Saturday, November 11, 2017

Purging Payne

It's that time of year...

It starts with digging through all the too-small items bloating the dress up boxes to find the pirate hook and the other hulk hand {possibly for the same costume}...

It grows when a search through the board game shelf fails to yield the Monopoly Jr money card {which the cash machine will NOT work without}, but does uncover 7 varying "Go Fish" games... all partial...

It is furthered by the seasonal "hand-me-down" clothing swap where i sort through dozens of pairs of shoes to realize we don't actually have the needed 1/2 size in winter foot wear for two fourths of our children and we have 17 pairs of boots that fit the other half of them...

It spirals beyond containment when the little consumers would rather spend time looking at Amazon or catalogues making wish-lists than use that time to actually play with the toys they already own...

If the thought of four children's {even scaled way back} Christmas booty doesn't spring me into purging mode... then what will?!? [Definitely NOT Spring! That season is for open windows and long runs as you smell lilacs and hear birds!] But, since i somehow inherited my mom's hate of pointless storage clutter AND my father's fear of "needing it someday," motivation is not enough to really convince me to part with the excess.  So i'm digging deep and leaning hard into some strategies that i hope will help me feel less tied to the things that need to be gone.

Procrastination:
i AM presently writing a blog post that approximately 17 people will read and chuckle at instead of ACTUALLY cleaning out toy boxes, book shelves, and drawers... But at the same time, i hope that taking a minute to mentally process and enjoy the form of thought organization that most restores me will bring the benefit of a clearer thought process and less anxious tone to the sorting.

Visiting Ms. C:
My neighbor could be described as elderly. She has a gorgeous house, a failing memory and cancer {which she sometimes forgets to take her meds for}. She enjoys sitting on her porch, my children, and telling stories. A walker assists her slow and limited wanderings. Ms. C doesn't wish she had more stuff. Her memories that come as they will aren't found in boxes of treasures from the past. Her full cupboards, closets and drawers are ignored by her simple and still life. Few of her "things" better her days the way minimilism does. This is good to see now. There is no need to store up for a possible future when stuff is just more burdensome at the far side of a full life.

Counting the Hours:
Since i have graduated to a Stay-at-Home mom of grade schoolers, our house is empty more hours of the day than it is occupied. There is very little playing in the mornings as we prepare to catch the bus. We are home from the bus by 3:30. Our death grip on the belief that early bedtimes save lives means that the littles are in bed by 7 and the bigs by 8 on school nights. This leaves a maximum of 4.5 hours in which homework and chores and dance classes {and parties} and sports and AWANA and dinner and friends all must happen. At this rate, it would take an {estimated} 9.7 years for every toy, book, video game, craft supply, etc to be utilized by a minimum of 3/4 of the Payne kids... I’m certain that's mathematically accurate {made up}. Keeping this in mind makes it much easier to minimize and accentuate the best, most favorite toys and let the excess be removed.

Imaginary Bugs:
i was holding out on another board game shelf story... while searching fruitlessly for the lost 2.1 millimeter sized Monopoly Jr. money card {without which the game does not work} , i pulled out another game only to find it covered in stink bugs {tis the season}! i no longer want any of those games. This {traumatic} experience has inspired an idea in me though... what if i told myself that each bin of toys had centipedes in it? If there's nothing worth attempting to rescue from those spawns of satan in those bins, maybe i should just donate the whole shebang and move on. What if the toy box had spider eggs in it which are just about to hatch? How many of the toys it holds merit reaching my hand through the imaginary webs and chancing spider eggs? Only those toys should make the cut.

Could Someone Else Enjoy It?
Maybe it used to be one of the little Payne's favorites... Maybe we have sweet memories of when they were mini enough to wear it... Maybe we really thought they'd be interested in something yet in reality we never got into it... Maybe it is worth actual money {if i actually had bought it full-price at a store instead of inheriting or thrifting it}... But what if someone else could currently and effectively USE it? What if that name brand piece of clothing fulfilled a need in a sparse closet? What if another baby could enjoy drooling on it? What if another kitchen would actually use the gadget that my cupboard only stores? Could a school prize box benefit from the Happy Meal toys i totally despise? What if a story could be discovered by new eyes and ears instead of adding to the Tetris-like experience of putting books away? Opening myself up to the possibility that there is still use in the things i want to "cherish" in storage makes it much easier to release. After all, in the times we ended up "needing it later," we've seen stuff come back around.

