The Party That Never Quits

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks -
masks that I'm afraid to take off
and none of them are me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me
But don't be fooled, for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure
That all is sunny and unruffled with me
within as well as out
that confidence is my name
and coolness is my game,
that the water's calm
and I'm in command,
and that I need no one.
But don't believe me. Please!

My surface may be smooth but my surface is my mask,
My ever-varying and ever-concealing mask.
Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence.
Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
But I hide this.
I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weaknesses
and fear exposing them.
That's why I frantically create my masks to hide behind.
They're nonchalant, sophisticated facades to help me pretend,
To shield me from the glance that knows.
But such a glance is precisely my salvation,
my only salvation
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
and if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself
from my own self-built prison walls
from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect.
That glance from you is the only thing that assures me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this.
I don't dare.
I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh
and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good
and you will see this
and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate, pretending game
With a facade of assurance without
And a trembling child within.
So begins the parade of masks,
The glittering but empty parade of masks,
And my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's nothing
And nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
Do not be fooled by what I'm saying
Please listen carefuly and try to hear
what I'm not saying.
Hear what I'd like to say
but what I can not say.

I dislike hiding.
Honestly.
I dislike the supificial game I'm playing,
the superficial phony game.
I'd really like to be genuine
and me.
But I need your help, your hand to hold
Even though my masks would tell you otherwise.

It will not be easy for you.
Long felt inadequacies make my defences strong.
The nearer you approach me
The blinder I may strike back.
Despite what the books say of men, I am irrational;
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
You wonder who I am?
You shouldn't
for I am everyman
and everywoman
who wears a mask.
Don't be fooled by me.
At least not by the face I wear.

~Charles C. Finn (1966)
no relation

(Found this looking for something else on my old blog. It was more true then than it is now... but it still resonates.)

You know the ones.

The one' who's facebook statuses are a constant love fest of

"Johnny said the cutest Jesus reference today!"

or

"Sarah is just the most beautifully behaved three year old child! She is the delight of my life!"

or

"Look at these 150 thousand adorable photos of my kid... eating... watermelon" (or whatever)

or

"I've been away from my kids for 2 days and I MISS THEM SO MUCH!"

or

"Daughters are.... sugar... spice... everything perfect and nice... repost if your daughter brings you more joy... blah

BLAH

BLAH

You may have guessed that I am not the gushy parent.

No, really.

And I seem to be the lone voice when it comes to "tough morning" or "I want to run away and never come back" status updates. I feel like there's something wrong with me when we do get a night or two to ourselves, and people ask, "so do you miss them?" and I'm all like... "*laugh* No".

I don't keep every item of schoolwork they bring home. In fact, I loathe it when the teachers send it all home at the end of the year. I don't keep detailed books on their first year, or do monthly scrapbook spreads, I don't keep every piece of artwork that gets shoved under my nose or whatever else people do that unintentionally makes me feel like an inferior parent.

I have friends who are constantly telling me that they ABSOLUTELY LOVE HOLIDAYS (while I've just told them how badly I'm struggling not to send mine to Siberia) or that they just COUNT DOWN THE MINUTES until their cherubs get home from school (while my younger kids begin to cry as soon as I tell them we have to go and pick the others up) or how sweet and loving, and already passionate about Jesus their 2 year old is (while I've just about given up on mine ever doing as they're told). The constant "my kid is so adorable" seriously makes me want to puke. I'm like... what fantasy land do you people live in? Can I get tickets please?

It makes me feel bad. Because, obviously, I'm doing the whole mothering gig terribly wrong. It makes me feel guilty, too, because I know how lucky I am to have my children with me... alive.

Oh, I have 'excuses'.

I am aware that we are coming out of an incredibly trying time. We eight live in a tiny house. Troy has Autism, which has been regressing rather over the last 12 months. This then, of course, leads to lots of screaming and fighting and bickering. I realise this does not help with the liking of children right now.

