Multi-tasking vs. Single-tasking

Every mom learns the language of multi-tasking the second her precious child is born. All of the sudden, this 8 pounder needs to be changed, fed, burped,and rocked. As subsequent children are born, her multi-tasking vocabulary expands even more as she attempts to meet the needs of more children. It's a requirement at times, but not always.

Unfortunately and fortunately, multi-tasking is my first language. My native tongue. Of course, multi-tasking has its benefits, but it also has its pitfalls. I love to accomplish. The more I multi-task, the more I achieve. I recall coming home from the grocery store when Oldest was an infant -- holding him with one arm, propping a bottle in his mouth with my chin, and emptying grocery bags away with my "free" hand. Accomplish much? Yes, I guess so. But, I missed watching him swallow as he guzzled his milk. I missed the way he gazed at me when I looked at him.

Slowly, but surely, I am learning the language of single-tasking. Focusing on the moment, that thing right in front of me. Whether it is a task or a child or a conversation. There is something to be said for focus and living in the moment. I think multi-tasking makes me believe if I hurry through these moments, there will be more time for focusing at the end. That's the lie of multi-tasking since there is always more to do.

When I drive my car without the distraction of a cell-phone conversation, I am enriched by conversation with my own children. Often we use that time to pray together or just to talk. Really talk. I don't want to miss out on that.

When we go on a bike-ride or walk, it is tempting to "plug in" to my I-pod and engage in a podcast or song. I can do that when I am alone. I miss questions like, "Why are the leaves on the tree brown instead of green?" I miss the hoops and hollars of two brothers racing down the street on bikes.

On the homefront, multi-tasking tends to make mistakes. Recipes gone bad due to a missing ingredient. Boiled-over jam. A hose left on. A boy in the shower way too long.

I am paraphrasing from the book, "A Thousands Gifts". What often comes to mind is a paragraph Ann Voskamp had on hurrying. She said that being in a hurry empties the soul. Nothing good ever came from being in a hurry. When I am in a hurry, my kids are in a hurry. Hurry causes stress.

For me, a by-product of multi-tasking is being in a hurry to do one more quick thing. I'm learning the value of sitting and making no plans. The blank "to do" list is a beautiful thing, like a clean slate or a freshly-washed load of laundry. It is an invitation to live un-hurried and just enjoy this moment! Living life fully-engaged and realizing there is time to do everything God has on my plate for today. Jesus was never in a hurry, right? He constantly did the next right "thing", not the next right "things".

I'll continue practicing this new, foreign-language. It won't be perfect or without the need for interpretation. My vocabulary will continue to expand as I explore this thing called single-tasking. Perhaps I will accomplish more by doing less.....or accomplish more of what is truly important anyway.

Time for breakfast with Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy. I'll notice the "everything" on my bagel --- poppyseeds, onion flakes, sesame seeds, and fluffy cream cheese. I'll note the spikey- hair on three bed-headed boys. We'll take our time and talk about what we want to do today. We might share a joke or two. I'm going to laugh at the answer because its funny and I really heard the answer. I was listening. Yes, I like this single-tasking stuff.

The multi-single-tasker of them all --
Mommyontheboysturf

True Greatness

Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy said good-bye to their Papa last week. My Dad-in-law "graduated" to Heaven. In his last days, this military veteran often spoke of "going on leave" soon. Yes, he did indeed leave this world, an extended leave in Heaven for eternity.

As I reflect over the last week and all the events that occurred, I am utterly amazed at God's faithfulness even to the end, down to every detail. His timing so perfect even in death. Rising higher than the feelings of sadness and mourning, are a great sense of pride and honor to have known my husband's father for 14 years.

He was a man of greatness. I learned this weekend while reading documents that he was 5 feet, 8.5 inches. I saw him much taller than that. Perhaps it was his character that was larger than life. Small in stature maybe, but great in heart and humility. Noble.

Some characteristics I admired about my father-in-law --- some I experienced first-hand and others I just learned in speaking to family recently.

1. He was a many of integrity. He was the type of man that would find a pen behind his ear on his drive home from work and turn around to return it.

2. He took care of my mother-in-law who suffered with cancer for 21 years WITHOUT a word of complaint. Not a mutter. This is amazing to me!

3. He had my husband, his 4th child, at the age of 51. Can you imagine? And, he raised him well.

4. He worked hard and persevered to care for his family in every way.

5. He had a delivery truck and among delivering "goods", he also used it to transport teenagers to church services and conventions.

6. He shared Christ with many people throughout his life.

7. He had an uncanny ability to answer a question with a question. This is clearly hereditary. Have you ever heard my husband do this? Hmmm.....

8. He served in World War II.

9. He loved ice cream. It is said that you aren't in the family unless you love ice cream. I fit in the family quite well and my boys are clearly their papas grandsons.

10. He was generous.

11. He often spoke of his "good life". His attitude determined his altitude. He did suffer hardship most certainly, yet his attitude said otherwise.

