#BacktoSchool

So, apparently tomorrow the kids go back to school, not that I'm counting. I barely took note of the 'back to school' date. Mmm, that might not be completly true. I may have already planned a celebratory breakfast; scrambled eggs on sour dough toast, with brown sauce and possibly a little glass of BucksFizz?! Maybe breakfast in bed. Maybe I'll sleep. Maybe I'll just sit in silence. Maybe a bath in the middle of the day. Maybe I will use my own laptop. Whoa! Maybe I'll go for a wee, not just to escape and scroll my phone. Maybe I'll text a friend back. Maybe I'll clean and tidy without feeling like I'm in a gameshow. A gameshow where the other team, a team of six little people (two of which are taller than me) are trying to stop any tidying and cleaning going on, by just continually adding to the mess, whilst of course eating all the food that ever existed, and leaving their wrappers on the floor. 

I'm excited too for the kids. Maybe to clarify, I'm excited for the ones that are excited to go back.  I'm pleased they get to see their friends. I'm pleased they will get a proper qualified teacher who has more patience and less frustration than I have (hopefully). I'm pleased they will get to see more faces, different ones to the only ones they've seen for a while. (I'm grateful that we've had faces to see this whole time). I'm pleased for the break in what has become the new norm for them. I can't believe I am going to say it, but I am looking forward to the school run. Yes I expect it will start to rain only at 8:30am and 3pm again, but I welcome it now. I expect in my eagerness, I will even be on time. I've changed, I know.

I'm also nervous for some of my kids; carrying a bit of their anxiety, their confusion, their concerns. Some of them have found contentment sitting at a screen, getting their work in when they're ready, not having to deal with other kids, or their teacher's expectations, or friendships or lack of. They've enjoyed going for a walk or a bike ride when it's all got a bit much. They've enjoyed the later mornings, and early finishes. I worry that they will suddenly starve if they're not grazing the snack drawer from sun up to sun down. 

I wonder how us mums will feel tomorrow when we're back home. Home alone for some of us. Home with maybe one older teen or a little one, still on our hip. I wonder if we'll cry in all honesty; maybe a release from all we have been carrying, maybe taking a moment to breathe. Maybe some fear, for them, for us, about the virus, about change. Maybe sheer exhaustion. Maybe a concern of how to deal with people again, a new routine, or life opening up again but still so restricted. Some of us may have less capacity than we had before. Some people may need more grace, more Elijah moments of laying down and resting, than we used to need. 

I wonder if the mum guilt will kick in. Did I do okay with the kids in lock down? Could I have done better? With the teaching? With home school? With my patience? With my time? With screen time? With my tone? Did I have any nice moments? Should I have made sour dough? Did my kids achieve anything? Did I appreciate the family time? Will they need therapy from a few months of being with me? Was I fun at all? Did I put them first? Will they be really behind? Did I open the Bible? Will they be ok? Will I? 

Yesterday, on my way to Lou Fellingham's coffee morning, I had a 30 minute drive in peace and quiet. Lush! So with no one interupting some prayer time, I decided to tell God all, (or at least the ones I could remember) the things that were causing some mum guilt. Now with mum guilt, there's the stuff that you've actually done wrong which is good to say sorry for. Sorry to God and sorry to the little people you may have upset, annoyed, angered, misunderstood, accused, lost patience with, got frustrated with... the list can feel endless. 

You know what else is endless... God's grace and forgiveness and mercy and goodness and kindness and strength. He rushes in with His unconditional love, when we say sorry to Him. Hurrah! Or Hallelujah!

Then there's the stuff the kids say or think you've done wrong, which either you haven't, or you have, but with jolly good reasons for doing them. Then there's the comparison with other mums. Nope. Dont go there. Not worth it. Doesn't help anyone.You are you.They are them. Be inspired yes, but don't be 'better than' or 'worse than'. Then there's the enemy of God who just hates you and lies to you, burdens you and tells you you're a failure no matter what you do. He reminds you where you're not cutting it, heaping on the shame. 

During my quiet car journey, taking some time out to say sorry for these things, I was able to process which bit goes where. God knows where I'm not cutting it, that's the whole reason He sent Jesus to be cut in my place. That's where He can bring the boundless love in; the mercy and forgiveness in place of shame. That's where fresh hope for tomorrow comes in. It's really quite beautiful. 

