Author Archives: Amy Jane

*This* is the type of music I love!

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(My first attempt at embedding YouTube video)

I got to see these guys live two days before Elisha was born. I remember feeling some Braxton-Hicks and being so sad. Even praying Not tonight, *please*!

A $30 ticket was part of that, but more it was just having heard some recordings before and wanting to *see* it. I loved finding these videos.

This was the first song I ever heard them play (on a CD I got from the Library). I find the coolness-factor of making this sound with only guitars just way up there.

This one you have to listen through– you won’t “get it” if you move on after 30-seconds.

Lock-ups– a “centering” tool

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When dealing with wild kids, the Not Quite Crunchy Parent today suggested trying to “center” the child rather than punishing him. She described taking the child aside and modeling deep-breathing to settle him down.

Not yet bold enough to do a piece on discipline (I do believe parental discipline and guidance have their place, even if they are “artificial” at times), but I strongly agree this centering is useful in many situations.

I’ve noticed that simply touching and slowing down to focus on the child has a great deal of effect– many children have such a high ratio of yelling/talking to touching that they’ve developed selective hearing and the touch is instantly significant. At that point the modeled breathing is just a bonus.

Having the adult on his/her level is also quickly responded to– I have an adult’s undivided attention. What am I going to do with it?

As an addition to breathing I wanted to offer another centering tool: Lock-ups.

“Lock-ups” is a folding of the arms that takes a bit of thought, and something I’ve occasionally used myself when stretched or tense. It is remarkably centering.
I was shown this during a supplemental-type education class on autism.

I was never an Ed. major– the class just looked interesting. Free tuition is one of the perks of being married to a university employee.

I was very pleased to figure out a way to describe this.

  1. Hold your arms out straight in front of you, palms down.
  2. Rotate both arms so the thumbs now point down.
  3. Cross one arm over the other and interlace fingers (thumbs still down), holding hands with yourself.
  4. Slowly open your arms a bit, bending your elbows and letting your hands drop.
  5. Continue the movement slowly, first your thumbs then your fingertips pointing toward your body
  6. Finishing with your pinkies touching your chest, and your arms resting on your body.

I think this works for several reasons:

  • The uncommon movement
  • The slowing down and thought required (at least at first)
  • The almost snuggly feel of having your arms “locked up.”

I save the slow deep breaths until after the lock-up is formed, since explaining it to a child is not conducive to modeling slow breathing.

While we have used slow breathing as an antidote to whining and tired frantic-ness, it wasn’t until I read this post that I thought about adding in lock-ups. This is definitely going in my parenting toolbox this week, and I suppose I’ll have to give an update (like I did this time) to report back on how it worked outside the lab.

If you don’t mind, let me know if you tried to follow the directions and if they made sense to you. Of course I think I did a fine job, but I know already how it’s supposed to work.

How I started Rising Early

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Short answer: Elisha, almost 16-months old.

How I started making it reasonable/sustainable: the ideas in this article.

The embarrassingly simple summary:

  1. Pick a time to get up (Elisha does this for me– between 5 and 6).
  2. Get up at that time (again, The Boy).
  3. Go to bed when you (because you are paying more attention to your body than your wants or “needs” for me-time) feel tired or sleepy.

And that’s basically it. You get up earlier, you feel tired earlier, you (Lord-willing) go to bed earlier, and so get to sleep earlier.

This makes the earlier morning-waking easier.

Jay and I have often talked about earlier rising and how much better it was for us to steal our personal time then than at night. But we had the approach backwards, and it never worked– trying to go to bed sooner (hard when you’re *not* sleepy at the moment) and expecting to sleep and then wake sooner.

That’s my WFMW tip: Don’t start by trying to go to bed earlier.

The first day was a killer (Up at 5:22. Not by choice.) and Jay put the kids to bed so I could sack when my body gave up, but since then I’ve paid more attention to my tiredness signals, and press the kids’ bedtime a little more consistently when I’m feeling tired (put all three to bed by myself last night!).

This coincides with our decision to be done nursing (E is out of the physical- and emotional- dependency stage and more a habit-nurser now) and my being more consistent in prayer and seeking to be more God-honoring in my habits…

I suppose that’s a lot of qualifiers and explanation, but I’m finding more and more– in everything from sleeping to teaching reading– nothing happens in isolation. It is all connected. God may have been waiting to teach me early-waking until he knew my new habits would be more honoring to him than my old ones.