12. He was ready to meet Jesus. He had accepted Christ as his personal Saviour. He lived his life to attain eternity with Jesus.

13. He raised four wonderful children. My brothers-in-law and sister-in-law exemplify many of the traits above. My husband is a gift to me in more ways than I can count.

14. He was truly a man of greatness, leaving a lasting legacy.

Thank you, Papa, for living your life the way you did -- with uprightness, self control, and dignity. Thank you for leaving a legacy that we are proud to pass on to Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy. We too are ready to meet Jesus and we are thankful for a godly heritage.

It isn't good-bye, it is see you soon!

"Picky Nicky"

In the mid 70's "Nicole" was a popular name. For all the Nicoles' out there, we have all been called, "Picky Nicky" at some time or another. It rings true for me too.

Definition 1: To Pick - transitive verb choose something or somebody: to take, or decide to take, one or more things or people from a larger number.

There is power in picking. Power in being the pick-ee and power in being picked and power in not being picked.

My school years afforded many occassions for not being picked in physical education class. How I despised standing in a line waiting to be picked for a team. I hated being in the remaining bottom two and still not being chosen. I was added to the last team by default. Truthfully, I didn't add value to the team. I was not athletically inclined. Not being picked only added to my humiliation on any type of field or court.

Add 50 pounds to any junior high girl and not being picked spreads beyond gym class. Boyfriends. Dances. The whole nine yards. Not being picked = rejection.

Definition 2: To Pick - transitive verb undo something: to loosen, unfasten, or separate something into disconnected parts, especially something that was sewn together

The result of definition 1 is definition 2.

Today my "picky" thoughts are running wild after listening to a broadcast on foster care. My sister and her husband, after having two children of their own, made the decision to take babies into their home through foster care. A noble thing to do. In essence, they are "picking" children who may feel "unpicked". Each child is brought into their home and cared for and loved as their own. They are given the very best and an abundance of love! The message overflowing in their home is, "You are worth it! You are chosen! You are picked! You are not disconnected or separated. You are part of us."

In my own life, fast forward a few decades. Saturday I am running yet another 1/2 marathon. Most likely, my perseverence and motivation stems from enduring elementary gym class! I am absolutely cherished, chosen, and chased by my wonderful husband and three sons. The Lord has lavished His love on and in my life. I am chosen. I have been picked! In fact, the night before I got married my mom read me the storybook, "I'd Choose You." It is about an elephant (Mom, what were you thinking...after all that trauma, an elephant!? Just kidding.), that gets the last seat on the bus, the worst lunch, and the last one picked on the team. The mother elephant says over and over in the book, "If I could have anyone in all the world, I would still choose you." (Thanks mom!)



Now, do I have any choice but to be a pick-ee? I have the power to pick everyday by adding value to lives, by loving like Christ, and by lavishing grace on others.

Colossians 3:12 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

Signed -
Not Picky Nicky, but Pick-ee Nicky

Take the Stairs

Earlier this week, Daddy announced a book he is currently reading titled Take the Stairs. I have not read the book. However, I immediately formed an opinion of what I think it should be about. />
"Take the Stairs" has become a famous quote throughout the week. What does it mean to me? Don't take the elevator or the easy way or the pain free way. Take the stairs. Do the work. Make the effort. Give 100%.

Success comes from taking the stairs when any other way is easier. It is a combination of self-control, discipline, strength, perserverence, and tenacity. It strengthens instead of enables.

In boysturf language that means, give it your best the first time. Use your best handwriting. Complete the assignment. Get your pee in the toilet. If you get it out, put it away. Give LIFE your ALL.

In mothering, I can "take the stairs" by responding calmly instead of reacting. Preparing well for homeschooling. Managing my home, time, and money. Taking breaks so I don't break.
The concept is found over and over in the Bible, Colossions 3:17, "Whatever you do.....do it with all your heart." Even loving God isn't for wimps. Deutoronomy 6:5, "Love the Lord with ALL your heart, soul, mind, and strength." Philippians 3:14, "I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." We are talking about pressing on and taking the stairs. Doing LIFE and loving God with your whole heart.
Really, it is probably the other way around. When I love God with my whole heart, soul, mind and strength, I am much more apt to "take the stairs" in all I do and in my relationships. The temptation to take the elevator looms, but the reward is in taking the stairs.
Climbing on..... Mommontheboysturf

Thirty. First.

The 31st of March marks Babyboy's 3rd Birthday. I am gearing myself up for this out-of-toddler-years promotion.

Babyboy is my baby. He will always be my Babyboy. I just don't like all these LASTS. By next year at this time I probably won't need to carry him through the parking lot. His stroller might have strolled its last stroll. All traces of pull-ups and sippy-cups will be extinct.

A radio podcast speaker that I heard recently said that he would pay $10,000 to go back and tuck his kids, now young adults, into bed one more time. Last weekend, when Babyboy was calling from his bed for the 4th or 5th time, Daddy said, "I'm saving myself $10,000." and headed upstairs. I didn't quite get it. "Remember, the $10,000? I want to tuck him in while I still can." Good point Daddio.

