Check yer Trailer and yer Dishrag

Two very short thoughts that I'll allow you to ruminate on yourself:

Keep checkin' yer Trailer, 

and

 One day, the dishrag will do it's job in a timely manner.

First things first.

I recently packed, put down, hooked up, towed, set up and lived in a pop-up trailer.

It was only 5 days of camping, 

and we were near our Grandparents' house where we'd hang out for parts of the days.
I didn't do it single-handedly (thank you, Peg, Justin, and occasionally, Aus.)

We came home with the expected, nasty, swamp-thing smell in the dirty clothes bag and the unexpected new pet in the cat carrier. 

(Thank you, Aunt Robin for your help in our getting Hunter home.) 

That has nothing to do with Checking your Trailer, except it (kinda) proves I did indeed camp.

We pull our trailer with The Big Van.

It's the 10-seater on a 15-seat chassis which is known in these parts as 

The Derschmobile.

Yeah, really.

Once it was my primary mode of transportation, but Mark has lovingly provided a much more fuel efficient minivan for our daily use. I never really minded toting us all in it, hopping out at Publix and then filling the back with a ton of groceries. 

I like to make a (quiet and controlled) scene sometimes.

Anyway, as I left Ocala on Tuesday morning with 6 kids and my mom,

I was getting used to the feel of pulling the trailer again. My extended van was extended another 18 feet, and my brakes and accelerator needed a little more than I usually give them to get the same job done. 

It didn't take long to recognize that when I'm in the right lane (where I don't often travel on the interstate, since that's where the slower vehicles are) I tend to hug the left dotted, white lane line. 

I didn't mean to; I just noticed that I did. 

The van didn't hang over the line (often) and it was never a traffic issue.

But the trailer is a tad wider than the van...

and it would inch it's way onto, and sometimes, over that same line I was hugging.

As many of you know, even when I try not to, I often think in metaphors and analogies.

Every time I got to close to the restrictions placed on me (reasonable restrictions, for my safety and the safety of others, I might add) the stuff following me went a little farther than I did.

Can you make this one up yourself? It has "parenting analogy" all over it. 

Even my dear G. might get this one without explanation, eh?

That's all I'm saying about that one. 

I really hate that I like this cat!

There is absolutely no clever "tie-in" between that and the next thought, 

except they both happen to be in my head. 

Don't you enjoy the look and feel of the kitchen counters wiped, the sink empty, the floor taken care of by you or the dog, possibly the dishwasher running (sorry, Tiff) and the leftovers put in the frig? The kids all head in their different directions, and you get to sit at the computer for a few minutes and...gasp...blog? Even typing it makes me a little heady.

For those of us who have older kids, it happens more and more often.

For those who still have pre-school and young elementary kids, not so much.

Here is my little encouragement for y'all in the throes of the not-tidy kitchen years:

The dishrag will one day do it's job in a timely manner. 

Really, it will. 

And you'll be glad to see the counters are still the same color as when you moved into that house, and the amount of food left on your floor will no longer be able to sustain a small family, and the pots will get scrubbed nearly every time something gets stuck on them.

Really. 

So, go look after them youngin's and maybe even a hubby, 

and let the corn sit on the counter until after their bedtime 

(But, not the meat. Put that away now.)

Whatever their ages, enjoy that stage.

They'll only be there for a little while. 

(And while we justifiably thank God for that sometimes, 

we should also remember to slow down and "roll in it" when we can.)

Go. Really. Before I put a Cheeto up your nose.

On Crock Pots and Microwaves

As I typed the title, I realized I just threw out my crock pot last month as we were prepping for the wedding (not to give us the pittance of space, but because the crock pot didn't work.) I wonder if I'll end up with an analogy from that. No, I know I will; I just wonder if it will be a good one.

The oven chimed a minute ago that it was beginning to "time bake" our seasoned, boneless chicken breasts for tonight's dinner. It will take around an hour to get the flabby pieces of white meat cooked through and ready for our consumption.
Had I used the crock pot, our meal would have taken about 8 hours.

The microwave could cook them babies in about 10 minutes.

So, why pick the oven vs. the microwave vs. the crock pot?

I knew the answer to that question before Rachel Ray cut her first onion.

(not really...I'm only 4 years older than she is, 

and she was probably cutting onions before I figured out what a crock pot was used for)

We choose Method based on desired Product.

What do I want produced and when?

I've been mulling this particular thought for awhile now.
(which means this post may have two parts)

Those who have had to endure me via MOPS or other forced encounters have already been introduced to one of my passions: Parenting.