The Boy has slept “through the night” (some of you know why that’s in quotes) four nights in a row now. His sisters combine for 1-3 wakings in a night, and I usually split those with Jay. This lesser (!) night-work has made early-rising much more manageable. And I love how I feel in the morning.

And how peaceful my house feels.

I find myself able to sit quietly (E still gets his morning nurse because we both need it) and pray and prepare my heart and mind for the day. I’m growing very fond of this time “to myself” because I am not fighting my body’s attempt to tell me I’m abusing it.

It’s like one of my favorite scriptures says:

His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.

For life: if I listen and obey God’s prompting and provision (Every good and perfect gift comes from above!) to go to bed when I’m tired, I benefit.

For godliness: if I listen to God’s prompting to use the first quiet moments of morning to order my heart and day before him (and by this, I don’t mean yet planning the day, other than when I will be in the Word), I benefit.

I am growing to think it’s a similar principle to tithing.

When we make the point to obey God’s design, he provides gloriously through what remains.

The White Deer– a Tuesday Tale

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From More Easy to Tell Tales.

Years ago there was a young married couple who lived in Ireland. Though they often wished for a child, in the five years they’d been married none had been born to them. The husband’s parents lived with them, and the older couple had a sorrow of their own, for the wife had been blind for 15 years.

They were quite poor together, but managed to scrape by until the potato crop failed; then starvation came to their door.

The young man knew it was up to him to save his family. So, taking up his axe (it was the only weapon he possessed), he crept over the wall that surrounded the landlord’s estate, hoping to find some game.

Now, this landlord was one of the cruel ones. He’d made it known that anyone caught hunting on his lands would be hanged, as a poacher. The young man knew the risk he was taking but felt he had no choice.

After seeking the entire day and finding nothing, the young man finally managed to corner a beautiful white deer at sunset. As he raised his axe to strike the killing blow, the deer spoke.

“Spare me!” it said, “And I will grant you one wish.”

The young man paused and shook himself, certain starvation had attacked his senses. He raised his axe again, and again the deer spoke.

“Listen,” it said. “If you kill me, you’ll be hanged as a poacher, but if you spare me your wish could save your whole family.”

And when the man still hesitated, the deer added, “You don’t have to decide right away. Go home, sleep on it, and come back at dawn. I will still be here if you want to kill me.”

In a daze, the young man climbed back over the landlord’s wall and headed for home. The first person he met was his old dad, so he stopped and told his father the whole story.

Without hesitation his father said, “Wish for gold! Gold will solve all our problems.”

The young man couldn’t really disagree, but he wanted to hear what his mother had to say as well. He found her next, and shared his story.

Without hesitation his mother said, “Wish for my sight to be restored! Surely that is more precious than gold!”

Again, the young man couldn’t quite disagree, but he’d been married long enough to remember also to seek out his wife’s opinion and counsel.

When he had found her and she’d heard the story and his parents’ responses, she said at once, “Husband, you know I love your mother, and your father, too. But all these years we have prayed for a child. Surely that is the most important wish of all!”

So the young man didn’t sleep at all that night. He could think only of the wish. How should he use it? He only had the one.

Finally, with the first light of day, he crept back over the landlord’s wall and went to the place where he had caught the deer. It was there, waiting for him.

“Have you chosen your wish?” it asked him.

“Indeed, I have.”

“Then speak it, and I will give it to you.”

The young man took a deep breath, then said, carefully and slowly, “I wish for my mother to see my wife rocking our child in its golden cradle.”

And his one wish was granted, and the family lived in contentment for many years.

Not for kids? (Defending the Use of Fairy Tales)

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I have heard (and said myself) that fairy tales were not meant as entertainments for children.

While I still believe most of the content needs to be filtered by discerning parents, as my kids get older (and, remember, they’re not very old yet) I’m finding and thinking that some of the tales aren’t as inappropriate for them as I once thought they would be.

I first started thinking this way when I hung on to Wiley and the Hairy Man despite my mother’s opinion of it. I can see that the book is intense, but I know my kids, and went though it with them until they were acclimated to the story.

More troubling to me are (several) “children’s” movies that are equally or more intense than this story and too often used to “babysit.” That is, entertain a child without the adult’s involvement.