Back to tomorrow...where God's mercies are already waiting for us. Perhaps some mums might just feel sheer glee; a bit of headspace, a bit of physical space, a chance to think, to process, to walk alone, or with that one friend, to go for a run. Maybe a chance to dream, or be creative, or do the thing they haven't been able to do or do their work or send that email, or read a book or a blog maybe, or watch something other than Cbeebies. Or none of the above, of course. Maybe just to sit. Maybe to sleep, wake up, eat cake and sleep some more.

No matter how we feel when tomorrow comes our way, we know that God the Father promised the Holy Spirit to be with us, in our tears of joy or tears of sadness, whether we're relieved or a bit gutted, whether we nailed it or failed it. Our kids need to know that too as they head back to school. He is with them. He is for them. He is with us. He is for us. 

"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, 

for he who promised is faithful". Hebrews 10v23

It Was All Going So Well...

It was all going so well...(the best start to any story); she had told people, even in the last few days that she was finding this lockdown possibly easier than the other two lockdowns, attributing this maybe to outside circumstance. Oh how she wished she could attribute her well being to her stable inner-self, her faith in God even, but she knew herself only too well to know that circumstance was still a major influence on her emotional stability. 

She had started the morning well. It was early enough to make herself tea and toast, and take it back up to her room. She knew her presence wasn't required yet. She had a window of time, a window of opportunity to consume her breakfast in the quiet of her bedroom quarters. She knew the timing, she sensed the opportuinty, and she took it. Soon the devices would need to be switched on, and plugged in, while a persistent adult from the other side would attempt to engage the screen watchers. Will they respond today? Will they wait until the end of her thought-out speech, just to say, 'You were on silent Miss'? Will they rub the sides of their heads, no doubt mirroring the persistent adult's behaviour? Can they both go through this again?

But that time had not come yet. Instead in the peace and quiet of her bedroom, she began to breathe, to meditate, to allow song from her own device to filter into the room around her. She joined in the chorus with gumption, longing for the days when she would also know the verses too. It did her good, a great start to the day. With love and enthusiasm she awoke the inhabitants of the other rooms. Their grunts and glooms did not match her buoyant spirit. It was all going so well.

With devices on, the screen watchers were engaged to various degrees dependant of course, on their own attitudes, on the persistent adult's ability to peak interest, and if another member of the shared room was in their space or not. Then she did something unheard of. After spending some time alone with her thoughts earlier in the morning, in her bedroom quarters, she attemtped to go there again. This time not to breathe and meditate as once before, but to organise, to sort, to tidy, to clean, to hoover. What was she thinking? She knew this could not possibly work. She had tried this before, to no avail. To sort, to tidy, to bring order while the house was full, was foolishness. She argued in her mind, 'but the house is always full'. She knew this argument may well be truthful, but it would not change the outcome. Yet she ploughed on with her recklessness.

One by one the inhabitants needed her, demanded her presence, requested her answers, sought her help. She would give them instruction from the upper dwelling place, rather than engage with them on the lower level of the house. And one by one it seemed, the inhabitants would allow the instructions to magically disappear, as if they could not even hear her cries, her words, her helpful comments, her threats even. She was being clear, and loud it seems, but once they heard the words, they became like frosted glass, distorted, unable to make any sense.

Yet still she pushed on with ordering her room. Why? Why would she bring this onto the household? She knew better. But she had a goal, and she went for it. She had made it to that part where it looked worse than when she had started. She couldn't quit now. She had to defend herself when the accusations came; she wasn't shouting, she was merely trying to be heard over the hoover. One of them unhelpfully pointed out that it wasn't on. Eventually she stomped downstairs with disdain for anyone who came across her path. One of them was cartwheeling and one was on a trampoline.Why were they not plugged in? Did she reslly need to orbit them for them to stay where she put them? One was entertaining the family dog. One had arranged to go out, to take a turn around the park with one other member from another household. 

She threw her arms in the air, like she just didn't care. But of course she did care, and she just wanted one of them to care. She yearned for one of them to see what she has carried. She went to non-screen watcher after non-screen watcher flinging words and arms and huffing and puffing. The house was indeed falling down. She went to the one screen watcher who was engaged and gave them a piece of her mind too, for no reason. The switch had been switched and she lit up all the rooms. She needed a power cut.

A teary redhead inhabitant approached her and stated that maybe she was taking some stuff out on the household. Although she knew that the redhead was indeed right, she did not want this information to be so publically shared. This would mean acknowledging the redhead's wisdom in the moment. She agreed passionatly that the redhead was probably right. But she also told the redhead that she had every right to be responding this way. The redhead went to her room, and took her tears with her. So freely she went to her room, no one needing her. 

