Staring at September

Yesterday, I registered for my classes for September.  Ever since university ended in April, my husband and I have been talking about what September might look like—when his classes would be and when mine would be and how much childcare we'd need and how many classes I should take.  Now it's done.  I'm taking the fiction workshop and the creative nonfiction workshop—both full-year classes, Monday afternoon and Friday morning.

I have mixed feelings about registering and starting classes again in September.  By the end of January last year, I was ready to quit.  I wasn't going to do that halfway through a semester, though, so I kept going, praying and thinking and changing my mind daily about whether to continue this year or not.  The summer hasn't really answered my debate.

I like university.  Sometimes I kick myself for not researching universities more nine years ago and coming out here then.  But if I'd done that, I wouldn't have met my husband or a bunch of great friends.  And I loved doing my first degree.  I enjoyed my upper-year classes here, but found my first-year classes a bit... well, first-year.  Even nine years ago, I wasn't the kind of first-year student to skip classes or show up late or not do my assignments on time, but now I've got even less patience for students like that.

I also like being a mom.  Even though we found good babysitters last year, I found it hard to leave the girls to go to class.  Every time I left Lily screaming with her babysitter (even though I knew she'd stop crying in a couple minutes and be playing quietly when I got back), I wanted to run back and grab her.  During second semester, I had a five-hour block of classes and when I thought about leaving them for so long, I wondered if my classes were worth it.  Particularly when those were both first-year classes that weren't challenging me.

It's a tug-of-war between two things I love: writing and mothering.  I want to improve as a writer, learn more, write better.  But I also want to play with my girls, watch them grow and change and learn, be there when they need hugs and cuddles.  One of the reasons we moved out here was so that I could take advantage of the writing classes, and doing so allows me to carve a chunk of time out of my schedule to write.  At the same time, this year I decided to take only two classes, so that I'm not away from the girls quite as much.

So we'll see what September holds for this student mom.

Book Review: Praying for Your Future Husband

Praying for Your Future Husband: Preparing Your Heart for His by Robin Jones Gunn and Tricia Goyer caught my attention for a couple reasons.  One, I've read other books by both the authors and especially enjoyed Tricia's book for moms, Blue Like Play Doh.  Two, I prayed for my husband before I met him, at first at my dad's suggestion and later with ideas from Eric and Leslie Ludy (When Dreams Come True), Josha Harris (I Kissed Dating Goodbye), and Elizabeth Elliott (Passion and Purity).

In this book, Trica and Robin share their stories of finding their true loves—including a few heartaches along the way.  Tricia had an abortion and then became a single teen mom before meeting her husband.  Robin went through a broken engagement.  Through the pain, they found God reaching out for them, wanting to fill their desire for love.  As each of them deepened their relationship with Him, He led them to the man He had chosen for them.

Each chapter includes "She Prayed... God Answered" (stories from other women who prayed for their husbands before they met them), "A Prayer for My Future Husband," "A Prayer for Me," journal space to reflect on the chapter, and "Discussion Questions" to journal about or discuss with a friend or study group.  There are also Bible verses throughout the chapters, providing more food for thought and study.  Each chapter deals with a different theme, such as patience, trust, or intimacy.

Robin and Tricia urge girls to think about their own relationships with God as they pray for their future husbands.  In chapter 6, Robin asks, "Do you see the triangular relationship that is formed through prayer?  You, your future husband, and God.  God is at the top of the triangle, while you and your future husband are at the corner points at the bottom.  The closer each of you becomes to God, the shorter the distance between the two of you.  By praying for the man you will marry one day, you are drawing closer to God.  You, God, and your future husband—the three of you already are being braided together at the heart level through the invisible realm of prayer.  Cool, isn't it?"

If there's a young woman in your life who is dreaming about her "someday" husband, consider giving her this book.  Tricia and Robin provide practical, honest advice on faith and love while sounding like older sisters or close friends who just sat down to chat with you.  The stories they share are both inspiration and insightful and this is a book that will bless many young women—and their husbands.





I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review.