Choosing the method (discipline style) to create the product for which we pray (our children being godly adults) is at the heart of Purposeful Parenting.

When I am able to keep the end-product in mind (read here), it seems that I choose better methods.
When I interact in today's peanut butter-and-jelly world with the mind set that I am preparing humble servants of God that will change our society, I act and react in ways that are more effective.

When I am just getting through the day and allowing my personal annoyances or petty irritations or general fatigue rule my parenting responses (because I'm never proactive on those days!) then my tirade, or my verbal slap-down might make me feel better...but the kids haven't been given the opportunity to
See the problem-Fix the problem.
~~that's "real world" training to me~~

In our North American society of wanting it now (remember, I'm a "closure" type of gal, so I understand wanting things completed and off my list) it's difficult for me to take the slow road while the quick-fix tantalizes me with fulfilling my own perceived need (to rest, to be brain-dead on the internet, to finish the chapter I'm reading, to cook without interruption, to make a phone call...)

I often choose to be the dictator-parent because it's a "short cut" to improved behavior.
Admit it, the results are often quick to come when we're in the kids' faces hollering like they may soon learn the definition of Baker Act.
But the results are only surface changes that don't effect the heart.
And that means we don't truly improve the direction they are headed.
I loudly, and with careful enunciation, detail the problem for them
(thus removing owning the problem from their hands) then I shove the answer onto them
(which removes the problem-solving skills from their hands.)

The other end of the spectrum to which I swing some authors have called the laissez-faire parent. "The phrase laissez-faire is French and literally means 'let [them] do', but broadly implies 'let it be.'"
(Thank you, Wikipedia)
 That parenting choice often stems from the same self-absorbed places as my military-style parenting, but I feel less in control of the outcome (my future, grownup child) when I succumb to the numb of non-discipline. I am then living the lie that God isn't big enough or He doesn't care enough to change my kids' childish or sinful behavior into His image. If He isn't gonna change the kid, why would I think it was worth my energy? I'll just shrug my shoulders and guise my lack of self-discipline
as "kids will be kids."
The kids don't even see a problem, so they can't fix the problem.

Those styles both seem rather "microwave" to me.

So, what does it look like to be a crock pot parent?
(No snide remarks about my being a crackpot parent.
There are kids present...and they have enough of their own jokes about me.)

Crockpots use a constant, low heat to do their job.
Ouch on the constant part, eh?
Consistency is definitely the most difficult part to any job.
Think of a profession (carpenter, athlete, physician, chef, secretary,...) and consider how consistency is the benchmark of a "good one." A physician that misses a major disease diagnosis frequently, or a chef that can't turn out a predictable menu...well, they shouldn't have jobs for long.

If I yelled at my daughter for leaving clothes on the floor today, but I picked them up myself yesterday, and tomorrow I completely ignore the same misdeed...sheesh...talk about confusing my daughter.
Consistency in training is obviously a key to a "good outcome."

I used the word, proactive. It's not just skin-care, gals.
It is setting up standards on the front-end of training so the kids know what the dern goal is in the first place. It took Mark and I a little time to learn that in our "early training years." How could I expect a behavior that I hadn't really told them was my expectation?

A concept that leads to the idea of purposefully parenting.
(I know, I know. I say that all the time, but it's where I live...)

A few practical ways to crock pot your children:
Give yourself a few minutes to think how you want the situation to go.
(Say, we're heading to the back yard to garden or do weeding)

Give your kids a quick (as in short) monologue on what a happy time looks like out there.
(Guys, we need to get the weeds pulled from the west side of the fence.)

Give them the consequences of a good job.
(If we can get it done well before Daddy comes home, we'll get in the sprinkler!)

Give them the consequences of not meeting that goal.
(We need to get it done, so let's not waste time on complaining or lazy work. You'll have to do more work if that happens, and I'd rather spend time in the sprinkler.)

Let's go!
(and in theory, the ducks pick up their hand-made weeding bags, embroidered with their individual names, and waddle happily to the west fence where they work tirelessly, enjoying the camaraderie  of their beloved siblings before they ask if I mind them weeding the east fence also.)

...oh, back to reality...

If I lay out my expectation clearly, I have a real disciplining/training leg to stand on because they understand and should be able to follow through in obedience, or choose to rebel. I'm removing the "oh-I-didn't-know-you-meant..." foot out from under them. I can rightfully address behavior that deviates from the expectation IF
I've stated the expectation.

NOW, here is my particular pitfall; do with this knowledge, what you will.