They Don’t Need It:
The other day Maverick literally asked me “Mom, can you hand me one of those empty water bottles so I can play?” {yes... my van does look like you’re imagining from that statement} There are toys and books in the van within his reach, but what kept him entertained for the 17 minutes we were in transit {and the next hour we were home}? Trash. Trash kept him occupied. He imagined and innovated and created and played with literal garbage. May I  not fear robbing my children from some kind of experience because I lessen the amount of stuff. Only boring people are bored, and these growing Paynes are far from boring.

Watch Hoarders:
Is that really where i want to be? Invest an hour in that show and then get to clearing out ALL the stuff! When i hear the exact excuses i've been using to hold onto things come out of that show... it's time to clean house {literally}.

Alas my list has come to an end... now the rubber hits the road and we shall see if these strategies prove useful. Happy clearing, my lovely friends. Feel free to share your strategies and stories as you manage the many things we have all been blessed with.



Thursday, August 17, 2017

Graduation Payne

It looks like the first day of school, but in reality it's graduation day at the house of Payne!!! See, I just unintentionally spent the last eleven years mothering preschoolers. So basically I earned my bachelor degree, took 3 years to get a masters degree, then earned my mommy doctorate in four years. {Does it take 4 years to get a doctorate? I don't know, because that fact has been completely irrelevant to me raising little humans...} And on this 16th day of the Month of August 2k17, I put all four miniature Paynes on school buses!

It's a whole new world for me! {pause reading to belt out "A whole new world" in dramatic Aladdin style} I have survived eleven years of infant, toddler and preschool constant connection and I'm feeling a bunch of feels...

I feel EXCITED!
Full-time parenting, like ALL worthwhile endeavors, is stinking hard! It is a constant balancing act and that tight rope is exhausting. The mental capacity to teach tiny beings human ways and then answer their never-ceasing barrage of questions is intense. The physical stamina to keep up with them is demanding. The emotional intentionality of disciplining and guiding and loving and growing and limiting and all the things is depleting. The search for babysitters who don't grow up and increase their own responsibility of their busy lives who are cool with getting paid in pizza and good conversation is a nightmare. So I'm thrilled to have HOURS during the days when I'm kid-free!!! Besides, i recognize the specific breathing pattern one of the littles uses when he poops, so it's safe to say we could use a bit of space.

I feel SAD...
I like my kids. They're so weird and cool. They make me laugh daily and their hugs warm my heart. I like observing them being who God made them and dreaming about who He is making them... Their imagination spurs my mind. Their playing motivates me to enjoy life. Their singing makes me bold. Their dance moves slay. Watching them figure things out and grow in understanding is amazing, and I'm passing them onto others for HOURS during the days. It may be a touch of Stockholm syndrome as I mourn being tortured for hours everyday with questions about smells {what their source is, how it works, the molecules involved, the person doing said stinking and/or smelling...}, but my heart is sad at their absence.

I feel WORRIED.
This is my 3rd round of "first day of kindergarten" milestones, and yet the first time I was tempted to send in a "good luck" gift to kindergarten teachers. One is not going to stop talking. Also, he's not paying attention to you... not even a little. He doesn't mean to be ignoring you, his ears are just somehow connected to his imagination {which is always running}. Also the littlest one understands how to work you and the system you serve. Watch your back or you'll be grunting more and he'll be talking less at the end of this nine weeks... Also, the first baby to ever grow {huge} inside of me got on a school bus at the butt crack of dawn with HiGhScHoOLeRs!!! I imagine these monsters have been spending the entirety of their summer scheming how they can devestate the innocence of sixth graders in 23 minute increments! It'll be a miracle if she escapes the first day without a contact buzz! And the sensitive Payne got a teacher who may be a yeller... The whole public school thing reminds me in many ways that "my control" is a mirage and calls me to a deeper trust of the All Powerful One.