Instead of getting annoyed with my almost-three Babyboy, I am trying to cherish all that he brings. Tantrums when it is time to come inside. Spills when he wants to do things by himself. Occassional potty-accidents. Questions. Too many outfit changes every day. Yet,he is such a joy! An early-bird. An animal-cracker-muncher like his mommy. A Toby-Mac rap fan due to Oldest and Middleson. A smart little whip. A lover of the outdoors. A Matchbox zoomer. A Psalm 23 memorizer. Mommy's little helper. Daddy's biggest fan.

The 31st is fast approaching. I'm stalling like I have every mid-March since he was born. Today I'm savoring it all. I mowed the grass and he watched me from the window. I motioned for him to join me with his lawnmower and his smile was one of a winner of a million dollars. He followed me around the grass like a baby duckling.

Babyboy, in less than a week, you will be a grown-up three year old. Three year olds can do so many things! Today you are still my toddler-two-year-old and I plan to baby you as much as possible. I love you!

Miracle at the Mechanic

This post has absolutely nothing to do with my boys or my 30 minutes or the boysturf. Maybe more like daddyscarinthegarageturf.

Over the weekend we had a comical round of vehicles deciding not to start. We joked that our garage had some sort of virus causing dead batteries or something. That's why we buy the vehicles we do -- reliable with few issues. We keep them well maintained.

Saturday morning, 9:30, on our way to Middleson's 9:40 basketball game. The van sputtered. We made a mad dash to stash this family of five into Daddy's car including a quick carseat installation. Crank. Sputter. Nothing. Woudn't start. After several attempts we made it to the game. No problems coming home.

Daddy quickly jumped the van. Ready for the 1:10 basketball game for Oldest. After brunch with friends we repeat the above scenario. Every bit of it. The sputtering van, transfer of family and carseat.....and no start to car. Repeat. Drive to game just in time.

By Saturday at 4pm we have ZERO working vehicles. Nice neighbor takes Daddy and van battery to auto parts store. Bad battery. Stores fault. Exchange. Replaced. Working van.

The car issue was not so easily remedied. After ruling out that the battery was in good working order, talented Daddy continued his diagnosis. Starter. No big deal. Okay, it was a big deal. In this particular car the starter is located underneath the engine or that is how it has been explained to me.

This job is for a real mechanic not my can-do-just-about-anything husband.

Neighbors come to the rescue with a call for a tow truck. Tow man starts the car after several (X several more) times. We immediately deliver the car to the mechanic to begin his work today.

I choked when I heard the estimate today. We all did. It wasn't that the part was sooo astronomical. It was the many hours of labor. There goes my dreams for my new dishwasher and refrigerator. Out the car door they go. (Get it? Out the door. Out the car door. Ha. Ha.)

We, as a family, decided to rejoice in our trials (James 1) and trust in the Lord (Proverbs 3). We prayed for a miracle.

Mechanic calls hours into the morning "repair",while I paced and prayed for the quick, but wise/thorough mechanic. He tested the starter and it works perfectly. There is absolutely NO problem with the car. He started it twenty times.

"It's a miracle!" hubby said to the mechanic without receiving a reply.

$30 later our car is ready for pick-up.

Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy dance with excitement. "God healed our car!" Middleson wisely stated, "Mommy, it was a test of faith."

Today I am thanking God for answered prayer, childlike faith, and the miracle at the mechanic.

LoVe DaY

Valentines Day 2012 captured a wonderful memory for me. I noticed a flurry of activity on the 13th. Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy constructing cards, whispering, and planning. I overlooked the spilled chocolate chips. I won an award for acting when I walked by Babyboy's room and pretended I didn't see paper scraps and hearts.

Daddy and I had our own share of secrets, devising a first-thing-in-the-morning Valentines Party complete with candles, decor, and pancakes. I cheezed it right up by wearing a heart-shaped bear pin that says, "Have a Beary Happy Valentines Day." It was given to me by my Grandma when I was a little girl. It isn't me, fashion speaking. But, I knew Babyboy would eat it up. He did. He loved it! The pink heart napkins, heart stickers, and red shiny hearts thrilled Babyboy to pieces.

MeeMaw, as if on cue, sent cards and games to be enjoyed by all smack in the middle of our festivities.

While partaking maple-syrup drenched pancakes each boy (sticky-fingered) retrieved the cards he had attempted to keep a secret.

I realized later in the afternoon how UNselfish my children had been. Love was in the air! Oldest was given a single piece of Beef Jerky. Knowing how much Daddy loves beef jerky and how rarely he eats it, Oldest saved it and insisted that Daddy eat it.

My pastor preached a sermon recently stating that HATE is not the opposite of LOVE. Selfishness is the opposite of love. It is true!

Yesterday was a proud mommy moment for me as I experienced selfless acts toward one another. THATS what Valentines Day is all about!