Seven Quick Takes

On Wednesday morning, Sunshine slept in until 11 am.  Yes, you read that right.  11 am.  I was working on the computer and Lily was happily crawling around the living room, playing with all the toys without anyone telling her, “That’s mine!”  Yesterday morning, Lily was up at 7 am.  This morning, she woke up at 9 am, but of course Sunshine was up at 8.  Really, it’s nice that they can sleep in once in a while, since I hear from my neighbours that their three-year-olds are usually up before 7 am... but really, couldn’t they both sleep in on the same day so that I can too? 

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I finished reading Angela Hunt’s book The Fine Art of Insincerity a few weeks ago.  The ending had me reading as fast as I could and trying not to cry.  Each of the sister’s stories had come alive for me and I really wanted a happy ending for them all.  Of course, Angela is too good an author just to paint a perfect (and unrealistic) happily-ever-after ending—but there is hope in each sister by the end of the novel.

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When we moved out to Victoria, we discovered Groupon—a daily group coupon emailed to you every day.  While I ignore a lot of the coupons, we’ve gotten some good deals on things we would have done even without the coupon.  Our first trip to the Butterfly Garden was courtesy of a Groupon, as was our whale watching experience in Tofino.  We also recently got a cheap oil change, a discount on running shoes for my husband, and a half-price photo book for me—all things we needed and were able to save some money on thanks to Groupon.  If you’re looking for an easy way to save money, check out Groupon.

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Marcia Laycock is a fellow Inscriber, novelist, and columnist who has recently released an ebook of devotionals for writers.  Abundant Rain is available through smashwords and until August 30th you can get it at 25% off.   Just use the coupon code VJ62K.  Marcia has been the regular Sunday devotional writer for Novel Journey for several years and has also published two other books of devotionals, The Spur of the Moments and Focused Reflections.

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Lily is walking!  For the last month, she’s been walking while holding my hand.  The other night, two of the neighbour kids were playing with her, so she was walking around the park with a five-year-old on one side and a three-year-old on the other side (and me telling them “Don’t go so fast! She can’t keep up to you!”).  Last night, she started walking between my husband and I—three or four steps all by herself, but she was so proud of that accomplishment.  She had been practicing standing up by herself all day, so I thought maybe she was ready to try walking.  Soon she’ll really be motoring!

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A few weeks ago, I discovered the Kids of Integrity website.  Written by a mom for families, this website is packed with great ideas for teaching your children values like obedience, generosity, and sharing.  While the website says that the lessons are for 3-10 year-olds, I didn’t find that much that I could do with Sunshine without doing a lot of work to adapt the ideas.  Maybe next year.

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Yesterday, I drove out to Practicing Mammal’s place for a monthly Catholic Mamas meeting.  It was so nice to drive out of the city (we even passed a few big John Deere tractors that got Sunshine telling me a long story about all of Grandpa’s tractors) back into some quiet acreages like the one I grew up on.  Five moms sat around the table talking nonstop (except for breaks to help the kids) for almost four hours.  It was so wonderfully refreshing to hear other moms share their parenting questions and what has worked for them.  There are times when being a mom feels awfully lonely and I wonder, “If I was a better Mom, would Sunshine or Lily not wake up at night/throw temper tantrums/have accidents instead of using the potty/etc.”  So it was lovely to hear that other moms’ kids do the same thing... and that it’s a stage the kids will probably grow out of... and that there are some things I can do to help the girls learn.

Why Are Some Catholic Priests Married?

On one of the first days of classes last year, I ran into the Catholic campus chaplain.  As we chatted, he mentioned his wife homeschooling their sons.  I didn’t think anything of it until I was telling my husband about it later that day and he commented, “Hmmm, he must be a convert.”

As we got to know the chaplain, we found out that he is indeed a convert from the Anglican church, just as many other converts are.  Under Pope Benedict in 2009, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith announced new procedures through which entire congregations of Anglicans can be reunited to the Catholic Church.  Married Anglican priests who convert are allowed to receive Holy Orders and serve as Catholic priests.

