Book review

In her book No More Perfect Moms, Jill Savage speaks of the damage unrealistic expectations can do to a woman's relationships and self-confidence. Women tend to be "contaminated" with what Savage calls "the perfection infection"; a need for our bodies, marriages, kids, friends, homes, homemaking; our very days to be perfect. Reality is not perfection. Unrealistic expectations only bring frustration and discontent with our lives and the real people in them.

Pride, fear, insecurity, and judging all work to keep us infected with perfectionism. We need to stop comparing ourselves to others or to media representations and change our expectations to something more realistic. Pride should be dropped for humility. Replace fear with courage. Take off insecurity and put on confidence. Leave judgement for grace.

Savage's last chapter deals with the very perfect God who counterbalances our imperfections. His love is unchanging, unconditional. His strength is made perfect in our weakness.

I so needed this shot of reality! I compare myself to others. I fall short. This makes me feel less than adequate in my own parenting journey. It causes a loop of derogatory self-talk, which makes me fearful and insecure. Courageous women are still fearful, but don't allow fear to stop them. I'm learning to look at myself as God does, through eyes of grace. Learning that the imperfections of my kids are not a reflection of me was very freeing. Taking care of my body is a stewardship issue and marriage is designed more to make me holy than to make me happy.

If you've ever felt isolated or "less than" as a mother, this is a great book - I highly recommend it! --Lisa White

My Imperfect Day

We haven't started back to school. Mommy did not do HER homework over the Christmas Break (planning for second semester), so second semester has been delayed a week. I did that today. I also tackled laundry; in a family of seven, if you don't do a load or two every day it becomes something nearly insurmountable. It hasn't been a daily thing lately. And as every mother knows, there's meals and dishes and cleaning and putting the toilet paper on the spindles. Somehow, there's finding time for relationships; God, Hubby, each one of your gems. By the time my hubby got home from the office (he usually works from home: I missed him TERRIBLY) I had nothing left to give him. I had mismanaged my time. My day was not perfect.

I recently tried a yeast-elimination diet at the advice of my doctor. Felt amazing for the first time in a long time! An unlooked side-effect? I lost ten pounds. I couldn't believe it was all due to the diet so I began eating as before. I'm in more pain than before and I've gained five pounds back. The diet reduces inflammation and helps some people with fibromyalgia, arthritis, migraines, and other inflammatory conditions. (These are the reasons I am on the diet; it's also good for thrush, recurrent yeast infections and is good for diabetics.) All these pain conditions have led me to a chronic use of ibuprofen: I now have an ulcer.  I'm learning to accept my high weight, the hairs on my chin, and the weird bump on my eyelid and I can "offer up" my pain for others, but acceptance is not the end. Change must be involved too. 1 Cor 6 tells me "you are not your own, you were bought at a price." Jill Savage, in her book No More Perfect Moms (you can read the first few chapters here) reminds us that "our bodies belong to God. He asks us to take care of our bodies and treat them like the Holy Spirit's precious home." She then goes on to recall to us that this is a stewardship issue. So I will go back on my diet, now that I know that, yes, all those good results really came from what I chose to eat. (Had I been in the Garden of Eden I would have been right there with Eve, questioning the serpent and curiously examining the forbidden fruit. Probably would have fallen with her, too. Sigh.) I'll try to move a little more; exercise my bulk. Continue to pluck and denude and ask the doc about the bump. My body is not perfect.

Because my body is not perfect I often have to rest. This includes naps if I over-do it. I over-did yesterday. I informed my two oldest children I was going to lay down and they were in charge. For Secunda, who is 14, this simply means be a guide if someone asks for help. For Primo, 16, this means get out the jackboots. Actually, I do him a disservice by making a joke like that. He has Asperger's Syndrome, and likes things just so, at a particular volume. When I am not there to help keep those parameters in place, he gets frustrated; which manifests in short-tempered bossiness that soon devolves into shouting which leaves my youngest (PPD-NOS) running to her room in noisy sobs, slamming the door behind her and leaves the informer (my other son, also on the autism spectrum) in my room. "Mom, you awake?" And a word-for-word account. Meanwhile, my two neuro-typical daughters are trying to smooth things over with their siblings. We extend grace and love and begin again. But the nap was pretty much over. My children are not perfect.

We have a Father whose children are not perfect. But he loves us perfectly. He looks at us through eyes of love and grace. He uses all things to grow us and mold us and shape us into the image of His son. While my day may not have been perfect, it was perfectly used. Thank you, O God of glory and grace.

