Protection

Ryan put the prayer book by the bed last night. If you read my last blog, you might well imagine that I was hardly in the mood for prayer. But I opened the book anyways and starting reading aloud.

"Because you have made the Lord your refuge, and the Most High your habitation, there shall no evil happen to you, neither shall any plague come near your dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways. They shall bear you in their hands, lest you dash your foot against a stone."

The "retiring prayers," as they're called, are the same for the month. Monday's prayer is read every Monday in July, etc. So as I read last night (Monday), I was remembering having read the same words last Monday. . .the day of Ryan's car accident.

He was on 294, traveling 60+ miles/hour in morning traffic, and a car started fishtailing and swerved right in front of him, clipping his left front tire and sending him careening into the next two lanes. Miraculously, those lanes were empty. Providentially, his car did not slam into a concrete barricade (which extends through most of this construction zone) but in a grassy ditch.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I prayed when I hung up the phone with him early last Monday morning. I know we're not always spared tragedy in this life, but I'm grateful for this rescue.

"For he will give his angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways."

Road Trip

We made it to Ohio this weekend, our first road trip as a family of seven. Getting ready began a week earlier - battery run last Saturday for the car headphones, trips to the library on Monday and Thursday for movies and CDs, laundry and suitcase packing Wednesday, Thursday a catch-all day to get the house clean and final items into the car. We loaded everyone up early Friday morning and set out as the sun was rising over Chicago. Those early morning hours always make for a peaceful drive. Two hours later, we were ready for our first stop to eat breakfast. Only 15 minutes of crying from Colin right before we pulled into my parents. I was disappointed. Wasn't this trip going to make for an interesting blog?

Oh, just wait. We leave to come home today, and Camille is in hysterics before we've even loaded up the car. Not a good start. We try to buckle her in to her carseat, but the kicking and wailing demand some sort of response. Ryan takes her into the house to promptly spank her. She returns only slightly subdued. We pull out of my parents' driveway, wave our goodbyes, and I ask Ryan, "Where is my iPod?" He answers, "On your seat." "Nope." "I put it right there, on your seat." We fumble around, stop the car, fumble around some more, find the iPod jammed carelessly in a bag. He blames the kids. We've made it at least half a block by this point. Nathan yells from the back, "Something's wrong with my screen!" The DVD player we've borrowed for the trip is our sanity. We pull over (again), I jiggle the cord to discover the only problem is the screen is in black and white. We blame the movie, I buckle in again, and at this point, a moth is hurling herself against the windshield on the inside of the car. Ryan puts down his window and successfully shews her out. 

By this time, we're finally to the highway. I'll spare you the gory details of the rest of the trip. Here are snapshots: family stopped at McDonald's, Ryan MIA on a business call, Jen nursing twins in the front seat of the van; Jen hurdling to the back of the van to squeeze Camille's cheeks together and utter violent threats about the spanking she's going to get if she doesn't stop crying;  babies crying in unison, Jen listening to one, two, and yes, three consecutive episodes of her favorite podcast, Manic Mommies with her iPod and earbuds and contemplating how she can make it home alone from Rensselaer, Indiana.

It wasn't my best of days today. 

Prayer

I can't believe I've been a Christian for so many years now and am just now learning about the spiritual discipline of praying the divine offices. The churches in which I grew up would have probably shuddered at its mention. I was raised a good Baptist, prayed the sinner's prayer at 6, got baptized, learned my Bible, and imbibed the don'ts of Christianity. We were never encouraged toward the practice of spiritual disciplines such as fasting, solitude, celebration. It was in college, then, that I was introduced to authors like Richard Foster, Henri Nouwen, Dallas Willard, and the practice of historic Christians. Some people get really nervous when you mention names like that. Like the publisher for which I write. You cannot credit any ideas from men such as these. They've become far too controversial in some Christian circles. And if you want my two cents on that (I guess that's why you're reading my blog, huh?), I think it's just an easy way of keeping at bay ideas like God is real, God is personal, and you can really hear His voice.

But alas, I digress. Back to the practice of the divine offices, also known as fixed hour prayer. Historically, Christians have set aside times in their days to acknowledge God and to recenter their days on Him. I'm reading a book which talks more about this practice (Emotionally Healthy Spirituality), and I was also introduced to the idea by Phyllis Tickle, a guest preacher at Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids (whose podcast we frequently listen to). 

Tickle has herself edited a contemporary prayer book which leads one into the practice of fixed hour prayer (The Divine Hours). In essence, the book is a compilation of written prayers and readings from Scripture. Ryan and I have taken to reading the morning, evening and retiring prayers together (we're on our own for lunch!). I'm loving this for several reasons. First, I'm giving God more than my first hour. I'm called back into His presence throughout the day by this practice. I find I'm less likely to forget who I am to be and Whom I'm called to serve. Second, my prayer life was getting unfortunately stale. I found myself saying either the same thing or saying nothing. I needed some prodding to venture out in different directions of prayer. This book is guiding me in that way. And third, I love that Ryan and I can do it together. For as "spiritual" as we may appear to some, it's never been easy for us to regularly pray together. We aren't uncomfortable doing so by any means, and it's most definitely our first place to turn when we seek wisdom and guidance for our lives, our family. But, we never have been consistent about prayer together each day. This, we hope, may anchor us in that practice.

Here's a prayer from this last week which has been meaningful to me: "Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, you have brought me in safety to this new day; Preserve me with your mighty power, that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord, Amen."

