REJECTION

: the act or process of refusing to have, take, recognize

I met with B's teacher, Ms. R, yesterday to get the scoop from her on B's academic progress and to hear her thoughts on things I should emphasize during fifth grade.  Academically, B is doing well.  Ms. R's main feedback was that B doesn't respond well to suggestions to revise, change or expand her writing.  She noted that B has been getting better about trying to listen and make changes, but it's still quite hard for her.  I appreciated the feedback and as I listened, it occurred to me that there was some significance that it was writing where she experiences this most.  B is so creative that I think she feels like her creations are hers.  She has a vision for them and doesn't want that vision tampered with, even if it might improve the end product.  The up side of this is that B tends to be marvelously content with what she makes.  The down side? We all need to realize we can improve, don't we?

I definitely want B to be able to accept constructive criticism and improve her work over time, but I also want to be sensitive to the creator/creation link.  I told her teacher that I might try giving B suggestions for things to add rather than things to change when she gives me a draft.  This might feel less like being asked to change her clothes and a little more like adding the right pair of boots to the outfit.  She seemed to like that idea and said she might try it with B this year.  I have no idea whether it will work, but it's a start.

I mentioned my conversation with Ms. R to B last night at bedtime.  (This daughter of mine is SO fond of the bedtime chat.)  She admitted that feedback is hard for her, that it makes her feel like whatever she has written isn't good enough.  We talked about why that wasn't true and I confessed to her that I can really understand her feelings.  The more intimately connected I feel to something I've created, the harder it is to receive feedback, however constructive.

I've seen this in myself most recently in the kitchen.  I enjoy cooking.  Am I an artist?  No, just a craftsman, but I do put a bit of myself into the foods I make.  This time of year, I long to use my culinary creativity to craft aromatic, satisfying, soothing soups.  I love the process and smells of soup making.  The chopping.  The sauteeing.  The waiting.  Especially the waiting.  There's something beautiful about putting together disparate ingredients that find a way to work together for one purpose.  I love waiting for the flavors of the soup to meld as they simmer slowly on the stove.  I love the resultant bowl of steamy nourishment, especially with a good bread on the side. 


But while I love making soups, there is one member of my family who doesn't like soup.  I try to keep this in mind and keep the soup making to a minimum.  Or make soup when it's dinner for four instead of five.  But there are times when soup is simply called for - freezing cold days, an achy mom, coughing aplenty.  So I make the soup and know there will be consequences - at least one disappointed face at the dinner table.  It's hard to not feel a bit of rejection, even though I know I'm not being rejected, my soup is.

I'm not sure how to resolve this for myself.  Since I am primarily responsible for cooking for our entire family, I have some responsibility to prepare foods that our whole family will enjoy.  But I guess I feel like shouldering this responsibility should also give me a bigger vote as to what ends up on the dinner plate.  I find it nearly impossible to prepare a meal I won't eat.  One of J's favorite meals is pot roast.  I made it clear when we married that he would need to learn to cook it if he wanted it.  I've always hated pot roast because of the carrots in it.  The potatoes taste like carrots, the meat taste like carrots.  It's awful.  J did learn to make pot roast.  And, bless him, he makes it without carrots.

I also try to adapt to preferences - no crunchy carrots for J, no grits or polenta for B, tiny portions of meat for K, etc.  But the core ingredients and preparation methods are my own and so are the meals that end up on our table. So how do I blend my desire to create in the kitchen, my resultant feelings of ownership and my family member's tastes?

Is this hard for your family?  Are there dishes you love to make and then have to eat alone?  Do you cater to your husband's, daughter's, son's tastes?  How do you avoid rejection in the kitchen?

ABSOLUTION

: the act of absolving (setting free from an obligation or the consequences of sin); specifically : a remission of sins pronounced by a priest (as in the sacrament of reconciliation)

Last night, my children ate cereal and canned ravioli for dinner. Not together, mind you. K had ravioli while A and B had cereal (again). J was at a company meeting, so he actually ate a balanced meal. When he returned home shortly after the girls' bedtime, I was telling him what I fed them for dinner. Yesterday was a rough day in the pain department, so I'm sure I was less than upbeat as I shared our evening's menu. He opened his arms to hug me and I said, "It's times like these that I wish I was a Catholic. I need absolution."

J, being the guy that he is, offered to absolve me on the spot. He even reverted to his long-ago faith and thought up a penance for me - I seem to recall it including a few Hail Marys, which I don't know. But even as I was joking about this with J, I knew in my heart that what needs absolution is not feeding my children less-than-healthy meals, but what I do to myself for this lapse. It's not really a sin to feed my children cereal or canned pasta. But it is a sin to castigate myself so thoroughly for it, especially because I do so out of pride.