Of course, the fact that some Catholic priests are married raises the question—Why can’t all Catholic priests get married?  As Scott. P. Richert says, “A married priest is not a priest who got married; he is a married man who was later ordained to the priesthood.”  He adds,

“This is an important distinction. There have been married priests throughout the history of Christianity, starting with the Apostles. But there is no evidence that priests have been allowed to marry after receiving the Sacrament of Holy Orders. Indeed, if an unmarried man is ordained a deacon (not simply a priest), he must remain celibate; he cannot marry, because he has already received Holy Orders.”

Going back to the Apostles, we know that Peter was married because Jesus healed his mother-in-law (Matt. 8:14-15).  The Apostle Paul, on the other hand, remained unmarried.  In his first letter to the Corinthians, he tells his fellow Christians,

“I would like you to be free from concern.  An unmarried man is concerned about the Lord’s affairs—how he can please the Lord.  But a married man is concerned about the affairs of this world—how he can please his wife—and his interests are divided.  An unmarried woman or virgin is concerned about the Lord’s affairs: Her aim is to be devoted to the Lord in both body and spirit.  But a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world—how she can please her husband.  I am saying this for your own good, not to restrict you, but that you may live in a right way in undivided devotion to the Lord.”  (1 Cor. 7:32-35)

Similarly, the Catholic Catechism states, “People should cultivate [chastity] in the way that is suited to their state of life.  Some profess virginity or consecrated celibacy which enables them to give themselves to God alone with an undivided heart in a remarkable manner” (2349).  Thus a priest makes a vow of celibacy in order to give himself completely up in service to God.  While the Church recognizes married priests, these priests are given roles such as chaplain or assistant pastor (never head pastor), where they are better able to fulfill both their vocations.

The Things We Carry

Almost a month ago now, I attended a writing workshop hosted by Island Parent magazine.  Over twenty ladies showed up to meet the editors and learn more about writing for the magazine.  During the workshop, we shared ideas, talked about finding time to write as parents, and did a short writing exercise from the prompt "the things we carry..."  Here's what I wrote.

I carry a baby on a hip.  A diaper bag with diapers and a change of clothes that fits either daughter (hopefully only one of them will have an accident or spill something or fall down in the mud and require clean clothes today) and snacks (to keep them quiet in the car or at church) and a sippy cup and wipes and diaper cream.  A purse with my wallet and keys and hand cream and business cards, in case I run into someone who asks "what do you do" and then, when I say I am a mom and a writer and they ask "what do you write," I can hand them a business card.  See my blog.  Proof that I carry ideas, information, insight as well as guilt for spending time on the computer while they played and fear about whether my toddler will stay beside me at the grocery store and love for these two bits of myself who amaze and amuse me.

I carry my coffee cup and my daughter's favorite stuffed Lambie and the coat cast off by my daughter and the worry that she'll get too cold or too hot or too hungry or too lonely or too old too fast.  I carry my sense of myself as a mom, a wife, a woman, a writer, a friend, a daughter.  I carry my dreams of traveling to exotic new places and writing a bestselling novel and teaching my daughters to play violin.  I carry these and many other things, because I am a mom.

Book Review: The Boy

I can't remember if I had heard about the Cook murders before Betty Jane Hegerat mentioned what her latest book was about.  Perhaps it came up somewhere in the Alberta social studies curriculum.  Even if I had heard about the murders, I can't say I'd have picked up a book about them.  I'm not into horror movies, murder mysteries, or gruesome stories that get splashed around the news before being replaced by the next sensational story.

And even though I've met Betty Jane and loved her first three books, I wasn't sure I wanted to read The Boy.  Fiction and creative nonfiction about a boy who murdered his father, stepmother, and five siblings?  Maybe I'll pass.  I could still help Betty Jane promote it, though.  Historical fiction does interest me, so I had a few questions for her about researching her latest project.

Then the book arrived in my mailbox for review.  And I couldn't put it down once I started it.  The story starts out with Louise, a thirty-something teacher who meets Jake, a car salesman and widower with an almost-teenage son.  After a brief courtship, they get married and then pregnant.  Among Jake's former wife's things, Louise finds a scrapbook about Robert Raymond Cook.  The story scares her, though she tells herself that her stepson Danny is nothing like Bobby.  No similarities.