Did I actually give them clear instructions when I thought I did?
I am learning (still!) to slow down and be purposeful in things I ask of the kids because I have to do that for survival. At one time, I could click out orders five different directions, use the proper kid's name when assigning a task, and know I did it when it came time to check on them.
Not so much any more.

Slow down, Dorothy.

And no discussion on parenting (which this has been since I've been hearing you in my head while I type) is complete without talking about one last, absolute necessary step:

Follow-through.

Check that the instructions you've given a kid have been completed in a timely manner.
I currently don't allow my kids to "do it in a minute"
since we've had a recent issue with
"I was gonna do it, I just forgot."
With some of the kids at different ages, I do let them get it done "later"
but I assign a time when it must be completed. ("Get it done before lunch.")

Crock pots and microwaves.
Perfect tools for the right tasks; let's purposefully use the right one.


Blogging in a quiet house is my one weakness.

Maybe Justin SHOULD guest-blog for me...

Perfection. 

The word looks so... perfect.

Perfectionism.
Ewwww....

Or perhaps you're one who considers perfectionism your beneficial fault. Like busyness.

(That may be another post.)

"It's not that bad," you say, "who doesn't want perfection?"

It may sound good at first, but…

PERFECTIONISM IS SUCKING AWAY YOUR SOUL.

(Fish think bait looks good, too. Who doesn't want free food?)

Perfectionism has its own language, and it has invaded English like cancer.

No, not the astrological kind. 

Perfectionism speaks and thinks in the language of Should.

I Should help others.

You Should work hard.

We Should raise good children.

He Should do the dishes; I've been busy all day.

She Should sing more; she has a great voice.

That never Should have happened to you. 

But how are these bad, you ask? I use them all the time, you say?

Here's the rub: "Should statements" never come alone. 
They always come in two parts, even though the second part is often silent.

I Shouldn't have done that... but I did, Idiot.

I Shouldn't have eaten so much... but I did, Glutton.

I Should be more productive... but I'm not, Lazy.

I Should be loved more... but I'm not, Worthless.

Should makes the world black and white. Should makes the world wrong and right.

(Just as it Should be, Shouldn't it?)  

Should means you never measure up.
(You Shouldn't mess up, Should you?)

Should robs you of joy in your accomplishments.

(You Should be good at that after all, Shouldn't you?)

Should is the way life Should be.

(And you Should live by my Shoulds, too!)

I hope you caught the sarcasm there. [I got it from my mom.]

The point I'm trying to make is that Should places the burden of perfection on very imperfect people, and batters our emotions every time we fail to follow even the smallest Should we've believed. 

Should has been in our vocabulary so long that it has brought some nasty cousins to hide behind:
Ought 
Obligated

Supposed

Have To

Need To

Must

These warty fiends brandish the same silent insults and pillage our hearts just as does their leader Should.

Should is especially lethal when it slams against our feelings: 

(Think about the "silent sentence" that follows each of these) 

I Should parent my children better, but... 
I'm not supposed to feel this way, but... 
I ought to feel less angry, but...

Double Trouble when my Should encounters your feelings:

(What condemnation has your Should hung around someone's neck?)

You Shouldn't feel that way... 
You ought to love me more...
You're supposed to CARE..!

 But hold on, I’m supposed to view the world this way, right? I mean, you basically have to. I can’t avoid using Should and its cousins: you ought to just deal with it and quit painting it in such a negative light. You shouldn’t bash on Should like that. You need to just toughen up your emotions and deal with life.

Uh-oh… can you see how that train of thought reveals how hard it is to change how we speak--how we think--about Should?

Because at the bottom of every perfectionist 
(be they the closet variety or not) is this Should:
I Should think using Should.

This is a tricky one, and I’ll come back to it later.

Ok, Justin. You've shown me this problem. Now you Should do something about it.

Wait! Don't Should on me. I already Want to do something about it.

Here's the first key:

Replace the inaccuracies of Should with something more accurate.

I wish

I would like

I feel

I could

I might

I want

and the big one: 

I choose

He Should do the dishes? No, he could do the dishes. I wish he would do the dishes. I feel cared for when he does the dishes. He chooses to do the dishes.

 Do you see how this empowers us?

Speaking this way grounds us in reality, in the way things actually are instead of the way I think they Should be. Should is at best an expression of discontent with the reality we have been given and at worst reveals a heart that has invested in lies, chasing after a universe that never really was.

