I've just returned from a week-long trip in the Maritimes with the Girls Night Out tour, speaking in five different communities in Prince Edward Island, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia. Comedian Leland Klassen went on first, and then I spoke afterwards. (He does this whole routine about how big his hands are; hence the picture comparison once I got up on stage). Sometimes he was just so funny and the audience loved him so much that it was hard to get up there, but we had so much fun, the guys on set & Leland & me. The other three on set were mini-comedians, too, and I spent much of my week apologizing to waitresses for all their kidding around (don't worry, nothing inappropriate, just very funny).
Anyway, I really, really missed my family, and it was great to come home. But I learned a number of things about myself this past week and I'd thought I'd share them, in no particular order.
First, I don't like airports these days. They had the full body scanner in the Moncton airport, and boy does it look scary. I've looked through the literature on it, and I just don't think I want my daughters getting scanned. They have nice figures, and I don't care how private they say it is, how do I know? I think I'd prefer they were patted down by a female. That's what I chose. What do you all think?
Second, I need to have more fun at home. Lately home as been a bit of a grind. I'm finding that life is just getting busier with the kids getting older. It's not that Keith and I are busier; I've always spoken quite a bit (though this is the longest tour I've ever done), but now the girls' lives are busier, and it's getting harder to keep it all together. It was a lot of fun this week meeting up with people (I saw some friends from university I haven't seen in years), and speaking, and joking around on stage, and I hate to think that I enjoy that more than being home. I don't, because everyday I kept thinking, "If only Keith were here to see this, or if only the girls were here," but the fact is that there's something about being somewhere where there's no pressure on you.
Sure, I had to speak, but that's fairly easy for me. The point is I didn't have to do dishes or laundry; I didn't have to chauffeur anyone anywhere (instead people were driving me places); I didn't have to tell anyone to practice piano. And I liked it.
My life at home has become too much about logistics and not enough about fun.
I know I've written about what fun is here on this blog, and it's not that I disagree with what I wrote, it's just that I'm in process on this subject right now. I'm thinking and praying and wrestling through it. I do enjoy life usually, but I would like there to be just a bit less pressure. How do I accomplish that? I don't know. Carving out one night a week (Tuesdays) just to have fun with the family really helps. Other than that, I'm at a loss. No answers to this one, just questions.
Third, my husband is a really good dad. When I got home last night he had the whole house cleaned up. But when I started to talk to my daughters, I found out that one of them (I won't mention which one) had a pretty hard week last week and hadn't finished all her schoolwork. She had, however, informed her father that it was done, and she had gone to several social engagements this weekend.
Needless to say, I was not impressed. However, this particular daughter has had some big disappointments lately, and my first instinct was to hug her (she was crying) and try to comfort her. Keith was not so kind.
He laid the law down pretty hard last night, and there was kicking and screaming, and I so wanted to intervene. Didn't he know how much she was hurting? But at the end of the whole thing, she completely agreed with him. She didn't give a fuss about giving up some things this week that were important to her in order to catch up on work, and she didn't bat an eye at me taking away major computer time. I would have given in; Keith did not. He was right. I had an easier time disciplining the kids when they were younger and the infraction was obvious. Now things are never as black and white because feelings are involved. But Keith said, this is the rule, we can't budge, and it worked.
Today she got up early and immediately began working, and didn't complain at all.
Maybe we moms should give the dads credit for understanding the dynamics in our homes more than we do. I may understand the children emotionally better, but when it comes to setting boundaries, he's often right.
So with being away, did my heart grow fonder? Yes and no. Yes, because I desperately wanted to see my family again and missed them a ton. No, in the sense that I have this vague uneasiness that we're not having enough fun at home, and that somehow I'm losing a bit of effectiveness as a mom. But perhaps I'm wrong on the last one: perhaps I'm being more effective because I let Keith step in without stopping him. I still need to think about how to increase the fun quotient, though.
One more thing: I have some big news to share on this blog in the next week about a book contract I just landed. You'll love the title. I spent a lot of last week on the phone with my agent and on the computer mulling deadlines and chapters and thinking things through. I'm really excited to share about it, just as soon as I can.
Here are two questions for you this morning: what do you choose for TSA screening at airports? The scanner or the pat down? And what about for teenage daughters (even if that part is only hypothetical?). Has your husband had better insight into discipline than you? What happened? I'd love to hear!