In between Louise's story, Betty Jane tells her own story—her early memories of the Cook murder, her attempts to research what really happened, and how Louise keeps talking in her head.  I found it fascinating to follow the process of research and writing.  One might think that the fictional parts of the book would be more interesting than the nonfiction, but that wasn't true—I was excited to start each new chapter, whether it was Roads Back or The Boy.  Each presented new tidbits of information, new ideas to muse about.

As Betty Jane says throughout the book, there is no way to rewrite the ending of the Cooks' story.  There might never even be an answer to who was the murderer—Robert Raymond Cook was declared guilty and hung, but serious doubts about his guilt exist.  In Louise's story, however, Betty Jane was able to craft not a "happily ever after" ending, but at least an ending that leaves the reader feeling hopeful.

"If I grew tired of radio talk on the drive to Stettler, the glove compartment held a pile of CDs, and I could switch to music.  Or, I could enjoy the four hours of silence, but that was an invitation to Louise to wake up and I had now decided on a twist for her story that I did not want to divulge until the words were on the page.  I wanted the reins in my own hands.  Louise had seized control like no other character I'd ever encountered, but I was determined that the ending to her story was going to be mine.  Non-negotiable." ~ Betty Jane Hegerat, The Boy

This book was provided for review courtesy of the publisher.

Two Hands One Computer

2 Pianos 4 Hands

Earlier this year, my husband and I went to 2 Pianos 4 Hands at a local theatre.  The set was two grand pianos in the middle of the stage; the two actors played a variety of characters, including parents, piano teachers, and the two boys who grow up taking piano lessons, entering piano competitions, and dreaming of fame and glory as great pianists.

As I read through the program before the play, one of the playwrights commented that when they first wrote the play, they didn't expect it to become the smash hit that it did.  Who would want to go see a play about pianos, other than former piano students like me?  (My husband called it a "nice concert with a bit of dialogue.")  And yet, somehow, the play has universal appeal.  One early viewer said, "It's not about pianos—its about tennis!"  As I thought about it after the show, I would've said, "It's not about pianos—it's about writing!"

Just as Ted and Richard have to work hard if they wish to achieve their dream of concert pianist stardom, so must writers practice and study to achieve their dream of bestselling author stardom.  Unlike young pianists, though, writers likely won't have a parent hanging over them, making them write when they'd rather be grocery shopping or cleaning house.

Author Larry Brooks says, "I hope nobody told you this fiction writing stuff would be easy.  Just like nobody told your local hometown football hero that making an NFL team would be easy, either" (Story Engineering).  Or as Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith said, "There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."

Yes, writing is hard.  A good writer's group can help push you forward as the voice of Ted's mother encouraged him to keep practicing.  A few not-good-enough-drafts are like the practicing Richard did before playing in a local competition.  Some writing courses or writing conferences can help in the way that Ted's piano instructors coached and assisted him.  Some great books by fellow writers or authors you admire can inspire you as did the CDs that Richard listened to over and over again.

Unfortunately, 2 Pianos 4 Hands has a sad ending, because Ted and Richard failed to achieve their dreams.  At the end of the play, they are left wondering—if they'd practiced harder... if they'd worked longer... They left me sitting at my computer, writing again.  I don't want to look back on my life and say, "If only I'd written that novel/short story/article instead of just talking about it."

Photo: Ted Dykstra and Richard Greenblatt at the Elgin Theatre, Toronto, 2003.  Photo by Robert Bodrog.

Mommy Blues

Sunshine is fast asleep in her princess sheets and Lily is happily dropping her Little People and Little Animals down the silo.  She didn't want to fall asleep when Sunshine went to bed at 8 pm.  Admittedly, I didn't fight her that hard.  Maybe when my husband gets home, I'll send him back upstairs to put her in her crib—somehow, she always lays down in about five minutes when he does that.

Today has been one of those days when I question my abilities to be a mom (and my desire to have more children).  Surely when I'm short-tempered with my two children, when I don't want to push my toddler on her bike or walk endlessly around the park with a one-year-old who still needs at least one finger to hang onto, when I'd rather sit at the computer and search documents for spelling mistakes and grammatical problems before arranging all the words nicely upon the page—surely I have no right to have children.

