Twitterature May 2013

Anne at Modern Mrs. Darcy hosts a link-up each month called Twitterature: a "place to share short, casual reviews of books you’ve been reading." For your reading pleasure, here's what's been on my nightstand recently....

The Hungry Years by William Leith
Body image, binge eating, and food (and other things) addiction from the rare male perspective.  Informative, sometimes bleakly dark, with a surprisingly light ending.

Mrs. Robinson's Disgrace: The Private Diary of a Victorian Lady by Kate Summerscale
A look inside the changing landscape of Victorian England as divorce laws changed and dirty laundry started airing on every front.  Mrs. Robinson is an interesting character, but the book drags on a bit once you get past the diary end of her story and into the courtroom.  Still, a pretty good read.

24/6 by Matthew Sleeth
A gentle call to Sabbath with personal anecdotes of life as an ER doc and the author's own downshift in life.  Light on the practical aspects (ie, Sabbath "rest" with tiny children?!), it's still a good, quick read to get you thinking about and planning for a weekly respite.

Serve God, Save the Planet by Matthew Sleeth
A Christian call to environmentalism, or "creation care," which I love as a term.  I'm back to recycling with a vengeance and have new perspective...although, again, the author writes from the perspective of someone with privilege, lots of options and flexibility, and life without littles: it was hard to read some parts of this book without saying, "Easy for you to say."  Still, I will be rereading this one for sure.

Almost Amish: One Woman's Quest for a Slower, Simpler, More Sustainable Life by Nancy Sleeth
(notice a pattern in author names here?)
Comparing good environmental practice to the ways of the Amish and how we can mimic those wise choices without bonnets or buggies.  I was glad to find I'm actually doing most of the things she recommends to live lightly on the earth, but it was still inspiration to go further...to go "more Amish," if you will?

What have you been reading?

For my mother

In this season of Hallmark cards, flowers, and hint-hint jewelry commercials,

5 things I loved about growing up with my mom:

Reading My mom always had a book--beside her chair in the living room, in her work bag, just beyond her nose.  She read to us, of course, but I think it was seeing her (and my dad) read that really cemented in my young, impressionable mind that reading is a worthwhile venture.  Oh, and today?  I have books in a bin in the living room, on my Nook, on my bedside table...

Birthdays Mom always made my birthday parties special: whether it was Dairy Queen cakes or water fights or a sleepover for a dozen friends (literally), Mom made it happen.  Sure there was that year all my friends were glued to one of our cows giving birth rather than partaking in actual party activities, but even Mom can't compete with real-live Discovery Channel (but boy was I frustrated that my friends were so interested in something I had seen a hundred times).

Open-door hospitality Like I said, she let me have a dozen friends stay over at a time.  Friends came and went, stayed over for days.  Cousins practically lived with us for whole summers.  Men who came to the farm to trim hooves, clip cows, or just about anything else always had a seat at the table--and there was always plenty to eat.  My mom can make any meal stretch to accommodate extra guests and can even get picky teenage boys to eat vegetables (and no, ketchup doesn't count).

TGIF and pizza This one's kind of silly, but I always looked forward to ordering pizza and watching sitcoms with my mom and brother (poor Dad was stuck milking cows...or maybe he didn't hold the same affinity for Boy Meets World?).  For whatever reason, I absolutely loved that my mom sat and watched those shows with me, laughing at the jokes and antics of Corey Matthews when I'm sure she would have rather had her nose in a book (see above) after a long week. {Additionally, I love that this has morphed into watching way too much HGTV when I come visit now.  It feels more grown up that way.}

Car talks These were occasionally awkward and there was the time we hit a deer and Mom left me alone in the car in the middle of nowhere at night while she went to search for it, but still, we talked through all kinds of things in the car and I definitely felt cared for and listened to as we drove.

These are just five things; there are so many other wonderful things about my mother--and as a parent myself, I have far more respect and admiration for her than I did when I was growing up.  And I hope I can do as good a job as she did.

Mom, I hope you clicked on the link and read this even though you're at work.  I love you.

On Having 5 Chins

I spent some time on my parents' farm this month while my husband was off on business.  It was nice to be out in the country, to play with the girls in wide open spaces...and even to raid my parents' cupboards and overdosing on Boy Meets World reruns while the girls napped.

But one of my favorite things turned out to be looking through old photos that dated back to before my time. I had forgotten how crazy skinny my father was and I got to tease my mother for wearing shorts waaaay shorter than I ever would have gotten away with.

Why does everyone in old photos look more glamorous?  Is it something in their dress (though these were mostly quite casual pictures) or demeanor?  Or is it just the passing of time makes lost youth glow brighter?  Either way, I couldn't tear my eyes from photos of my parents, their siblings, and their playmates of old.