Several of these re-phrasings neutralize the dark power of Should, but the last can actually reverse it. I Choose honors the fallible human being with credit for their successes and ownership of their failures.

I feel as though I have spent much space explaining the problem and precious little prescribing a solution, but I believe that once the disease of Should is revealed, few will choose to reject the simple cure.

Now I would like to return and address a Should that might make others difficult to uproot. This is the belief that

“I Should think using Should.”

My first reaction upon discovering this belief in my own heart was
 “Well, I Shouldn’t think that I Should think that using Should is how I Should think.”

(Because I’m obviously a simple kind of person.) 

Ahem. My point is that using a Should-thought to try to uproot the linchpin of Should-thoughts is not productive.

Notice that I didn’t say you Shouldn’t do it: I found a creative, more accurate way to say what I really meant. It’s not productive and it is not effective. You could try that, and you might choose to, but it would make me feel as though you had chosen defeat.

Here’s the first key again:

Seek accurate ways to say what you really mean.

And give yourself a break. Honestly. Not because you Should, but because it is helpful and reasonable. You can choose to let yourself off the hook of responsibility for running the entire universe the way you think it Should be, molding your spouse to be the person you think they Should be, and feeling like a victim or a failure every time life goes off where you think it Shouldn’t.

Humans are fallible.

So here’s the second key:

Choose an accurate view of yourself.

You’re not too big, but you’re not too small, either.

You’re the way God Chose to make you.

You have the skills God Chose to give you.

You are the person God Chose to create.

Believing you Should be or do anything else is buying into a lie about your very identity… and perhaps foisting that lie upon others, too.

(NOTICE: I am not saying that you Should just follow your feelings. That is Disney’s job. Also, that’s just another load of Should)

Perhaps you’re close to buying into the idea that Should is destructive, and you have just one last reservation: We Should do what God says, Shouldn’t we?

Here’s the lowdown on the Most High: He doesn’t share that opinion.

This is the whole Law/Grace dichotomy: under the law, one Should obey simply because they Should; under grace, one Chooses to obey out of love.

One brings death and condemnation; the other brings life and joy.

The whole purpose of the Law was to reveal human inadequacy: we categorically cannot carry the burden of Should.

For those who would like a reference:

First Corinthians 6:12 and 10:23 demolish the argument that those in the Church Should do as Christ says simply "because," replacing it with a striving for physical and spiritual health motivated by love.

BUT WAIT A SECOND!!!

I thought this was a post about perfectionism? Perfectionism is about doing and doing and never being satisfied, not about how I talk!

Ehhh, perhaps. I might give you that one.

But what we do and how we feel about it is rooted in what we believe, right?

I want to take perfectionism out at its roots, and I hope you do, too.

Written by Justin Dersch

Y’know how when you’ve read a word a ‘zillion times and it starts to look funny? Here’s hoping that Should is starting to look bizarre and uncomfortable to you.

Flowers From My Father

Legacy, sung by Nicole Nordeman

I don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me

And I enjoy an accolade like the rest
You could take my picture and hang it in a gallery
Of all who's-who and so-n-so's that used to be the best
At such-n-such... it wouldn't matter much

I won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights
We all need an 'Atta boy' or 'Atta girl'
But in the end I'd like to hang my hat on more besides
The temporary trappings of this world

(refrain:) I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who
blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy

I don't have to look too far or too long awhile
To make a lengthly list of all that I enjoy
It's an accumulating trinket and a treasure pile
Where moth and rust, thieves and such will soon enough destroy
(refrain)
Not well traveled, not well read, not well-to-do or well bred
Just want to hear instead, "Well Done" good and faithful one...
(refrain)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have loved this song since I first heard it. 

It vocalized (much more eloquently written and beautifully sung than I could have) 

the passion I feel about my place in this family, in this spot in history, in this world.

The fact is everyone will leave some legacy.

We each get to determine of what kind.

Legacy is defined by Mirriam-Webster as

1. a gift by will especially of money or other personal property

2. something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past 

Do you know anyone that isn't toting through this world "something...received from...the past?" 
We all leave a legacy, just like we each started life with one. 
It's part of the thread of humanness that we all share.


I am who I am today because of all that went on before me.


Some person or event sent a red-haired Irish boy to Canada.
An illegitimate baby, adopted by her grandparents, 
was raised nearby.

They raised a family and lived through many trials, together.

In a different part of Ontario, the nurse and 
the handsome, young man met, 
fell in love, and entered into a marriage rife with in-law pressures, and The War.

Their short marriage didn't take them into old age together, 
but they raised two kids the best they could.