I feel GRATEFUL!
It's obvious I didn't successfully double the amount of Payne children twice over (1 to 2, 2 to 4) and then nurture them to school age by myself! So Jimmy Fallon style thank you's happening here... Thank you Baby-Daddy, for working hard at your job so I could stay home and complain about staying home. You brought sexy back to fathering. Thank you babysitters, for allowing me to ask you the most and pay you the least for sitting on my babies. You saved my sanity. Thank you Church, for showing up for the long haul. You showered our family with baby gear and diapers and hand-me-downs and meals. You held us and taught us and loved us. We are deeply thrilled to be a part of the family of Christ. Thank you Moms, for being my teammates. Your advice and examples and comradery showed me the way. Thank You Jesus, for giving me these years of forced selflessness to spend on four of Your awesome little ones. You alone know the depths of my pride and selfishness that need rooted out, and the way You chose to use parenting to continue that work blesses my heart. Thank you early bedtimes, for saving the lives of the Payne children. I look forward to continuing our close relationship.

My "future" plans are not yet clear as I presently can't see past the excitement of possibly getting some housework done without little ones undoing it simultaneously... but today I celebrate with a run, some coffee, the river, and writing. And look forward to hearing how Jesus showed Himself with them at school today.

Friday, July 21, 2017

Running Away

Dear Mom,

I'm running away.

You probably feel shocked and confused at this news {mostly because I haven't lived at home for 18 years}, but you need to know WHY my sleeping bag and knapsack are missing. Hence this note. And while the timing of this note's arrival may be out of the ordinary, the reasons are standard:

I want my own room.
There's no space here! No where that my physical and emotional clutter aren't looming. Sure, my housemates are adorable and my roommate is a stud, but turns out I'm no good at sharing. My selfishness apparently has no bounds... my time, my body, my schedule, my bathroom, my energy, my money {jk I don't have any money}, my space, my sleep, my thoughts, my food, my words, my bed... I'm so weary of sharing and I wasn't even aware that I had been attempting it in my own strength. And sometimes marriage is just weird. We have a really great marriage. We love each other deeply and enjoy each other usually. But some seasons are just awkward and I don't even know why or how to proceed.

The rules are too burdensome.
Stay in bed until the light turns green. Don't feed the dog from the table. You can jump off, but not on, the couch. No screaming! Toothbrushes aren't to be suctioned to the toilet. No questions during nap times or when mom is having a meltdown. Ask before leaving the house (especially if you're nonverbal and stealthy). Don't use your brother's frustration to make yourself feel powerful. A shower only counts if your hair is wet at the end of it. Poop goes in the potty. Do not touch the coffee nut M&M's. Don't pull the dog's tail! Keep your hands to yourself during meals. "Asked and answered" means you're not allowed to keep asking. A mumbled apology is unacceptable. You don't have to enjoy a chore to do it well. Come when I call (do not yell "what" from behind a closed door across the house). Yackety yak don't talk back... on and on it goes and literally none of these can be enforced whilst sitting on the couch!!! There's really only two rules: "Love God, and love others" with a healthy dose of "honor your parents" sprinkled in the mix. But practically guiding four little lives at various stages every day has me waving the white flag...

It's not fair.
There is no cotton candy here. Ferris wheels abide somewhere else. Here i can work hard all day and no one can spot a difference. I can lead my best, but they really are miniature humans with their own choices to be made. I can over think and clearly communicate and still be misunderstood. Here I can 100% desire to understand what our littlest one is trying to communicate and it still is just an angry sounding grunt at varying decibel levels that I cannot translate. Here I'm not allowed to scream at them regardless of how much they are screaming {and how natural it comes out}. I have to ask for forgiveness even though I still feel really really really justified in my sin. Also I have to forgive when being wronged is the closest thing I feel to power... It's just not fair.

No one cares about me.
I recognize that this is a straight up lie, but my emotions continue to disregard that memo. My mind can see that there are five extremely caring people surrounding me day in and day out. But my feelings love to interpret the scenario as they only care that i can meet their needs. For if it wasn't for me, who would load the dishwasher or microwave their supper or wipe the butts or launder their clothes or buy the groceries from the store? It's not so much that no body likes me or that everybody hates me... there's no call for worm eating... it's just that maybe that's how I'm seeing myself and blaming those closest to me for my misperceptions...