So what does this have to do with having 5 chins?  While on the same trip, my mom took this picture of me with the girls:

Baby carrier + zipped up coat = ridiculousness

Now, it's a silly photo.  I mean, the whole thing looks ridiculous, but it was necessary due to the weather (thank you, Minnesota).  People yukked it up because it's funny, but when I saw the photo, this is what I saw...

I feel like there should be dramatic villain music playing...

And it bothered me.  It always bothers me.

Hello, my name is Michelle Jorgenson, and I have 5 chins.

So I brooded and sulked and made twenty different diet and exercise plans before I remembered that I'm nursing and are my chins really more important than giving life to this baby who depends on me for her daily nourishment?

Plus I brought it up to the Professor and looking at the picture, squinting, he says, "Oh yeah.  Well, you kinda had that even in our wedding photos, didn't you?  Not much or anything, but even at your thinnest, you still had a little extra chin.  It's not fat, it's just...chin."  And this began a ten minute comparison of chin flesh between the two of us.

I've been trying to find my "angles" that most minimize my chins in photos.  During our engagement photos our photographer would yell out for me to change my smile because of my chins (he literally used the words "your" and "chins"), which was slightly rude but effective.  Still, he's not around for the everyday, average snapshot.

So what's a girl to do?  Forever hide from the camera?

And now you're asking, wait...how does this tie into the original story about the old photos?  Because I realized I was never counting chins or bat wings.  I was looking at laughter, not counting laugh lines.

And if I hide forever from the camera, what pictures will my daughters look at of me one day?  How will they laugh at my silly clothes or gasp at how awful our furniture was (it's not, but boy were there some doozies in my folks' pictures!) if I never let the lens capture me as I am, in the here and now?

And what will it tell them about their own bodies and beauty and worth if they learn that there are no pictures of Mama because she was afraid of her chins?

Yes, I still have a bit of baby weight to lose (why doesn't it melt off so easily after baby #2?), but in the end, the chins are here to stay most likely.  They are part of my face, part of my God-given body, part of the woman my husband fell in love with, and part of the smile that shines on my children.

They are mine and I'll own them.

But I'll probably still try to find my best angles.

Aldi special this week: Grace.

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I love Aldi.  No, take that back, I adore the place.  Our store is always neat, well-stocked, small enough to get in and out of quickly (a blessing with little ones), the selection is limited so I never feel overwhelmed by the options, and the prices are excellent (2 half-hams, 10# potatoes, produce like crazy, and everything for our Easter dinner for $40...crazy).

And then there's John.

Since Aldi keeps a small staff, John is almost always our cashier.  At Aldi, to keep their checkout process lightning-fast, you take everything from your cart and they put it in a new one after ringing it up.  But with a baby in a car seat and Pookie in the cart, this is a struggle for me.  So, John moves the transfer cart and always warns Claudia to back away so she doesn't get her toes crushed by the incoming groceries.  Love that.

After we had paid, I went off to start bagging our groceries and noticed the graham cracker pie crust I had purchased was nestled under the car seat, unpaid for.  Let me take a minute to explain that this has become a problem for us recently: I put things there and forget or Pookie grabs things and I find them once we're in the parking lot and have to make a mad dash back to apologize and return "stolen" goods.

I sighed and strolled back to the checkout and tried to hand it to John, explaining.  Do you know what he said?  "Oh no, you paid for it.  I put it there so it wouldn't get smushed."

Folks, this is a guy who gets life with littles and made my day that much easier.  Grace.

And the checker at our trip to Walgreens?  Who brought out a bag and said, "I think you forgot this"?  Grace.

Then we were off to the library downtown.  It was a one-minute-pick-up-a-book-on-hold trip that ended in frustration, an impossibly wedged stroller, and a baby melting down.  And out-of-the-blue rush hour behind my car that trapped us for several minutes, whining in the backseat, crying in the backseat, and kiddie music crushing my eardrums.

And we still had to make one more stop: the other library to drop off a DVD I had forgotten to put back in its case before returning said case (ever happen to you?).  The thought of getting both girls out of the car and into the library for such a small thing made me bone tired...just the thought of it.

So I started to think about the grace I had received thus far that day, the small helps that seemed infinitely big in those mama-weary moments.  And I prayed for more.  I said, "Lord, please let there be another mama in the library parking lot who will understand and take this DVD to the desk for me."

Now let me explain about something: I don't like to be on the receiving end of grace.  Somewhere along the way, the phrase "it is better to give than to receive" became "it's good to give and bad to receive" in my head.  I don't like to receive help, I don't like to admit that I can't do absolutely everything for myself.

But sometimes God uses Bambi II and screaming babies to whip our hearts into shape.

I prayed and prayed over the crying and the droning kiddie music and my heart soared when I watched a van pull into the library parking lot ahead of me.  They turned away from the door and I turned toward it, sighing because the van just seemed to be cutting through the parking lot.