I am not “above” using movies to entertain my children. That’s what they’re there for. That’s why I watch movies. I have a stash that I am comfortable doing this with.

My general complaint with children being left alone with the television is that too many people equate cartoon with child-friendly.

For this reason I won’t let my girls watch certain “childhood standards” and I will continue to delay those while I can.

I like the movies (well enough). I think they’re good storytelling and art and all that, but I don’t think their level of tension is appropriate for preschoolers.

One of the difficulties with movies is that all the images and emotions come rushing at you like wild animals, and there’s no time or context for processing one of them before being attacked or buried by the next one.

When reading stories– even the same ones the movies were made from– I have more control, the children have more context, and (therefore) more safety for the whole exercise.

~

Why do it at all if it requires special presentation to be “safe”? Because I enjoy them, for one thing, and I best meet my own expectations of reading aloud frequently if that first criterion is met.

Also because the stories, told in the right way, create opportunities to talk about real issues (this can be good or bad, depending on what issues are brought up).

Did you know the original Snow White (from the German, not Disney) was a child? She first angers her step-mother at the tender age of 7. There is nothing remotely passive or weak (common complaints about the tale) about a 7-year-old being taken somewhere by an adult she trusts, or being told what to do for her own safety (e.g by the dwarfs).

We have used the original Snow White (still edited slightly as we read aloud) to talk about the danger of disobedience; the reasons for adults’ warnings, designed to keep children safe. Continue reading »

King Thrushbeard– a brief commentary

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I have read an annotated version of King Thrushbeard that “proves” how misogynist it is, and confirms the story’s purpose in frightening women into subjugation and obedience. And I can see where the annotators get that.

But this story has always appealed to me, and it was only as I was retelling it for Tuesday Tales that I finally understood why.

In it I see a sort of parable.

There is the princess (free to choose, but having no power of her own) who will not accept the young king. He is offering himself to her, even though (apparently) she has no dowry to come with her. He has chosen her for herself.

She thinks she doesn’t need anyone, then learns otherwise when she is cast penniless and unskilled into the world. The king who wanted her humbled himself and became the beggar who won her “by chance,” and lives along side her in poverty, with patience, attempting to teach her skills while at the same time revealing how unfounded all her former prides are.

He provides for her not having to go hungry for long (probably letting the cook know who she is) and shares her public humiliation cleaning up the scraps in the great company.

(Yes, some of this is magnified from the original in my retelling, but that is my prerogative as the teller.)

Mostly I was struck by the image of a great King who humbled himself to live alongside a useless princess so that he could protect her through trials that would make her more fit to be queen.

Our Engagement Story ~ one strand untangled

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God is gracious and knows all we need.

If my good man had followed this sensible advice offered on Boundless for our situation, we probably wouldn’t have married, because as much as I might have missed him, I wouldn’t have understood (or trusted) that the feeling meant I loved or needed him.

Seven years ago on the last day of May, I knew I loved him. And I was physically unable to say yes.

He hadn’t expected a “yes” right away (there are family stories about my mother and sister needing to be asked three times each), so when I couldn’t say anything serious,

“Would you consider marrying me?” he asked.

“Well, I’d consider it,” I said, answering his question.

he didn’t react much and we simply started back to the main trail. I watched his back the whole return along the narrow, winding moose track we’d explored together, and felt so disappointed.

I knew I wanted to marry him, but I’d lost my chance to say so, and was too overwhelmed to attempt revisiting the idea.

Weeks before this, before he had a ring, Jay described his search for just the right one. I was still praying and wrestling with the question of whether I could live without him. He said he’d finally decided to special-order a custom ring.

I was horrified.

“But it will be non-returnable!” I said at once, stopping to stare at him. “What will you do if I say ‘No.‘?”

He just kept walking, still holding my hand (we did a lot of walking in those early days), “I’ll just save it for the next time I ask.”

So I wasn’t afraid I’d utterly lost him, but I was sad, because I’d missed something precious.

We climbed onto the observation platform that looked over the marshy area we’d just come out of, and still neither of us had said anything. All that was going through my head was, I want to accept him, but I can’t say *yes.*

And then we had what these days you’d have to call a movie moment (because it seems both scripted and perfectly executed). The kind that makes certain viewers misty-eyed.