Embrace Authentic

I really blew it last night. I didn't feel well at all yesterday; didn't even go to Mass. I REALLY did not feel well. But I did laundry. My husband and I just traded rooms with our youngest daughters, so I did a little bit of cleaning there. I came downstairs to see how things were going to find our artificial Christmas tree's base had broken; the tree had fallen. It was now propped against the stair rail. Taking down the tree had not been on my agenda, but I began wrapping ornaments and boxing them up. For the most part I worked alone. My husband fixed supper; we watched "Lorenzo's Oil"; and I went back to work on it. I had let our youngest three decorate the tree and it was LOADED. Hubby and my eldest were on computers; three children were upstairs; the 8 yr old was unwinding ribbon from the tree while I was trying to remove the lights. They were tangled. Tightly. I was huffing. No one got the hint. I started taking the tree apart to get the lights off - throwing the pieces in front of my husband's open office door. I was ticked. My self-talk had me with "never anything nice - this broken, old tree - have to take it down by myself - he's always on the computer - I feel so ill and no one cares or helps...." On and on. Bill finally came out of his office to ask what was going on. "I can't get these lights off and you care more about that #*%@ computer than you do me!"

A lie. And a petulant one at that. I regretted the words the instant they flew out of my mouth. Not only did I basely accuse my husband of not caring for me, but I did it within earshot of three of my children. My teenager ran upstairs, he was so upset by my outburst. I apologized, of course. I am so not where I want to be in this journey of Christianity, marriage, motherhood.

Time was when I would mull this mistake over and over in my mind; castigating myself. Sliding into a depression
because I am so not perfect.  Guess what? None of us are.

Jill Savage's new book No More Perfect Moms has hope for all of us striving to be better Christians, wives, and mothers. Starting tomorrow there will be a 31-day Email Challenge for which you do not need the book. Simply sign up! Check out the No More Perfect Moms website for great resources and the authentic stories of other moms. Finally, buy the book, but wait to do so until Feb 4-9. We're hoping enough people will buy the book in this first week of its release to get No More Perfect Moms on the New York Times Bestseller list. This will serve the purpose of getting the book into the hands of even MORE women who desperately need this message.

I have read the book through once as a member of the Launch Team for this wonderful book. I am now reading through it a second time and taking notes so I can blog my way through it. Check back often. Until then - embrace authentic!

No More Perfect Moms

This is the title of Jill Savage's newest book, to be released in February. I've been looking forward to reading it since I first heard it was in the "birthing" process because I am, face it, a Mom who needs these words of wisdom. I have felt a flat-out failure before when I have blown it with my kids. I am very, VERY guilty of the comparison game; and I always come up WAY short. Of course, as Jill points out, I'm comparing my insides (which I know are dark and squirmy) with other women's bright, shiny outsides. The sides they only show to the world. I have several friends who have it all together - or so it seems - and I so want to be like them! But I have no idea what they may be hiding in their dark and squirmy insides. On the outside they're...perfect. And I'm...not. I am so not perfect. So I waited anxiously for Jill's book to be released.

Guess what? I no longer have to wait! I've been chosen to be part of the launch team for No More Perfect Moms! How exciting is that?! I get to pre-read the book and write a review to be published wherever I can send it. I get to pre-read the book and present it to my Mom's Group, because it contains a message we all need to hear. I get to pre-read the book! I am looking forward to the blessings God will bring from Jill's writing.

If my friends are interested in No More Perfect Moms (as well you should be!), please do not pre-order the book. Wait until it is released in February. Let's see if we can get Jill on the best-seller list! More to come from me about this topic!

Overcoming the World

"These things I have spoken to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you shall have distress: but have confidence, I have overcome the world."
--John 16:33

"Live like no one else so you can live (and give) like no one else."
--Dave Ramsey

"It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!" Sometimes. "Walking in a Winter Wonderland." Actually, it's been one of the warmest Holiday seasons I can remember (I'm not complaining, mind you). "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." It's barely Advent! In the course of general, every-day errands, I've had occasion to hear all these songs and more in the last two weeks; frantically urging me to get in the "Holiday Spirit" and SPEND already! Give, Give, GIVE to everyone I know, the bigger (i.e. more expensive) present the better, so they will be sure to they're loved.

Guess what? Love cannot be bought.

I have been struggling with the world's notion of the Holiday season this year. Everything is so rushed, so materialistic, so meaningless. Our consumer-driven society simply adds to this sense.

My husband and I recently completed Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. We are valiantly trying to get our fiscal house in order. This time of year is especially tough for me to do that because I am by nature a generous, giving person. I LOVE to find just the right gift(s) for the special people in my life; imagining their joy in receiving this well-thought-out choice. So the frenetic pace of Christmas-upon-us and the turtle-speed of our Baby Steps is discouraging to me. And we're trying to have a less expensive Christmas; so I'm left with a general enviousness. A dis-satisfaction. Not good. After all, that's not what this season is about, anyway.

I really like celebrating Advent. A time of waiting, anticipation, looking forward to the birth of the Lord. And to His second-coming. We "build-a-tree"; putting a few purple ornaments per evening on it (one per child). On Gaudete Sunday we start putting pink ornaments on the tree. Usually we cannot wait until Christmas Eve to fully decorate the tree, but it's always the last week of Advent. We light our wreath, with readings and "O Come, O Come Emmanuel". We do a few service projects as a family (we can always give, even if not monetarily).