But running away is easier than figuring that out...

Yet I find strength... even if it's simply strength to stay. Even if there's only strength for this moment. Even if it's simply the realization that God has made some really awesome tiny humans and my job is to just not screw them up. And caving to my deepest selfish desire to do solely what I want through running away would definitely screw them up... so I stay.

And I look around at all the other brave warriors who are also choosing to stay in their battle. And I cry. And I apologize. And I confess my unforgiveness. And I acknowledge the prick of Holy Spirit hope that whispers "struggling here is winning"...


Thursday, June 22, 2017

Baptizing Paynes

The church picnic at the river means baptisms. This year a Payne had responded to the call and decided to publicly state that he wants to follow Jesus with his whole life. The day is gorgeous...

As a mom, I wrestle with knowing if he really understands. Does he grasp the idea of giving his young life away to the One who can save him from his own destructive desires? Does he realize he's acknowledging the right of God to put His lovingly firm finger on any place in his heart at any time? Does he see that he can trust this God fully, because He is a good, faithful and true God? As a child, the peace of Jesus guards my mind with the reminder that I don't have to know. I can simply watch and see what God is doing in his life.

Then we have a Sunday morning...

I prepared the night previous. We had adequate time. They were ready and relaxing. Until the one who desires deeply to have the power to control others once again tried it out on the one who just refuses to be controlled. I warned. I followed through. I repeated. I clarified. I redirected... then I. Lost. It. Regardless of my initial best attempts, I was screaming at the literal top of my lungs in pure anger. Fuming over the fact that the one who was preparing to stand up and declare his life in Christ was intent on feeling power from controlling his brother into frustration and was willing to disobey me to my face in order to do so, I broke.

My scream hurt more than my throat and the neighborhood's tranquility....

With all Paynes in time out {including myself}I poured it all out to the God {whose idea it was for me to have this many kids anyway}... 
"i'm so furious." I know.
"i tried!!! i did all that i knew to do!" I saw. 
"We're not going to the picnic! He's not getting baptized! I am the One who makes that call. 
"He clearly doesn't want to follow You! He can't even follow simple directions that will avoid getting him in trouble with me!!!" I see you struggle too. 
"i'm so sorry for yelling! i hate that i yelled. i hate that i let my anger control me!" I forgive you. 
"But i'm still mad!"  I am not.
"What if i can't teach him to follow You the right way? i can't do it." I can. You can trust Me. 
"i do."

My feelings weren't caught up to the Truth that Jesus spoke to my heart. I still felt angry at him and {even more so} myself, and I knew the onslaught of sweet intentioned "how are you?"s that awaited our church arrival... but I went forward. And I attempted to answer honestly without drama or gossip to all the friendly inquiries. Then we praised and my words matched the Truth and somehow the Holy Spirit aligned my heart as well. 


For truly all who stand in the water of baptism, stand as sinners who have been cleansed! And the amazing thing is NOT how long we can go before needing forgiveness again, but in the generous God who does not grow weary of cleansing us over and over and over and over... again. Screaming at the little Payne who was making a public statement about his faith today reminded me so very tangibly that baptism doesn't make us good people... it declares the goodness of our God to love and accept us even though we fall so short. And that is more than enough. 

So I close my eyes and remember my dad baptizing me when I only knew that Jesus loves and saves me and I wanted to tell others. And I thank Him deeply that my son will now also have that to remember.

"So you also should consider yourselves to be dead to the power of sin and alive to God through Christ Jesus." Romans 6:11


Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Dear Sarah...

Just a quick note...

Because that's all you have time for as you stay home alone with your two young boys as your husband travels again...

You are doing a good job at being your sons' mama. I don't say this generically. I mean it. You are showing up. You are loving beyond your capacity to give of yourself. You are trying and giving it all you have... And trusting that Jesus will provide the rest that is needed to raise small humans into big humans. 