The reminder of earlier's song and meditation came to mind. It felt like so long ago, a distant time, a memory. It was however about two hours ago. She could choose to step back into that moment, in the here and now. She could allow herself the humility to stand down. She could choose to walk with her God in this moment too. She didn't need to count all the times she had had to do this before. She could lean in again to the demands and the needs and the requests. She could actively decide for circumstance to not be her master. She went to the redhead and apologised for her lack of gentleness. She went to another and used the same words, and another the same. She gave the prickly one space, so their thorny bits smoothed down, protecting all involved from unneeded prickly hurts. The inhabitants didn't hold grudges. They were kind and bouncy. She appreciated them for this. They were just how she needed them to be. It could all go well again. 

"...I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." Ephesians 4v1-3

Bad Hair Day

As I mentioned in a previous post, we seem to use Barbie as a teaching point quite regularly at the moment. We have always used what the kids are into, to speak in some Bible truth. I have to admit, sometimes the link can be quite tenuous but if it starts a relevant chat and gets some scripture in, then I'm happy with tenuous links. Barbie and the Superpops, that's where the eldest girl is currently at. (The smallest can't get enough Power Rangers). And I believe God is God-enough to speak to us through secular things.

I know boys and girls can be quite similar at times. We're all on a spectrum of different levels of femininity and masculinity. Stereotypes are far too simple I get that, and as much as I don't want to just stereotype my kids, I also firmly believe that boys and girls are quite different. I believe God has designed us that way. I reckon my eldest daughter could give any of her brothers a run for their money if they were climbing a tree for example. But she's quite the girlie girl when it comes to hair! Many a tear has been shed over her hair, which is ridiculous as she has lushious long red hair. To date, four boys in and seventeen years of experience, none of my boys have cried about their hair. 

My daughter's tears have come because her hair wont go well. It wont sit perfectly. It wont go up in a perfect way. It wont stay where it's meant to. I have tried to explain that every girl has a bad hair day or two; no one's hair is perfect. We all have those whispy bits which do their own thing but the frustration and tears have carried on. We've had to take some deep breaths, and we've allowed hair spray on some days. 

About a year ago, we realised a big shaper of the tears - Barbie, the Superpops, and every other Disney Princess!! They all have perfect hair. Absoloutely perfect, not a strand out of place, unless its perfectly out of place of course! And so much volume! And why do they have this hair?! Because they are either cartoons with perfect drawn hair, or they are wearing wigs of perfect hair. The discussions suddenly became clearer, with the simple fact that the hair she was seeing just wasn't real, let alone realisitc. (I mean she sees my hair thrown up in a ponytail every day so she's had a fair dose of hair reality, but maybe I am not the required standard). It was such a simple realisation, yet so huge at the same time.

We have spoken to an artist friend this week, who has explained that even perfect drawn hair, takes ages to complete. She had a Facetime chat with my daughter about drawn princess hair, which was so helpful. Another valuable conversation we had, was with my black friend about her hair, and a mum friend who has a black daughter. I contacted them on my daughter's behalf, and asked them how come their hair was 'perfect', always in place. We talked about braids, corn rows and wigs, as well as some of the horrible things black ladies have had to go through in terms of their natural hair not being accepted by society. My friend sent me pictures and videos and we went through some Youtube videos. It was informative for both of us and helped my daughter to come to a better understanding of lots of hair related thoughts, and to realise new things that we had a limited education on.

The conversations on comparison, and "perfection" have been so helpful. And a little challenging for myself too. I've made it a point to not talk negatively about my body shape in front of the kids, and to use healthy words for describing their own bodies, mine and other people's. I've also had to point out that Barbie's body, as well as her hair, is not based on a real person, and that there isn't a hair 'norm' or a body 'norm'. As for the Power Rangers, I've explained that Lycra can be tricky for some people to get into quickly, to fight off evil.

We have spoken about how God looks at our hearts; our character, our actions, our words, and our kindness to others, rather than our outside appearances. We often look at Cinderella's sisters to see how their characters come across; what their hearts reveal about them, even in such beautiful dresses, with not a hair out of place. My youngest today, after watching a second Cinderella film in a row, (Lockdown Saturday) said "Well, I don't like her attitude, but her hair is beautiful". I was pleased she had found something positive to say, to build up a fellow female, whilst remaining true to some mummy teaching! There's more on this in the blog post, 'Happy Ever After'. It's been a reminder for me too, of what I let shape my kids' thinking. I want the gospel to keep shaping their thinking, and their understanding of who they are, and of the world around them. I need the gospel to shape me too.

"But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature...... For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16v7