just call me and ask if you were coming to Branson this weekend to help her install her new computer and e-mail for her?

Dulcie

Tristan’s never been so mad at me before, and I’m not even sure what I did, exactly. He came home from work today and the children were doing interest projects—Seamus was looking at a piece of his scab under the microscope in the kitchen, Cosette was painting the alphabet in animal shapes on butcher paper in the dining room, and Griffith was building a fort with wooden blocks in the living room.

When Tristan walked into the house he looked a little grouchy, but he didn’t say anything—at all, not even hello. Just stomped upstairs to change his clothes. I figured he’d had a bad day at work. But when he came back down, he had
what I call his “royal British fit” stance—nose in the air, chest expanded, hands clasped behind him. Always spells trouble…

“What shall we have for dinner?” he asks.

I respond that I hadn’t thought about it yet.

“Suppose we pretend we are having a picnic in the living room, since the kitchen and dining room seem to be otherwise…occupied.” Then he made a big show of checking the living room. “Oh, never mind. The living room is also rather disheveled, I see.”

“Why don’t you just get carryout tonight?” I must admit I wasn’t very interested in food. My children were engrossed in discovery of the world—Tristan was the only one who was hungry.

“As I did last night? And three nights before?”

I finally gave him my full attention. “What’s the matter, Tristan? You seem upset.”

That’s when he exploded! He was mad because the house was cluttered, dinner wasn’t ready, the children were a mess and I—as he put it—“lack structure and a sense of self-discipline and routine.”

Well, DUH! It took him nine years to figure that out?

Turns out, he doesn’t like my method of schooling. Thinks the kids should be in a formal educational environment. I reminded him we had already talked about that, and he had agreed that an institutional setting robs children of their natural curiosity and hunger to learn. He claims he hadn’t agreed with the ideas, he’d agreed to let me TRY them. Well, it sure seemed to me like he agreed with my philosophy, too!

“Cosette cannot read!” he griped.

“She’s only four and a half.”

“Griffith spends all his time building towers and crashing them with his cars.”

“Which is pretty much what he would do in preschool.”

“I want Seamus to know about the Empire, the Civil War, the…the Luddite Riots! When will he learn such important historical events?”

“When we move to England, dear.”

Now he was pouting. “I might have meant the American Civil War, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

He couldn’t deny it. Instead, he waved a brochure in my face. I grabbed it—a slick, fancy advertisement for a slick, fancy private school. A BRITISH private school here in Baltimore, I might add.

He claims that this school’s method of education is far superior to what he calls “letting the kids run wild.” I keep telling him the proper term is “natural education,” but he won’t listen. Never in our nine years of marriage has he ever tried to pull some male chauvinist routine on me—even though I know his family raised him that way. But now, he’s claiming that “we tried your methods, and now it is time to correct the damage.” So without my consent, he’s planning to put Seamus in the first grade there, and Cosette and Griffith in the preschool.

How could he do this to me? I’ve done my very best with them, and he didn’t even give me a fair chance. I’m so mad I don’t even want to be in the same room with him. I’ve never felt so hurt in my whole life.

Z

Hi Dulcie,

Sorry about the weekend—it sort of came up at the last minute. You know how we’ve been trying to talk Mom into getting a computer? Morris finally bought her one, but she doesn’t have anyone to help her install it. She also wants to e-mail us, so I’m going to set that up, too. You should be glad. Now she won’t have to call as often!

I know I was supposed to be home this weekend, but she needs my help. I’ll make it up to you.

Love,

Tom

Dear Zelia,

I’m sorry to hear about the altercation with Tristan. He really should have been more understanding and flexible. But I honestly don’t understand why you are so upset about the kids going off to school. You’ll have so much more free time—to do art, to spend with friends. Maybe even pursue a career if you want. There are days when I can only dream of that sort of freedom. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like. And I know I shouldn’t gripe—my children are practically angelic. But Bennet is almost ten months old now and I have yet to get a complete night’s sleep in over a year and a half.

Julia is in the midst of a tantrum as I write this. In her room, lying on the floor, kicking and howling. And…throwing shoes, it sounds like, from the random thwacks on the
walls. At least I hope it’s just shoes and not her head or something. Our “office” is the end of the hallway, right outside her door, so it’s very noisy. It’s because I told her we were not going to watch
Veggie Tales
this morning. It wasn’t because I didn’t want her to. Our
Veggie
videos are all worn out or broken, and there just isn’t money to replace them. The town is too small to have a video rental, and the folks at the library still think Captain Kangaroo is on television. I thought about trying to borrow a video from one of the other young families in the church, but then I remembered—we ARE the only young family at church.

I complain too much. Jonathan had a counseling session yesterday with a woman whose husband is abusing her. My sweetie is trying to help her see that she needs to take the children and get to a safe place, but she thinks “tomorrow” her husband will change. And I’m whining about worn-out videotapes.

Now Julia’s beating on the door with…a doll, I think. I can hear the eyes rattling in the head every time she yanks it back for another go. Why is it that there are no books on anger management for 2-year-olds?

I’m sorry, Zelia. I’ve just reread this letter and realized I’ve made it all about my problems instead of yours. I will pray for you and Tristan. Maybe God is creating a new path for you both.

Love,

Phyllis