Personal space

I want it. I need it. This morning, I'm sitting at my computer, and someone's at my elbows as I type (that little 4 year old someone isn't tall enough to peer over shoulders yet). "Give me a little room, Camille." Later this morning, I'm in the shower, and Nathan bursts through the bathroom door. "Can Mommy have a little privacy while she's showering?" He retreats but not without asking the question he came for. Dinnertime, two fussy babies finally calmed, and Camille saunters over and pleads with her big brown eyes: "Can I sit on your lap?" Now, bedtime nears, I sneak into the office to check email and blog if I'm lucky, and the kids migrate around me. "Ry, this is when I need you to take care of getting the kids ready for bed." He insists, "That's what I'm doing." No, actually, he's at his computer, and I need him barricading the door!

Better luck next time.

After dinner tonight, we called a family meeting to discuss some new "rules" meant for rescuing this house from utter chaos. We talked first about our most recent family reading from Little House in the Big Woods. "How many toys did Mary and Laura have?" "What did they play with?" "How did they spend their days?" 

You get the point. The kids were meant to figure out that not everyone has had the surfeit of toys they do, and not every kid in history or even in the world today expects to play from sun-up to sun-down.

So for the rules:

1. If you want to eat breakfast in the morning, you should be dressed, your bed must be made, and your room should be clean. It is not mom's job to make everyone's beds and help dirty laundry find its way to the hamper. 

2. No toys out of the playroom unless you ask permission. These kids have an entire room dedicated to their play. That's a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. They aren't expected to clean it on a daily basis. BUT, if they choose to get out every toy in that playroom, cover every square inch of the floor with their CR-P, subsequently deciding there's no space to play and come wondering upstairs looking for new territory to DESTROY, they should think again. 

3. Similar to rule #2, the family room is a quiet room in which to read or do some other quiet activity. It is an adult space and shall not be cluttered with toys. Mother has generously granted permission for each child to bring one toy to play with in the family room. ONE. 

4. Per rule #3, the family room must be tidied before bed. Furthermore, extraneous shoes should be carried to one's room and properly arranged in the closet.

Militaristic, dictatorial, ah, yes, the descriptors might be apt. But let me be honest. We've got a house full of five, count 'em, FIVE kids. The only way any of us, namely me, stays sane is to keep some semblance of order. I'm done with feeling "selfish" when I ask my kids to clear out of the bathroom when I'm showering, to stop taking my shoes out of my closet, to keep out of my office, to wait five minutes to ask a question as I finish my phone call. I used to feel that my boundaries were unreasonable. Goodness, if they had a question for me and wanted to peek their head in the shower to ask me, whom was that really hurting? But then it turns into demands all day long. I'm on the phone, and no one seems to have an ounce of patience to wait to be acknowledged. They want to play dress-up (wonderful, I love it), and insist on using the mirror in my bathroom. I relent only to later discover my bathroom is littered with glittery purses, princess shoes, and spiderman accessories. Not OK. It's not OK anymore. I don't have the time or energy for this. And it's only going to get harder. Pretty soon, we're going to have two toddlers in this house, wreaking havoc.

Just say no. It' s my new theme. 

Twins?

"Twins?" The babies got a lot of attention when we were in California. One older gentleman, whom we met walking on the beach, stopped us as he passed by. "Twins?" He went on to tell us about his own grandchildren and ended the conversation by asking if we were from the area. "No, just visiting from Chicago." "Oh," he sighed disappointedly. "I'm not going to see these boys grow up. They're exceptional boys, really. I can tell."

Twins definitely enjoy some sort of "cool" factor. And we get lots of questions.

1. "Are they fraternal?" Andrew's got a full head of hair, delicate features, and a slight frame. Colin's our bald prize fighter. They looked like complete strangers at birth. Now I think they'd pass for cousins. Fraternal, yes.

2. "Are their personalities different?" Things haven't changed most since they were first born . Andrew cooperated flawlessly with labor and delivery. The doctor said I literally "laughed him out." He's cautious and calm, happy to lie on the floor sucking his thumb. He's not quick to smile or scream. He's dependably even. (I think he gets that from Dad.) Colin, on the other hand, has a stubborn streak. He was delivered by C-section, an hour after his brother, with the umbilical cord looped around his shoulder and grasped tightly in his right hand. He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it. He's quick to smile and giggle, an easy audience for the big kids. When he's mad, it's full throttle scream in 3 seconds flat. Are they different? Quite.

3. "Are they on the same schedule?" Clearly the person asking this doesn't know my neurotic tendencies. Yes, yes, yes! I synchronize them as much as possible. If I could find a way to get them peeing and pooping at the same time, I'm sure I'd try that, too. 

4. "Are you nursing them?" I answer yes and brace for the question sure to follow. "At the same time?" Yes, again. I see the mental gymnastics at work. I wonder how that works. Without being graphic, I'll tell you this much: nursing pillow, football hold, big couch. 

5. "Do they sleep in the same crib?" Not anymore. They came home from the hospital, slept in the same crib for about three weeks, and then moved to their bouncy chairs for sleeping (reflux issues). Now they're in the same room, separate cribs. They don't often wake each other. Andrew's loudest cry hardly wakes me in the next room and certainly doesn't disturb Colin. Colin's screaming, on the other hand, is not to be muffled by closed doors, pillows over the head, and even small fans. Somehow, Andrew manages to sleep through the wailing.

I'm thankful they're so different, so easy to love for different reasons.