On days like this, I tell myself that I should really look up postpartum depression and consider whether I should admit to myself (much less anyone else) that perhaps this isn't just a bad day but a symptom of a deeper problem.  Or perhaps it's not PPD but depression going back to before I had children, when I would just say that I was having a down day because things with my dad weren't going so well or I was bored at work or I was stressed over schoolwork.

Then I eat a chocolate brownie and dance around the living room to some VeggieTales music (now that my husband had fixed the stereo and I can play the "Larry tapes" for my daughter, who is a big VeggieTales fan) and tickle my girls and put them to bed and go to sleep myself, because everything looks better in the morning.

Doesn't it?

Think Like a Toddler

On our last visit to Sunshine's grandparents, she slept in the spare room bed for the first time.  It's a tall double bed with two sliding cupboards in the headboard.  Sunshine was excited about having her own room, and spent much time playing with the puzzles and board books on the big bed.  At night, we tucked her in with her Lambie and fuzzy Pooh Bear blanket.

The next morning, Sunshine had been playing for several hours when panic suddenly ensued.  Lambie was missing.  I checked the toys downstairs, where we'd been playing earlier, and the couches upstairs and her bedroom and the toy wagon in the hall closet.  No Lambie.

Sunshine's Lambie

Sunshine's Grandma checked everywhere I had checked.  Still no Lambie.  We tried to ask Sunshine where she had left Lambie, but she didn't remember.  When Grandpa got home, I was going to ask him to take me outside to look for Lambie in the barn and wherever else they had walked, though we'd told Sunshine not to take Lambie with her when they went to feed the cows.

Then I walked through the house one more time, telling myself to think like Sunshine.  Where would be a good place to leave Lambie?  In her room, I caught sight of the sliding cupboards on the bed.  I slid one open and there was Lambie, tucked in with a doll's blanket for the night.  I laughed as I brought her out to Sunshine.  Of course Sunshine would have wanted to put something in those cool cupboards.

A few hours later, I was packing the diaper bag for a trip into town and couldn't find Sunshine's water bottle.  She'd been playing with it earlier that morning, but had remembered to take it out of her purse before putting the toys away.  Since then, I hadn't seen the water bottle and now it was nowhere to be found.  I checked all the same places I'd looked for Lambie and finally said I'd just take a juice box to town and the water bottle would turn up later.

Then Grandma walked out of Sunshine's room, holding the missing water bottle.  She said that since Sunshine had hid Lambie in one side of the bed, she thought she'd check to see what was in the other cupboard.  Sure enough, that's where Sunshine had stashed her water bottle.  I laughed again as I put the water bottle into the diaper bag.

If I've learned anything about living with a toddler, it's that she's very logical—even though her logic might not look the same as my logic.  Sometimes, it's good to set aside my own preconceived ideas and think like a toddler.

Book Review: Unsinkable

Abby Sunderland made the news in 2010 for trying to sail around the world by herself—at age sixteen.  I remember seeing a brief story about her and thinking, "You go, girl!"  Recently, Abby released Unsinkable: A Young Woman's Courageous Battle on the High Seas (written with Lynn Vincent), the story of her record-breaking trip and how it ended so disastrously in the Indian Ocean.  It's an incredible story that leaves me in awe of this amazing young woman and what she accomplished.

Many critics thought Abby was too young to sail solo around the world.  People who knew nothing about Abby, her family, or their preparations for her journey attacked her for realizing her dream.  In response, Abby writes, "When this country was founded, guys my age were running farms or apprenticing in a trade or going to war.  Girls my age were starting families.  Now we're supposed to have 'teenage years,' which seems to mean you go to high school, maybe play a sport or learn an instrument.  If you belong to a church, you might go on missions trips to foreign countries, which is cool.  Other than that, it's hang out at the mall, surf the Internet, and wait until you're eighteen to start your life."

I agree with Abby; our society is underestimating our young people, coddling and babying them, and then wondering why they get into trouble in high school.  Abby's parents believed in her and her abilities and helped her realize her dream.  Vincent writes, "[Abby's father] Laurence had always believed adults would be surprised at what young people can accomplish if given the chance, instead of being penned up like colts in a stable, unable to stretch their legs."