A blind date to a Nurses' Valentine Dance didn't go all that well by some reports, but it nudged two lives from different sides of the literal track on a path that included a walk down an church aisle.

That young couple's moves to Nova Scotia, South Carolina and then Michigan changed the direction and hearts of my parents before I was ever in the picture.

The four siblings ahead of me helped determine the direction of 
the parenting that molded me as a kid.

Before I knew I was a part of the Moorehead Clan, the Moorehead Clan was shaping the legacy I was to receive when I entered this world on March 26, in 19-wouldn't-you-like-to-know.

There are a b'zillion facets of why I am the who I am. 
 Two obvious facets would be Mom and Dad--you know, the two that have truly been there for me since the beginning...so to speak.

According to Mom, she really didn't know what she was doing 
and she's just not sure why the five of us kids "turned out okay."
Dad didn't have anything to say about the matter when I asked him tonight.
Mom usually comes back to the fact that "it's just the grace of God." 
She's right, but it's also "just the grace of God" for Him to be true to His Word 
and bless faithful parents with the fruit they labor toward. 

*I know it doesn't always happen that way. Sometimes, some of us kids is just too stubborn~
Then God gives what we ask for leaving our parents and others who love us to lumber through the pain we've chosen by our actions.* 

Thinking on the Legacy with which I was gifted, 
I made some general observations about my parents' parenting:

They taught each of us that Family Matters.

Do everything you can to attend funerals and weddings.

You don't have to like what is given to you, 
but you can be grateful.

Respect your elders. Be a respectable elder.

A Good Life is still Hard. 
Life is Not Fair.

Work Hard.
"A man on his feet is worth two on his seat."

Work Together.
"Many hands make light work."

You may fight with your sibling, 
but you will always fight for them.

Laughter is necessary for survival. 

Jokes should never leave someone hurt.

Keep your bad habits outside the house.

Be generous with anything you own.
Money is "made round to go 'round."

Guests are just family that live elsewhere, 
so treat them that way.

Before you fall in love,  take a long, hard look at 
your future wife's mother/your future husband's dad. 
Your spouse will one day become that person.

You don't have to remember your child's name 
if you call her, "Babe," or call him, "Son." 

When you leave the nest, you leave the nest.

Don't spend more money than you have.

God is Faithful. Always.

I'm quite certain my three (older) brothers and (older) sister could give you a few more things that we were taught. There were the things that weren't taught...but like it's been said, were "caught." 

How many mornings did I come down the stairs to see Mom's open Bible beside her coffee cup on the dining room table?
How many times did I see Dad take a $20 out of his wallet and press it, with a handshake, into the palm of a man with a young family?
How many times did I hear Dad tease Mom that "She's a great ol' Gal" as he chuckled and poked her ribs and she dodged and rolled her eyes?
How many young mommas learned how to diaper, or soothe, or feed a baby by spending time with Mom?
How many kids have gone coast to coast in the USA because their parents wanted them to see the vastness of this great Land we call ours? and how many of them did it with a camper and station wagon filled with 8 people?
How many crocheted dish rags, and knitted baby sweaters, and mittens, and homemade doll clothes and Christmas pajamas and Matchy-matchy Easter dresses came from my mother's hands? 
(and she wonders how she could have carpal tunnel syndrome symptoms!)

I want to leave a similar Legacy.
I want my kids to be able to look back at my daily life and pick out the thing that helped them become.

Mark and I were talking with Jonathan and Courtney just yesterday and we once again realized,
a parent doesn't necessarily know when you're
Making a Memory
that is going to stick with a child.
The insignificant detail becomes a great moment recalled with fondness, while
the time-consuming, well-planned Event is remembered with a shrug of indifference.

My wedding bouquet represented so many of those moments from
Life with my parents.

In it were a few parts and pieces to remind me of where I was coming from:
the mother of pearl necklace Dad gave Mom for their wedding,
a 1985 penny,
Mom's bridal Bible that she (and my sister) carried in their weddings,
silk tiger lilies and other pieces from the corsage Dad gave me on my first date, with him,
and the ribbons and some dried roses from Mom's bridal bouquet.

Many of the bountiful Flowers I have received from my mother and my father were seeded in my heart and life ~way~ before I knew flowers were there. 

I gather from those garden beds daily, and sometimes I don't even recognize who planted 

the Habits, or the Joys I reap. 

I've been given Flowers from My Father for years before I knew Who sent them.

My thanks is certainly not enough.
But, maybe, their love was.