Our family is getting used to being... counter-cultural. We are a "large" nuclear-family who truly enjoys the company of each other. We homeschool. We live on one income. We make nearly all our meals (including bread, yogurt, etc.) from scratch. We are faithful Catholics. We celebrate Advent before Christmas. We do not have credit cards. This list could probably go on...we do not want to be like the world at large.

With God's grace, we don't have to be like the world. Christ has overcome the world. Our goal is to model Christ. This has been extremely comforting to me as I try to stop struggling with what "I" want to do, to give, to buy and focus instead on the true meaning of and pace of this season.

Happy Advent!

Bittersweet Birthday

My baby turned eight yesterday. Her birthday is always bittersweet to me. I celebrate the wonderful, beautiful, joyful child Quinta is. Oh, how I celebrate that! But there's always a little regret on this day that there will be no more children born to us. Even now, as I approach my 47th birthday, that regret is there.

Quinta's pregnancy was my sixth. The others had been difficult; with dangers for Mom and Baby, so our approach was super-cautious. When I began spotting at 12 weeks, I went on bedrest. Saw the obstetrician every two weeks with an ultrasound every month. That got us to 36 weeks, when a minor placental abruption and fetal distress called for an emergency c-section.

I got a spinal epidural, so I was awake during the procedure. Her birth was uneventful; she was whisked to the NICU to be taken care of, accompanied by her daddy. I was feeling terrible. I could feel tugging and hear intense whispering of my surgical team. Then I felt heat and blackness at once over my face as I heard someone say, "Hang a unit of blood!"

"It's a miracle she was ever pregnant at all." The gentle assistant surgeon's voice was the first thing I heard as I came to consciousness. Then my own Catholic doctor's voice as she leaned over me, "It's gone, Lisa. We had to take it." She was talking about my uterus. My womb. Gone. My first reaction? Relief. I've regretted the circumstance ever since; but the first reaction was relief.

We had talked about the possibility of this happening. Four of my previous pregnancies had ended in abruptio placentae; with this latest abruption...the more abruptions a woman has, the greater her risk of placenta accreta, where the placenta will not detach from the wall of the uterus. This was indeed what had happened to me. I fainted from blood loss caused by trying to deliver a placenta so deeply embedded into the uterine wall that it was pulling the uterus inside-out. I only needed two units of blood because they responded so quickly to the need, getting the diseased uterus out. I woke as they were examining the uterus, which was so full of endometrial scars and fibroid tumors that it was indeed a miracle I had ever been pregnant.

God gave me six miracles; yet I regret not having more. A dear friend once accused me of "collecting" children. Is that what I'm doing? Not loving each of my miracles enough because I want to accumulate more? I don't think so. I don't have "baby fever" each time I hold the tiny blessings my friends have. It's just when Quinta's birthday rolls around, so near to my own birthday, that this regret creeps in to lessen the joy just a bit. Bittersweet.

Revolving-Door Confessional

My husband and I used to tag-team for the Sacrament of Reconciliation. One would watch the increasing number of little children while the other would enter the confessional. Then, after lucky number one's penance was done, he or she would watch the children so the spouse could be shriven. By the time said spouse was finished, number one's soul did not feel so bright and shiny any longer after dealing with the stresses little children inevitably bring and a return trip to the confessional was often joked about. This is when we began talking about the need for a confessional with a revolving door.

Concupiscence. Paul in Romans 8 describes it well, saying he does what he doesn't want to do, and doesn't do what he would like. We all know it well; but I am a worm and know it better than most.

I went to avail myself of the Sacrament of Reconciliation Saturday. Truly contrite and profoundly grateful for absolution, I said my penance next to my oldest daughter in the back row right which seems to be reserved for penitents in our church. Then, since we were staying for Mass, we moved forward in the church, where I sat contentedly contemplating Jesus on the Cross. Yes, God forgive me, I was looking at the crucifix in church, speaking with my Lord, and perfectly content. Complacent. Complacency does me in every time.

One of the entrances to our church needs repaired; the door slams shut rather than closing slowly and quietly. Most of the people know this, but don't think to catch the door and close it themselves. The third time the door's slam interrupted my reverie my first thought was "Damn it, can't you catch the door?!" My eyes travelled back to Jesus on the cross. I was no longer content, but convicted. My sins, including these just committed, had put Him there. Not only had I used foul language IN CHURCH, but I was being uncharitable to my fellow parishioners (I have a special problem with being charitable and never fail to mention it in the confessional). I felt I should make an about-face and march right back into the booth. Then I saw the Sacristan heading to the back with Father's chasuble. Too late.

Fortunately, these were venial sins and receiving Jesus' Precious Body wiped those sins away. My own contrite heart was fertile ground for His saving action. I thought I had a bright, shiny soul - for ten minutes! Turns out my attitude of heart and mind may have made the time less than that. Concupiscence. I still need a revolving-door confessional.