In this task that's far beyond us you will sometimes need to reevaluate and try again... but you will ALWAYS need to trust more! 

Believe that God has and is creating you to be the mother He chose for your sons. 

Choose faith that God is shaping your sons over the fear that you're ruining them. 

Believe that you are NOT alone and that He will provide the strength you need to get out of bed, off the couch, to play and discipline, to explain and correct, to hug and wrestle, to enforce the boundaries and apologize when you mess up... the exact amount of His never-ending strength in each moment. 

Trust that His strength really is enough for your weakness... Perfect in it, even. 

Claim what He says about you and your sons over what your feelings are screaming... This means doing whatever it takes to hear from His Word and to listen for His voice EVERYDAY... No matter what you need to sacrifice {sleep, down time, TV, Facebook, this blog post, a phone call...} it will be worth it. (And you'll regularly see Him give you back what you lay down at His feet that is beneficial for you in this time...)

It's supposed to feel like this!!! You cannot make him obey... You can only consistently provide the consequence for the choice he makes. Remember that you do not discipline in order to change a behavior {although all mamas really, really, really, really hope it eventually has that effect), you are disciplining in order to teach them in a loving, safe environment that there are consequences to every choice... Keep doing this because the world they are growing up to enter is not loving or safe. 

This requires laying down your pride. Your children's behavior does not determine your success as a mom. Your obedience to what the Holy Spirit leads you to do determines your "success"... If that can even be measured. {And your VALUE has been determined by the price the God of this creation paid to save you!} Give the praise to the Lord when they behave and request the Holy Spirit's continued intervention when they don't. 

He has started this good work {of mothering} in you and He will carry it out to completion until the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

Find your rest and strength and consistency in Him. Keep being honest about your struggles and victories. Enjoy the good moments, cry in the bad, apologize after the wrong and soldier on. 

God is growing and shaping you and your boys... And you get a front row seat to that miracle. 

In this alongside of you...



Monday, May 16, 2016

Things I Learned from Missing the Birth of my Son

1) This world is strange. 
There are all sorts of feelings and depths that are way more comparable to the writings of Dr. Seuss than the text books I've studied. 

2) Happy happenings and sad happenings are often the same happenings. 
We were in the distance waiting, hoping, praying, fighting off discouragement... While she was right there fearful, dreading, praying, fighting off anxiety... We didn't know her or even about her. She didn't know us or about us. She looked at the tiny miracle baby and lovingly mustered the strength to give him the life and family and home that she wanted for him... Even if that meant mourning the fact that it wasn't with her. Heart breaking in love. We received "the call" that we were chosen to be his parents. Hearts rejoicing in love. 

3) Nurses are amazing... so, so, so amazing.
They ran every test. Distributed every medication. Followed through with every treatment. Changed every diaper. Monitored every stat. Answered every alarm. Fed him every meal. Gave him every hug. Offered every stimulus... They cared for him deeply and wonderfully in the time between families. And four years later I'm still moved to tears considering all they did for him...

4) Moving forward when you are terrified is true bravery. 
I saw this in a birth mom who could've chosen differently for many reasons at many different points... But she didn't. She went through a birth only 24 weeks into a pregnancy she only recently had found out about to a teeny baby who they said {in a language she didn't speak} wasn't "healthy"... With no one supporting her, she reached out for the support of those who offered adoption... And I am forever indebted to her bravery for walking that path. 
I saw this in our adoption journey. We did not know how to adopt. Nor did we know what raising a child with special needs was going to be like. We were afraid of the costs involved and the energy and patience we lacked. We were afraid to continue to hope when time after time we were "not selected" as the family. But we walked on anyways... And I'm continually grateful for the Holy Spirit who makes us brave. 

5) The odds being stacked against a person doesn't eliminate a different outcome. 
Boys who are premature have a lower survival rate than girls. Babies born at 24 weeks gestation weeks undeveloped lungs and hearts that have holes in them. Down syndrome increases the likelihood of having heart issues that require surgery and lifelong cardiac care. Babies who are tube fed have a high risk of struggling with oral feeding. Preemies as well as babies who have Down syndrome typically have a low suck reflex making nursing problematic.
Yet... The hole in Theo's heart closed up as his body grew and survived. This allowed us to be chosen as his family (as our location was too far from pediatric cardiac care to qualify for anyone with heart issues). He passed his swallow study and latched the first time he attempted nursing (as I had given birth to his brother 1 month previous to Theo becoming "ours"). Theo didn't know all the things he "should've" been or not done... He just soldiered on from one miracle to the next. 