But this is not the real reason.

And this is where the introspection comes in.

I should enjoy my children more. I should notice the things they say more. They ARE only little once, and this should be such a wonderful time. All the mothers who have grown children that I admire all say the same thing... "I wish I'd played with them more" or urge me to get down on their level more.

Back when I was the 'perfect parent' (ie: NO CHILDREN) I had all the intentions in the world to do just that. I would play tea parties and dolls with the girls. Have a sword fight with the boys. Teach them all to cook. Lay out on a blanket in the backyard with the baby. We'd have traditions, and beautiful memories.

Why did it not work out that way? I grieve that time.

I've tried to do Emily's Tuesdays Unwrapped, because I think it is a beautiful, intentional thing, but at the moment, it just feels like when you get a HUGE present, and you unwrap it only to find it's just a brick.

I've tried to find the God in every moment as so many of my friends seem able to do... and I know He's there... I just ... oh... I don't know.

Sometimes it seems like I'm making it something it's not. Sometimes, it just... is.

Perhaps I should fake it til I make it?

Am I just tired? Emotionally and physically? Have I not made a big enough effort to make the best of the situation? Families our size live in smaller houses than I all over the world, and they still manage to keep it clean and have a loving family.

I bought a plaque when we first moved in here, because it was what I truly believed would happen while we were here... "Love grows best in little houses"

It mocks me now.

And I'll be leaving it here when we move.

At the moment, it's like I'm looking down the tunnel and I've finally see the light at the end. And I know that I only have a short way to go until I don't have to hold white knuckled to my sanity or the last shreds of determination not to become depressed. We will be moving the day after school lets out for the Christmas break, and it's almost like we are pining all our hopes of normalcy on the bigger block. We have reasons to do this... we never had the problems we do now when we lived in a bigger house etc etc... but I realise it also will depend a lot upon my own attitude, and the instillation of new routines, and the RE introductions of others... like eating at the dinner table (no room here for our 10 seater. We've eaten all but about 4 meals on the living room floor in the last 2 years.)

I don't think I'll ever be gushy. But it sure will be nice to be able to post funny things again, like I used to. That I'll be able to notice the little things more, because I won't be so distracted by the newly broken window, or the fists that are being thrown.

There hasn't been a lot of laughter the last year.

I'm really hoping that will change.

We will have 8 weeks after we move to find our rhythm before school begins. My "To Do List" for those weeks begins like this:

* Have a tea party with the girls
* Have a sword fight with the boys
* Lay on a blanket with the baby

Ok.

So, the get skinny project has begun.

I have basically, 44lbs to lose, to get back to a husband approved 132.

I'd go lower. He won't let me.

Anyways. I need to be skinny(er, at least) by November 8th, when I leave to spend a week in Newcastle with my girlfriend, and then attend her wedding on the 13th.

Can we say over-achiever, much?

I'd post a picture of me now, but, um, I'd rather die.

So. 44lbs in 5 weeks, best case scenario. It's do-able... 8.8lbs a week. Or, for me, 3.99kg.


The Stats

Height: 5'5"
Weight: 182.98lbs
Bust: 46"
Waist: 41"
Hips: 43"
Thigh: 23"


The Game Plan

1) Cut the coke. *cry*
2) Cut the complex carbs... bread, potatoes, pasta
3) Cut the dairy... milk, cheese *sob*
4) Up the protein... lotsa lotsa meat
5) Eat every 3 hours... 3 mains, 3 snacks
6) Drink a bucket load more water
7) Walk on the treadmill for 1 hour a day/10k daily (whack in a movie, off I go)
8) Jillan Michaels' 30 Day Shred.


I was meant to start Jillian this morning, and get the most awful thing over and done with, but apparently, Adam woke me up three times.

I do not remember this. At all.

I remember getting up repetitively to the girls all night, which is probably why I remember not the alarm or the husband.

So, I'll go for a walk shortly, and then walk around the shops some more to do some errands Adam has asked.