With the anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall yesterday, it got my mind thinking back twenty years ago. I was actually in Berlin in August of 1989. We went through Checkpoint Charlie and took some great pictures in East Germany. My main impressions: nobody smiled. Nobody talked outdoors. The cars were tiny. The buildings were ugly. And there was nothing to buy.
Someone was shot trying to flee into West Germany that month. They would be the last to die before the wall came down.
I had an interesting thing happen to me after our trip, though, and I thought I'd share it with you. I wrote it a few years ago, but it seems relevant today. Hope you enjoy it!
We packed ourselves into the car like sardines. In fact, Rohanne went in first, and we crammed our suitcases around her legs so that she couldn’t move. We did all this in the dark, for it was 4 a.m., and it was time to leave Berlin for our mini-conference in Hamburg. It was the end of our summer missions.
Nine of us were travelling together that day, from eight differnet countries. I was one of the lucky ones. When we picked up our rental cars, we found out that they only had one small one left, so we were presented with an Audi at no extra charge. The others in the small Citroen were not as fortunate.
We loaded up, me, a Canadian, in the car with the American, the Jordanian, the South African, and most of the luggage, and in the other car another American, an Israeli, an Egyptian, a Sudanese, and an English woman. We were a pretty bedraggled lot, having spent our summer housed in a church with no shower and few laundry faciltiies. We made do with sponge baths and laundromats, but we looked ragged. And the lack of sleep didn’t help either.
Nevertheless, we left Berlin in high spirits, looking forward to the conference.
I was elected to sit in the front seat with Pietr, the South African, to talk to him to keep him awake while we drove. A little nervous about directions, he had asked over and over again how to get out of Berlin, and was told it was no problem; there was only one road going west, and you couldn’t miss it. You just drive through the checkpoints, and there you are.
So, reassured, we set out. The checkpoint was easier than we thought, although the guards looked suspiciously at our nationalities. Nevertheless, we drove through, drove over a circular roadway, and were on our way. While Rohanne and James napped in the back seat, Pietr and I discussed our summer.
We had been witnessing to Turkish Muslims in Berlin, many of whom lived in neighbourhoods that had yet to be repaired after the World War II bombings. They were the despised of West Germany, yet they were surprising friendly. Nevertheless, they were very dogmatic in their beliefs, and it had been a difficult spiritual journey.
After about an hour, I noticed Pietr looking a little worried. Finally he turned to me, and asked,
“Sheila, in Canada, where does the sun rise?”
“In the east.” I said. And then I looked ahead, straight at the sunrise.
“Funny.” He said. “That’s where it rises in South Africa, too.”
He quickly awoke the other two and had them get out the map. We started to look for signs, but could find none on the map. Then we realized the map didn’t extend for more than 10 km around Berlin.
“Maybe we should turn back,” said Pietr.
“But they said there was only one road.” James argued. We were all growing nervous. We had heard terrible things about East German authorities.
But then a new sign popped into view. “Look!” I cried, “It says Frankfurt. We have to be going in the right direction if there’s a sign for Frankfurt.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, we continued for another ten minutes, until Pietr noticed something else.
“Look at the cars,” he whispered, as if raising his voice would alert the authorities. And we did. We were surrounded by little tiny Eastern European cars, the kind that look like they’re made of aluminum and would break at any minute. Squeezed into these vehicles were tall men, obviously uncomfortable, staring confusedly at our large Audi.
In the back of the car, Rohanne suddenly hissed, “Look at the stickers!”.
And we did in dismay. In Europe, all cars have an oval white sticker, bearing the initials of the country from which they come. Most of these cars had two ominous letters on them: PL. Poland.
“That’s it.” Pietr said. “We have to turn back.”
And we signalled the car behind us to follow, turned in the other direction, and continued on our way. We even made it to Hamburg in time for the opening worship.
That would be the end of the story except for two other points.
When we reached Hamburg, we checked a map to find out why there was a sign for Frankfurt on the East German highway. That was when we learned that there were two Frankfurts: the second one being a mere 10 km from the Polish border.
The other point was that all of this happened early in the morning on August 24, 1989. To many people that date means nothing, but to those in Poland it means freedom. For it was on that day that the first Communist European government fell; Solidarity had been voted in. And because of that, the Soviets had amassed 12,000 troops to the Polish-East German border.
So I do not like to think of how we would have appeared to those troops had we made it past Frankfurt. The nine of us, a motley crew from some of the most turbulent countries in the world, with our only plea being “we were told there was only one road.”