As Abby talked about what life at sea was like, and what she had to do to keep sailing, my amazement grew.  I've done some tough things in my life—hiked 110 km in ten days or biked 150 km in one day—but nothing compared to what Abby did.  I would've given up long before she did, but she kept going, impressing even the experienced sailors on her team.  In the six months that she spent on her boat, she learned and grew and deepended her faith in God.  At the end of her voyage, Abby sums up her trip by saying, "Alone with myself at sea for moonths, I learned who I am.  I made some mistakes, but survived them and learned.  I am twelve thousand miles wiser, twelve thousand miles more resilient, and I have twelve thousand miles more faith in God."

A year ago today, a rogue wave rolled Abby's boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean and broke her mast.  Even then, Abby wasn't willing to give up.  She wanted to find a way to jury rig a new mast and keep going.  There were moments in her story when I cheered and moments when I cried.  Abby Sunderland should be an inspiration to every girl her age, and her parents to families everywhere.  This world would be a remarkably better place if every sixteen-year-old dreamed as big as Abby did and if every parent gave their child the wholehearted love and support that Abby's parents gave her.

For more information about Unsinkable, check out the book trailer.  Both Abby's story and Zac's story are now also available as DVD documentaries.

Book has been provided courtesy of Thomas Nelson and Graf-Martin Communications, Inc.  Available at your favourite bookseller from Thomas Nelson.

Explore: Tofino, BC

If I had to describe Tofino in one word, I'd say "surfing."  Half the shops in town seemed to be surf shops; the other half were offering tours to see bears, whales, or the hot springs.  Even in early June, the public beaches were packed with suntanners and surfers.  From Long Beach on Saturday afternoon, we watched a man windsurfing, cutting back and forth across the waves before turning his sail to do it again in the other direction.

The view from our campsite

We drove up to Tofino on Friday night and reached our campsite at Green Point Campground just as the sun was sinking.  Two young women had been borrowing our site to watch the waves rolling on the beach far below.  By the light of our headlamps, I set up the tent, then took the girls to the washroom while my husband spread out sleeping bags.  Soon, all four of us were tucked into my two-man backpacking tent.

On Saturday morning, we woke to sunny skies.  Sunshine popped out of her sleeping bag, as fresh as if she'd slept in her own bed at home, and I wished I felt the same way.  We boiled water for our oatmeal and packed up the Jeep, then drove into town for our whale watching tour.  Sunshine and Lily were excited about the boat, until we got further out of the harbour and into more wind.  Then they wanted to go inside—a place I was trying to avoid to make sure that my oatmeal stayed in my stomach.

We saw two grey whales during the two-and-a-half hour tour, but the whales were busy eating and couldn't care less about who was watching them.  The spectacular scenery was a bit more interesting—snowy mountain peaks, wide sandy beaches, waves rolling against the shore or crashing into rocks, and the big blue ocean spreading out in the other direction.  I tried to put what I was picturing together with the map of the island I have in my head.  The more I see of Vancouver Island, the more it surprises me.  It looks so small on a map, yet there's so much here.

The western coast of Vancouver Island

The afternoon found us back at Long Beach, armed with sunscreen and beach toys.  We all ran into the Pacific Ocean before retreating back to a comfortable log to watch the girls dig in the sand.  Soon the cool wind had me hiking back up to our tent for my jeans and sweater.  When Sunshine tired of digging in the sand, we hiked down the beach to look at the waves crashing over the rocks, then climbed back up to our tent and drove into Tofino again for Mass at the small but beautiful St. Francis of Assissi Church.

Back at our campground, we built a fire with wood we'd bought last year at China Beach and roasted hot dogs.  Then it was time for the girls to go to bed; Lily crashed almost immediately and Sunshine soon snuggled into her sleeping bag too.  My husband and I sat outside, watching the fire burn through the wood, and talked about the weekend and school and the girls and whatever other topic came to mind.  Earlier that afternoon, I'd thought how nice it was to just have time together.  Nowhere to rush off to, no chores to do—just a big beach to enjoy together.