Get your pom-poms ready, peoples. You've got some cheerin' on to do.

Some days, all I can manage to pray is

"Be with me, Jesus"

And often, I don't even have the strength to create sound. Some days it's mouthed, others it's a whisper inside my head.

I am tempted to see this as a failing. That my prayers aren't beautiful prose, that they aren't sprinkled with verses and the promises of God.

But always, this story comes to mind:

"Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'

~Luke 18:10-13

God would much rather hear my hearfelt 4 word prayer than any long winded thing I spew out because it makes me look holy and sanctified, and satisfies some part of me that says I've just done it 'right'.

My little prayer carries many answers, and I hear them being softly whispered to me as I pray my desperate petition;

"I will never leave you or forsake you..."

"I am with you always..."

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, "This is the way; walk in it."..."

"I carry you, weary mother..."


It is such a comfort to know that whenever I manage to muster up this cry

"...God has surely listened and heard my voice in prayer. Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me!"

The new book for the Bloom Book club has been announced, and I can't wait to read it.



Angie and Jess said it their video release (that sounds so cool) that author Wayne Muller gives practical ways of creating a Sabbath. I hope so. I've found a lot of these book tend to be aimed at mothers that already have life pretty well together, and I, well... I so don't.

Our pastor is doing a series at church at the moment called "Servants & Stewards".

On Sunday, he said something like (because i didn't have a pen... or a notebook for that matter, I'll paraphrase)

"Quite often, we don't see growth in one area,
because we don't have another area in order"

Cue conscience prick.

I struggle very, very much with keeping a tidy home. I wish it to be a warm, restful, calm haven for my husband and family, but long ingrained requirements and definitions of clean and tidy make the task seem overwhelming.

My name is Jenny, and I suffer from CHAOS.

And a symptom of said CHAOS, is I don't feel I deserve a Sabbath.

I struggle to justify doing anything when so much is needed to be done in my home. I felt guilty the entire time I was sewing the other week. I have stacks of patterns I need to make up, but won't let myself, because I feel I don't deserve it. I don't go on outings with the children, because the time would be better spent tidying up the brothel I call a kitchen.

I don't have quiet time, I don't work out, I don't shower (hows that for honesty) because I feel that I'm being selfish to take time for me when that is time I should be using to clean.

Shitty thing about it, is that time I'm "saving" I don't actually do anything with, because I'm so intimidated by the sheer mountain of stuff that needs to be done. I hate only half doing things, so when I clean, it ALL must be done. And if I can't get it all done in my allotted time, then I won't even begin.

It's a vicious cycle.

If we're going to be brutally honest here, there are to major sins I see outworking in this area of my life.

Pride and Laziness

The way the pride comes into it is almost backwards. I want to have a clean house so it makes me look good. If I can't, then why bother?

Control issues, much?

Laziness... apathy... meh.

Meh.

That's my attitude most days. It's a constant fight in my head. I wake up wanting desperately to get into it and just get it done already. And then the kids will fight as they are waking up.

Meh.

I walk out to try and figure out breakfast, only to be confronted with every dish in the sink, dirty.

Meh.

The clothes I managed to wash last night when I did the uniforms have been dumped out of the dryer all over the floor.

Meh.

But it's not just meh. That's how I cope. Inside, I'm angry and guilty and feeling like a failure on so many levels it's not funny.

I'm thinking it's just going to take a concerted effort to overcome this battle I have in my mind... and my heart. I'm going to have to start making small changes, start new habits. Change my mindset.

Begin.

Do you have any tips that work for you
to keep your house under controll?

Come over to Bloom's new home and join us in pulling this book to bits, then sticking it all back together so it impacts our lives in practical ways.

We're moving.

Not any time greatly soon, we've been renting my mothers house while she's been in England these last two years, and she gets home in 2 months.

One could say both Adam and I like to be prepared.

Either that or we know how spectacularly we can procrastinate until we only have 4 days to pack up a house of 6 kids.