6) The value of a life is not determined by popular consensus. 
He was completely dependent on machines and professionals to keep him alive for the first 3 months of his life. He has an extra chromosome that will make many things that come "naturally" for the majority of the population be a struggle for him. He has a team of doctors and therapists who he regularly sees. He needs extra help and time to do what most four year olds do. And yet... What would this world be like without him?

7) God has got my children. 
We weren't there with Theodore when he weighed 1 pound 12 ounces. We didn't speak soothingly to him during the many invasive blood draws, ROP exams, EKG's, O2 sat monitorings, swallow studies... We didn't pray for his lungs to grow strong enough that he might be released from the ventilator. We didn't swaddle him to sleep. Kangaroo care didn't come from his parents. We didn't make his first (or second) scrapbook pages {have I mentioned how amazing nurses are?}... Our time as his parents began when he was 4 months old and 10 pounds heavy (he looked enormous next to those other preemies in good Payne-baby fashion). Sure we (& many others) had prayed. But while we didn't even know who to pray what for, God was in control. While I am beyond thankful that the Creator of this world chooses to use my mothering to grow some little lives, how clear it became that I'm simply "going to work with Dad" on this whole parenting gig. He blesses me with responsibility and graciously gives the strength to meet it as well as the forgiveness when I don't... But by missing my son's birth, it made it ever so clear to me that I must not mistake the roles. God showed Himself enough for my premature baby who didn't have a family for his first months... and He continues to want to show us the same thing now. 

Happy fourth birthday!!!





Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Growing Payne-Full Oaks

Tonight we cried together over oak trees and acorns...

Tears blurring my eyes as I read Max Lucado's lines about the yearning for the {now} great oak to be able to tell the young girl that there is a great woman in her, and she just needs to be the kind of person God made her to be...

I knew it was coming. The sweet acorn who feared letting go of his mom's branches... The way the straining of the small oak to produce oranges and flowers was depressingly futile... The introduction of the little girl character... I saw its approach... But I had already gone too far. I even had a decent oak tree voice going on...

I held it together when the image of the small oak judging himself as less because of his inability to grow fruit struck really close to my inner monologue of comparing myself to the homeschool or working or all-natural or volunteering mothers surrounding me. A mental note was made to let the picture of the oak tree straining to grow flowers in order to be beautiful lacking impact on a single fiber of his being sink in to the way I talk to the mirror... But tears did not fall. I faked it through the description of how quickly the girl grew and changed...

But the longing to speak broke through. 

The {now} big oak tree had learned the complex truth from the simple saying his mother oak consistently repeated "You have a mighty oak inside you. Just be the tree God made you to be." He wanted to speak this truth over the scared young women getting ready to set off on her own for the first time... But trees can't speak to girls... At least not in this fictional story...

That longing was just too much as I sat with two of my {now} small oaks on either side of me. It wasn't the wording or the illustration (masterful, though they were); it was the fact that I fear being unable to speak that simple deep truth that I can clearly see in these Paynes growing under me... 

Even as I struggle to consistently grasp it for my own self. 

I'm overwhelmed with the desire for what ground I've found in freedom to be grasped by these {now} young lives so they can wander even farther into the depths of Jesus. I see so vividly the great oaks their little acorn bodies contain. I hear in a still, strong voice repeating that it is God, and not me, who is their Farmer... And I can speak. 

And cry. 

Because the way they rubbed my back when my voice cracked was so tender. And my big boy had tears so instantly when he saw one trickle out of my eye he must've had them on the ready. I heard my own awkward chuckle come from the daughter who didn't know how to respond to two thirds of us crying over the bedtime story...

So we all snuggled and cried and laughed... Because this journey is hard and fast but full of randomly awe-inspiring moments...