Starfish, anemones, mussels

On Sunday morning, we packed up our campground and then walked back down to the beach.  The beach was nearly twice as big as it had been the day before; the wind was gone and so were all the suntanners.  We walked down around the rocks and discovered starfish and anemones in the tide pools, and rocks covered in mussels and barnacles.  Every new twist of the beach revealed new sea life to discover, and an hour at the beach to say goodbye turned into two hours of exploring.

The drive to Tofino is five hours according to Google maps.  I think with stops (hiking Little Qualicum Falls on the way there and Cathedral Grove on the way back, and stopping in various towns to fill up with coffee and gas), it took us about seven or eight hours to make the drive.  Despite that, Green Point is one of the nicest campgrounds I've stayed at and there were quite a few more hiking trails we could have explored.  Maybe we'll go back again some year.

Student Mothers

While it's been great to meet other student families here at the university, I've often felt like I'm one of few student moms.  Most of the families we know have him in school and her at home with the kids or working to support them.  So it was nice, later this semester, to finally meet another student mom with two kids about the same age as mine.  Recently, she wrote about being a student mom for the UVic Family Centre newsletter.  Her eloquent words spoke to my heart, and I thought I'd share them with you—inspiration if you are a student mom and insight into my life if you aren't.

"What?  You have two children?  And you're taking three graduate courses?  Gasp.  I don't know how you do it."

When I admitted to my classmates, about halfway through the semester, that I was not only a graduate student but also a (gulp) mother of preciously small children, the reaction was usually a mixture of awe and confusion.  I often looked at my classmates with envy; many of them had children but they were usually grown-up children, or at least attending school.

I would look at them from across the classroom, wonder at the lack of bags under their eyes, and covet their stainless clothes and well-coiffed hair.  If only I didn't have to wake up twice a night to nurse my son.  If only I didn't have to spend all morning playing with Lego.  If only I didn't have to do seven loads of laundry, vacuum up playdoh (does it ever come out?), take children to libraries/music groups/playdates... it would all be so easy.  Wouldn't it?

Talking to the only student in my program I could find that was as crazy as I was—attempting a Ph.D. with two small children—I realized just how we did it.  We managed our course loads, relatively gracefully, because we are in fact mothers of young children.  As mothers we are the great multi-taskers.  At any given time, we weave through our mental to-do list, thinking about what meat to defrost for dinner while holding our teething baby in one hand and applying a bandaid to the "guess who pretended to be an astronaut and flew off the computer chair" toddler with the other hand.

We can successfully check the flyers, make a shopping list, nurse a baby, and pretend to be Vikings in the long house we made out of the kitchen table and an old sheet—all at once.  Three presentations, two assignments and a 20-page paper due on the same day?  That's nothing.

Furthermore, we handle the rigour of university because we are conditioned to a life of fatigue, having not had a good night's sleep in three to five years.  Late night papers—no problem.  We know how to make a good Americano, and our children know what we take in it.

Finally, we have one more special weapon in our arsenal—our kids.  We have the luxury of escaping the mad world of academia by retreating into the wonderful world of chubby fingers and rosy, post-bath faces.  WE can forget about APA formatting, deadlines, and Powerpoint because suddenly someone is standing at the office door with feet-attached pajamas and holding a book in their hands.  It's always easier to return to our work clear-headed once we've read Goodnight Moon, and had a goodnight hug involving little sausage arms.

Those of us lucky enough, or crazy enough, to be fusing motherhood and scholarly pursuits can spend all day playing with Lego and watching laundry, work late into the night, and wake up the next morning to deal with sticky fingers and 25-page papers because we are well-trained, focused, and madly in love with our families.  We are student mothers.  Now back away from our Americanos and no one will get hurt.

~ Kathleen Bortolin

Three Favourite Scripture Verses

Holly, over at A Life-size Catholic Blog, has tagged me in a blog meme.  The theme is "Three Favourite Scripture Verses."  The rules are:

1. Write a post on your three favourite verses from the Bible and why you like them.

2. Link back to this post.

3. In your post, tag three other bloggers to carry this theme forward, link to you and tag additional bloggers.

Philippians 4:13: “I can do anything through Christ who gives me strength.”