But do you know who was crossing the lot in front of my car?

A mommy with a preschooler.

I slammed on my brakes and jumped from the car: "Excuse me!  Excuse me!"

And I did something I've always found difficult: I asked for help I hadn't earned (this woman didn't know me from Adam)--the very definition of grace.

I don't think I would have made it through that morning without these little (colossal) helps.  And with Resurrection Sunday looming large on the calendar and in my heart, I am reminded anew of my utter dependence on Christ and His love.

The help these people gave me was small: moving a shopping cart, taking care with a pie crust, handing a DVD to a librarian.  But it changed the trajectory of my entire day.

The help Jesus has given me can only be described as infinite: He sacrificed Himself for me, He modeled how to love and serve in this broken world, He defeated death, and He continues to love and serve a wretch like me before the throne of the Father, interceding where I am unworthy.

Oh, how He loves.

Happy Easter, wherever you are; know that you are loved by One who can love you like no other.

Link Love on a Saturday

I adore blogs; I read too many, too much.  I've backed off, but I've still run across a few things this week that I can't help but share.  I typed "Happy reading!" but then thought that much of this ain't all that happy...

After Steubenville: What Our Sons need to know about Manhood by Ann Voskamp reminds us of the need to raise sons who value women as people and not objects.

Victoria's Secret is coming for your Middle Schooler ...well-timed, VS, well-timed.  Because just as we have a national story and discussion about teens and drinking and who's to blame when these things go wrong--this is the perfect time to start peddling panties to preteens.

Raising Daughters in a World That Devalues Them: 7 Things We Must Tell Them is more applicable to me as a mother of girls than Ann Voskamp's piece (although maybe I'll have boys someday).  My girls are just babes, but they still need to hear these things--and I need to be practiced in saying them.

And this is a letter from a blogger to her daughter about mama bodies being beautiful.  Because they are.

If You Give a Michelle a Documentary

I posted this to my personal Facebook account and it was well-received; thought it was worth sharing here.  I'll be back with more information and my thoughts on Fair Trade chocolate soon, but in the meantime you can find more information and resources here.

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If you give a Michelle a documentary, she will want to watch it.

When she watches it, she will learn of child trafficking (read: slavery) for the sake of chocolate.

When she next goes to the grocery store, she will scour the place for Fair Trade (read: non-slave labor) chocolate. She will find one brand, scoff at the price, but buy it anyway because the price is worth the integrity of the food.

When she sneaks a bit from the cupboard, her toddler will see. She will give the toddler a nip of chocolate.

When the toddler is still awake at 4AM, she will remember that high quality chocolate and this particular toddler don't do well together.

When the toddler is still crabby the next day and the baby won't stop crying, she will reach for the chocolate again.

Her husband will stop her and say, "Maybe the caffeine in the chocolate is making the baby fussy?"

There will then be weeping and gnashing of teeth from the Michelle of such ugly proportions, her husband will send her out of the house for some air.

When she goes out of the house, she will inevitably end up at the grocery store (she is a mother, after all).

When she is at the grocery store, she will look for a treat.

When she finds the Ben and Jerry's, she will notice for the first time that there is a Fair Trade seal on every. single. pint.

The Michelle will then do a happy dance around a pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream and bring it home.

When she gets home, she will want to eat her new found treat.

And chances are, when she has her treat, she will want to watch a documentary to go with it.

Buy integrity, buy Fair Trade!

I am not a blogger.

It was such a weight off my chest to admit that to myself.

I am not a blogger.

I'm a numbers girl: I get caught up in the statistics and inadequacy lurks behind every digit.

Not enough followers, not enough hits, not enough comments.  And it's a yucky feeling.

Regular, planned blogging brings out ugly and sin in me, and I just can't have that.

And since I last wrote, another beautiful baby girl has joined our lives, upset our every routine, and burrowed her way into our hearts.  Oh, and she's kept me up all night and living one-handed during the day--which leaves precious little time for writing showering blogging.

It was a relief to stop thinking about the numbers and post ideas and "what will people think?"  It was a relief to let my brain stew and find a nugget of a novel idea while carrying a car seat back to the car after a doctor's visit.  And it was a relief to have one less task on my plate.

So I was ready to hit 'delete' on this little blog.

But.

But then I put off writing this post for months.

But then I worried that I would have no public forum from which to shout out at the universe.

But then I remembered that I hate to quit things.

I couldn't bring myself to kill this thing entirely.  So, I won't.

My compromise is this: the meager offering that this blog is will continue to live in the land of internet and I will pop in when I feel really and truly moved to share.  No schedules, no series, no agenda other than unburdening the things that rise up in my soul and have to spill out somewhere.

And I'll probably come round for Five Minute Fridays here and there because they're amazing.

Now that that's settled?  I have some new characters who need to be torn down so they can be built back up again. :D