He wrapped me in his arms and said, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And there was my opening. God provided so graciously that I could accept without needing to say “Yes.”

“Me too,” I told him, turning around and hugging him back. He held me tighter for a moment, then, hesitatingly, he asked, “Would you like a ring on that?”

I nodded.

Even Jay may not know how often I’ve thanked God for my man’s gentle perseverance.

King Thrushbeard– A Tuesday Tale

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Once upon a time…

There was a king with a daughter so proud and clever he had a hard time getting her married off.

No one was good enough for her, and she put her wit poorly to use finding uniquely appropriate insults for each suitor– priding herself on never using the same insult twice.

She was making enemies and losing friends for her father, but the princess didn’t care. Finally, and at the end of a long line of last chances, the princess came face-to-face with a young king that she could find no fault in.

Unwilling to admit defeat, she brushed his narrow gotee with her finely formed fingers and laughed, calling him “King Thrushbeard,” and acted as though she thought him a very plain-looking man.

Turning from the princess the young king bowed slightly to the girl’s father and walked out without looking back. The old king was furious.

“The first beggar,” cried he, “the first swineherd, the first musician– the first thing at my gates that will pass as a man and take you away– you will marry him that same hour.”

The princess didn’t believe him, but the next morning as she ate her breakfast she heard her father speaking to someone as he approached the high table.

It was a beggar. A scraggly man with a dirty face who looked like he’d never eaten well in his life.

The princess was about to object to eating in the same room with such a man when the king raised his voice.

As I swore yesterday, I now hold to my word: Behold the bridegroom of the princess.”

The princess blanched, then nearly fainted as she heard her father say he would not allow the wife of a beggar to sit at the high table. Two soldiers guided her stumbling feet to the step where the beggar sat, eating scraps. She began to weep and was unable to eat any more.

With only a small, poor bundle, she was turned out of the palace to follow her new husband, and they walked for many days as they worked their way back to his homeland.

Continue reading »

Let Them be Warriors

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I have often felt sorry for modern boys and young men. They have so few chances to kinesthetically apply their problem-solving skills.

So few opportunities to be a hero.

Watching Honey I Shrunk the Kids a few years ago was the first time I really thought about this.

The greasy teenage boy changed from lazy and purposeless into a confident leader. I had to wonder how many of the high school guys I knew could have been marvelous rather than eye-rolling if they’d had the opportunity.

It’s started a new point of interest in my folktale collecting:

I’d really like to find some über-manly tales of knights and princes. The type that dominate the scene, according to the authors compiling books of women-centered folktales.

I guess I haven’t been paying enough attention up till now, because most of the stories I find don’t raise men nearly to the level women reach in their corresponding tales (trickster tales being the exception).

Even Cinderella, Snow White and The Sleeping Beauty— castigated as being about passive women– are still just about the women. I’ve noted before that in these stories the man is merely the accessory. A part of the packaged fantasy played out in the fairy tale.

Granted, I’m familiar with a lot of tales where a youngest son or some poor young man who is all alone is kind to the right person, finds the right friends, follows the advice of the wise man (or woman), and gets the girl, the gold or the kingdom, but they only rarely feel heroic.

Bryan Davis, the author of the Dragons in our Midst series (and another) wrote a fabulous article about the heart of heroism in boys and girls, and how naturally it plays out in line with the roles God ordained: Champion and encourager. Protector and helpmeet.

Read it. It gave me goosebumps (if that’s any additional recommendation).

So far in my brief search I have found two noteworthy books that I expect to buy by the time Elisha is a pre-schooler:

The title story from Lady of the Linden Tree is another good example of what I’m looking for, and is among the half-dozen or so of Picard’s tales I’d love to see in picture book format.

The Black Falcon, changed from its original incarnation in the Decameron, becomes a tale of sacrifice, about loving a person over a possession. The other is about a fierce battle, with honor, faithfulness, and the happy ending.

I’m keeping my eyes open for more like these, because as nice as it is to see the triumph of “the little guy,” I think it’s good, too, to have heroes that are larger than life.

My girls love their picture books with the pages of beautiful ladies and journeys that they can see themselves on. I want to give my son the same opportunity to identify with men of honor and bravery.

Yes, I hope to teach my son gentleness, but I also want to equip him with stories and images he can admire; those showing the proper use of strength and power.