Needless to say, we've begun collecting boxes and as of last night, started putting things away.

We are loving it.

While we are incredibly grateful that we had mums place to move into, it has been the most trying two years as a family to date. Mum's house is.... small, to put it nicely.... and it has been really hard squeezing six children into a house built for three people.

Did I mention there's no back yard?

Anyway, we are so excited to move to a bigger home. One where we can have a bedroom. Sleeping on the lounge room floor was fun for about a week. One where I can send the kids outside to run off some steam.

One where their fighting isn't magnified by the closeness of the walls.

The hardest thing these last two years has been the noise. The relentless noise of cooped up kids with cabin fever. I am so looking forward to having my sanity back. There is nothing worse than constant bickering, screaming and wailing.

As a singer and generally all-round musical person, I am sensitive to noise. Being an INFP personality only compounds this. I was talking to a dear prayer warrior friend at church the other week and I told her that if it was a happy noise, I wouldn't mind the volume so much. But it's not happy noise. It's bad noise.

It's not just the kids either. While I'm feeling like every sound wave is ramming itself into the side of my head and I'm sick and tired of their constant at-each-other-ness and zero capabilities of working anything out on their own without shrieking at each other or physically fighting, I must be honest and admit that I add my own voice to the fray.

Cutting words.

Dismissive words.

Screaming.

Swearing.

Often simultaneously.

Children learn what they live.

I know I am incredibly undisciplined in this area. And though the Bible tells us that taming the tongue is impossible (James 3:8), I can tame my heart, or at least allow Jesus to do it for me. And in doing so, it will check my temper, and allow me to respond, rather than react, and at least bring the decibels down a little bit.

Adam and I really sat down a few months ago and tried to work out where our home life all went to pot in this regard.

The answer was so simple.

We moved from a house with a backyard bigger than the block this house is on now.

Our children need to run.

This was proven to such an extent I was nearly blinded by the shattering light bulb above my head, when we took the kids out to a friends property for a birthday party.

They did. not. stop. running.

We arrived there at 3:30. From the minute they were out of the car, they were gone. I didn't see them again. They didn't even come to eat.

This is a big deal.

I called them at seven to tell them it was time to go, thinking I'd need at least a half hour to get them gathered and in the car.

Five minutes later, they were all packed up in the car, not one whine or tear to be seen.

Huh!

Fancy that.

We also realised, Adam and I, that as two introverted parents, with predominately extroverted kids, we do not work well in close environments. We are all up in each others business too much.

There is no where to go and be alone.

The kids share rooms. We don't have one.

Sometimes, we need somewhere to go and have a time out. Sometimes, when Adam comes home, if he calls me, I'll sneak out the front, and when he arrives, we'll just sit in the car for 10 minutes before we brave the pit.

We are standing on Words given that God will provide us with a house. With space, so we can grow.

And that is a good noise.

I desperately wanted braces.

I know.

I've always been sensitive about my teeth. I used to have really large gaps in them. My parents always said no, because, aparently, my wisdom teeth would push them together. (ps. it didn't happen) While they have closed up significantly, they are still a sore point with me. Especially when someone I hadn't seen for a decade ran into me and promptly sai "Oh! You've grown into your teeth!"

Hmm. Thanks for that.

I have a ski-jump nose. I'm actually starting to think I have a big nose, but the hubsand is adamant that it was just the angle of the photo. I remember being told once that they didn't like people with up-pointy noses, because it meant they were snobby.

Righty.

When I was in about 8th grade (and for an undisclosed time afterwards) I used to put rubberbands around my top teeth, thinking my home made dental retainer just might help matters.

Somewhere inbetween 8th and 10th grades I became so fed up with peoples jibes about my nose, I thought I'd better do something about it.

So I tried to file it down.

Oh, yes I did.

With an emery board no less.



Wasn't the tweens a fun time?






That was sarcastic, by the way.