It was a wonderful summer, and I would encourage all to do summer missions. You meet people from all different countries, experience differnet cultures, get a chance to witness, feel God’s hand protecting you in your everyday life. But not only that. Sometimes you land in the middle of a historical moment. And so you come away with great stories to tell, too.
I'm just back from Family Camp! I spoke every morning this week to a little over 100 women. We were in our tent trailer, and while the bullfrogs kept me up at night, the week overall was marvellous, and a big encouragement!
I had posts scheduled to come up automatically this week, as you likely noticed, and I'll reply to some of the many comments soon!
For now, though, it's time for my column. Every Friday it appears in several newspapers, and this week's it's about my dash to get out the door and ready for Family Camp. Read on. Perhaps you're as neurotic as I am!
By the time you read this, I’ll be back, but right now my family is preparing to go camping. The girls are collecting the towels, bathing suits, and bug repellent, my husband is filling the coolers, and me? I’m dusting my bedroom.
If that doesn’t make sense to you, it’s because you are missing the crucial nesting gene. I have one, which may surprise most who know me, because it only manifests itself when we are preparing to leave. On a normal day I may be perfectly content living in a home with stacks of unopened mail scattered around the dining room, dust bunnies plotting a takeover of my house under my bed, and unidentifiable contents in Tupperware containers lurking near the back of my fridge.
But when we are leaving these things are absolutely out of bounds, as anyone with any self-respect would agree. Unfortunately, my husband and my children do not share the gene, and so they have the gall to become frustrated with me, and to express this frustration in unpleasant ways, when they think that I am letting them “do all the work” of packing and “holding us up” and “wasting time” instead of actually contributing to the camping cause.
Mysteriously, they fail to see how my actions contribute to a holiday. After all, what’s a holiday if you have to come home to a messy house? So as I’m collecting our clothes, I notice the dust more than I do on normal days. Or when I’m piling suitcases in the hallway I notice the floors could really use a mopping. Don’t even get me started on what happens when I go through the fridge to figure out what we need in the coolers.
By the time we actually exit our premises, then, our house is in tip top shape. And yet instead of lauding me for this spurt of high energy cleaning action, my family feels resentment because they want to “get going”. Honestly.
My husband even had the gall to inform me that one day he is going to announce a magnificent, surprise holiday, just so that I would clean the house. Then, with all the suitcases packed and all the floors sparkly, he would tell me that we’re going to stay home, because it’s so nice to live in now. I was not impressed.
Cleaning, though, is not all I do when we’re preparing to depart. I also have that compulsion to attend to all the errands I’ve been nonchalantly ignoring. I may have decided they’re not urgent for three or four weeks running, but when we’re about to leave the house for five days, they become a priority. And since I’m running to the bank, why not check out the sales at some of my favourite stores, too?
Then, of course, there’s the email I must answer, and the thank you notes I must write leftover from business engagements a few months ago. In short, whenever we go on vacation, my to-do list magically gets to-done.
Naturally this makes vacation preparedness a very stressful activity, and one might wonder if getaways were even worth it. But I know the answer to that one. It’s found in sitting around a fire, eating smores and not caring if you get marshmallow on your sweatshirt. It’s found in playing cards inside the camper when it rains. It’s found in getting up one morning and reading an entire novel just because you can. It’s found in having time to walk, hand in hand, with my husband for hours because there’s nothing else to do. Vacations are bliss. And I’m just glad that, thanks to me, coming home isn’t so bad, either.
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You may not have realized I was away, because I had posts scheduled to appear at different times, but I've been away for a week and a half down in the Bay of Fundy, home of the world's largest tides, in New Brunswick camping.
I don't like to announce too much before I leave that I'm gone, because it's like saying, "Hi everybody! My house is empty! Come and rob it!". But now that I'm home I'll let you know I was away.
I'll post pictures later. We got some amazing ones.
Basically we didn't do a whole lot. We hiked, watched the scenes, and just sat there. I knit most of a new sweater, several pairs of socks, and some washcloths. The girls read, and made some jewellery, and played. It was wonderfully relaxing. Sometimes you need time just to do nothing!
And now I'm back. I'm getting ready for a course I'm teaching online this week on how to launch a speaking ministry. If any of you are interested, there's more information here.
I also plan on learning tennis with my kids. I really need to get more active!