This is the first verse that pops into my head.  When we were girls, my best friend and I started a club and used this as our “theme” verse.  Since then, we’ve continued to use it to encourage each other.  For one of my recent birthdays, she got me a beautiful fridge magnet with this verse on it.

Psalm 37:4-5a: “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.  Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him.”

I like the idea of “delighting” myself in the Lord (it sounds so childlike and wonderful, though I too often fail to do it).  This verse came to me when I was in Australia and questioning my future, my purpose, my goals.  In the midst of all that doubt, the answer was simply to trust in God.  He was bigger than me and my worries.  I could simply rest in Him—delight in Him—and he’d take care of the rest, beyond my wildest dreams.

1 Timothy 4:12: “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.”

This verse speaks to me because I’ve often felt (though not so much anymore—LOL!) that I was too young to do something.  I started writing when I was in my early teens, but didn’t want to write some of my novel ideas because I thought I should be older.  I’ve had to remind myself that God doesn’t look at my age, but at what He’s called me to do.

So, bloggers... I’m passing this meme on to:

Writer Mom at The Dream to Write

Tracy at Expressions Express

And Carla at Carla’s Writing Cafe.

If I haven’t tagged you and you want to join in anyway, grab the rules and do so!  Or leave your favourite Scripture verse in the comments.

Book Review: The Fine Art of Insincerity

One disadvantage of being a Canadian book reviewer is the time it takes a book to travel from the publisher in the States to my mailbox in Canada.  I'm not quite sure why it takes books so long to cross the border, but several times I've received books for review just before the review is due to be posted.  Angela Hunt's latest novel The Fine Art of Insincerity landed in my mailbox on Monday.  The blog tour is happening today.

At one time, I could have read a book in two days with no problem.  Now, I'm lucky if I finish a book in two weeks.  So I'm almost halfway into Angela's Hunt's book... and reading as fast as I can.  Even without a tight deadline, the book is demanding to be read.  As Liz Curtis Higgs says, "Only Angela Hunt could write a relationship novel that's a page-turner!"

The Fine Art of Insincerity is the story of two sisters who must travel to their grandmother's cottage (a year after her death) to claim what they want and clean the cottage up for its new owner.  Ginger, the eldest, has been happily married to her husband for twenty-seven years and has two college-age sons—but she's about to find out that her marriage isn't what she thinks it is.  Penny has been married to Bob (her fifth husband) for four years and she's bored; he wants a baby and she wants a new husband—and has her eye on the perfect candidate.  Rosemary is married to Harley-riding Wort (her third husband) and has a menagerie full of animals, but grief for the child she lost two years earlier (and perhaps something else?) leads her to plan a suicide once the weekend at her grandma's cottage is done.

I can just tell there's tons of stuff under the surface, waiting to explode.  The three sisters aren't particularly close—in fact, they haven't really spent any time together since Rosemary lost her baby, and even then, they didn't talk about her loss.  They spent summers growing up with their grandmother and there's some family history waiting to be revealed.  So far, faith hasn't come into the picture, but knowing Angela Hunt, I'm waiting to see how God is drawing these sisters back to Himself.

Angela Hunt at the ICWF Conference

Angela Hunt is one of my favourite authors and the bestselling author of more than 100 books, including Magdalene, The Novelist, The Immortal, the Theyn Chronicles, the Heirs of Cahira O'Connor series, the Keepers of the Ring series, and so many more books that I haven't read yet and want to.  She blogs about her books, her travels, and her dogs at A Life in Pages.  I actually met Angela in person at the 2007 ICWF Fall Conference.  Now excuse me... I've got to get back to reading.  :)

Addendum:  I cried reading the ending of this book.  Even though it was slightly predictable (I knew there'd be happy endings for the sisters), it was still touching and beautiful.  There were some surprises about the grandmother and the sisters' relationships, and some good suspense around Rose's suicide attempt that kept me reading long after Lily had finished nursing.  The Fine Art of Insincerity now sits on my bookshelf beside The Novelist as another favourite Angela Hunt book.

This book was provided for review courtesy of Glass Road Public Relations.