But in the meantime, while I was away, a friend of mine died. We weren't close, but she was in our homeschool group, and she had a 10-year-old daughter. She had mad cow disease, of all things. It was just very tragic, and I'm rather down about it today.
I also found out a good friend of mine has a son who was just diagnosed with leukemia. Leukemia's one of those things these days that has almost an 80% cure rate among kids. In all likelihood, he'll be just fine. But the problem is you don't know anything for 2-5 years. That's a lot of time to live in limbo, isn't it? I guess that's when you learn what it is to trust God day by day. So I find myself praying that the boy's parents will know the peace that passes all understanding, that you can't even explain.
One more comment: in my post about the school system a few days ago, one commenter insinuated that I shouldn't really generalize since I don't know about public schools since my kids aren't in them. I find that idea a little strange. If you haven't been sick this year, can you still comment on the health care system? Of course you can, because it's everywhere. We all have close friends or family members that have had run ins with health care, even if we personally haven't.
And it's the same for schools. My daughter was in public school until we pulled her out. My nieces and nephews, with whom I am very close, are in school. In fact, for the last year and half we've homeschooled my nephew because he was having such issues in public school. He wasn't being challenged. We moved him up a grade and now he's entering high school advanced. My friends have kids in public schools and we chat all the time about how to handle difficult teachers, or impossible principals, or reading programs that don't teach reading. My husband is a pediatrician and is constantly getting referrals for kids who aren't doing well in school. I'm heavily involved with the youth in our church, most of whom are in public schools, and I end up helping them with essays or tutoring them or just chatting about what they're learning and the problems they're having. You'd have to live in a hole to not be exposed to the public school system. Whether or not my kids are in it, I do know it. And I think we all need to understand what's happening there, whether we have children or not, because public schools are educating the vast majority of our populace, and thus our future depends on them.
Anyway, enough about that. What are my final thoughts after vacation? Sometimes we all need to get away, especially from the computer, and just enjoy nature and play games. I am blessed with my family, as the trials of my friends show. And I am so glad I get this time to be with them and cherish them. And now I think I'll go play tennis!
Jeana from Laughter for Days to Come has been busy filling out passport applications for her kids. She has to go London in a hurry on a neat work opportunity with her husband, and while they're excited, boy was it a hassle.
I had the same experience when filling out our applications before our recent trip to the Kenyan orphanage that we support.
First came the photos. You are no longer allowed to smile. You must look as much like a terrorist as possible.
But the worst part was the nosy questions they asked. How much do I weigh? Well, that depends. Am I PMS’ing, or not? And do they want to know how much I look like I weigh, or how much I actually weigh, because the two are not necessarily synonymous. I can hide stuff pretty well.
Nevertheless, I filled in my weight, rounded down to account for wishful thinking over the next five years, and then moved on to height. I’m 5’5”. But in Canada we're supposed to think in centimeters, even though none of us do. So now what do I write?
Having to record my daughters’ heights, though, was an exercise in futility. My oldest has grown an inch and a half over the last month. Her height right now will not be her height when the passport office finishes with our applications. I really think you should be allowed to put down ranges on height and weight. At least it would be closer to the truth.
Nothing, however, prepared me for the next line of questions. They wanted to know my hair colour. That is a dangerous thing to ask a woman. This is an Official Government Document, so I have to be accurate, but the truth is I have no idea what my hair colour is. Do they mean natural hair colour? I think I’ve forgotten. If they want me to be precise about my colour right now, some of my highlights are Wella #5RV, and some are Wella Bleach Blonde, but I’ve always wanted to try Wella #5RR, and sometime in the next five years I’m bound to. But all that won’t fit in their little box.
As mystified as I was by these questions, though, I was really thrown through a loop when I came to the “parent” section of the children’s applications. It used to be “Father” and “Mother”. Now it’s “Parent” and “Other Parent”. So I am officially “Other Parent”. Just doesn’t have the same ring to it as “Mommy”, does it?
When I arrived at the box where I had to state my relationship to the child for whom we are applying, I was supposed to write “parent”. But I didn’t. I wrote down “mother”. I may not know my hair colour, and I may be in denial about my weight, but I do know who I am. I’m a mom, and I always will be.
About Me: I'm a Christian author of a bunch of books, and a frequent speaker to women's groups and marriage conferences. Best of all, I love homeschooling my daughters, Rebecca and Katie. And I love to knit. Preferably simultaneously.
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