It's been made crystal clear to me over the last two weeks how I have taken something good (a joy in cooking) and turned it into something... something I don't even have words for. I've turned it into an idol, I suppose. Instead of the meals I serve my family being part of what I do to care for them, they've become part of the definition of who I am. So when I can't stand, don't have the energy to shop or cook and can't meet my own standards, where does that leave me? Miserable, apparently.

Even though I know I am being too hard on myself, even though I know my kids don't care, even though I know this is not the end of the world, it matters to me and I continue to berate myself for not feeding my family well. A lot of my feelings about this are painfully tied up in my own self-image from when I was the ages of my daughters. I've always believed if I feed them well-balanced meals, offer them healthy snacks, serve them fruits and veggies at every turn, that they won't be mocked by their classmates for looking like jello when they run, as I so vividly recall. So what I have to come to terms with is whether I can cut myself the slightest bit of slack and believe that they won't turn in to me as a result of a few poorly planned dinners.

Because that is really the bottom line: I want to save them from being me. I want so desperately to let them make their own mistakes and earn their own scars and not mirror my own. I want them to make better choices than I did at the dinner table and in life. But I need to set myself free from my self-imposed obligation to cook something new, creative and healthy every night. And I need to remember that I don't really require absolution... that is, after all, what Jesus died to give us.

Maybe if I can learn this lesson, this additional lesson amongst the many I have already had to learn during this season of recovery, maybe then I will finally be on the road to mental and physical health.

STANDARDS

3 : something established by authority, custom, or general consent as a model or example

I am finding again and again - even more than a month after my surgery - how humbling it is to be unable to care for my family in the way I desire. While I am extremely grateful to be feeling a bit better nearly every day, I still can't do laundry, sweep the floors and cook dinner all in the same day. I've found that even when I don't realize I'm doing too much, my body informs me the next day by providing a rope of fire along the tendons in my lower leg. I respond by resting, again.

Yesterday was a good case in point. I awoke with a plan to test myself on the treadmill for the first time. I had very humble ambitions - to walk a mere 1/4 of a mile or stop if my leg protested before that. Sounds reasonable, right?

I dressed accordingly, then noticed as I came down the stairs that my leg was tight. Not paying this much heed, I got the girls ready for school, all the while expecting my leg to loosen as I kept moving around. On the drive home from dropping the girls off at school, my leg tendons burned from merely depressing the accelerator. And so I resigned myself to another day of rest, another day without exercise, another day spent with my leg elevated. It's not all bad - I do have a good book I'm currently reading.

But I had wanted to cook dinner. I didn't have high ambitions here, either. Merely a pork loin cooked in the crockpot, along with some veggies. As the day wore on, my leg continued to complain about being used. So A and K ate left-over pasta for dinner while J, B and I had jalapeno pimento cheese sandwiches. This is not exactly what I had in mind.

As I sat my daughters down to eat their dinner, which they uniformly ate without one word of complaint, I mourned not meeting my own standards yet again. Because what I have established by custom, model and example is that I will cook a meal - from scratch - three or four times weekly. This meal will be well-balanced and will always, always include at least one vegetable.

We've been truly blessed to have tons of friends bring us meals over the last four weeks. Our entire family has appreciated trying new foods and having the surprise of seeing what we'll be eating that night. But I (and I suspect all of us) am ready for a return to something approximating normal. I'm ready to plan for and prepare our meals. Heck, I'm even willing to make family favorites. (My loving husband complains that my obsession with variety creates a long lapse between servings of favorite family dishes.) But my body won't quite cooperate.

So I'm left wondering whether I should lower my standards and whether temporarily lowering them will be detrimental to all of our expectations. If I start serving sandwiches on a weeknight for dinner, will we all be satisfied with less than stellar food offerings? If I bend my self-imposed rules and get take out weekly until I feel better will my girls begin to prefer someone else's food to my own? I guess what I ultimately worry is that if I lower my standards now, will I ever be able to get them back up to where I want them?

I try to remind my inner legalist to offer myself a bit of grace. These standards are, after all, self-imposed. I set these standards because I love cooking for my family, I love offering them healthy food and I love expending some creative energy in the kitchen. And none of those things will change, no matter what standards I fail to meet.

ALCHEMY

2 : a power or process of transforming something common into something special

Today I mixed together flour, sugar, a raw egg, vanilla and pecans. Then I rolled this dough around a Hershey's kiss and baked it. Like many of you, I was making Christmas cookies. But as I mixed, measured and baked it occurred to me that baking - and Christmas - are all about taking things that aren't especially exciting alone and putting them together to make something magical. I've often wondered as I baked a cake or made cookies who first thought to put these ingredients together. Who decided it would be a good idea to mix these items that taste OK apart and turn them into something delicious?

While I was mixing dough, another alchemical process was taking place in my kitchen. The eldest daughter held the melted chocolate and the middle daughter dipped the pretzels.


The youngest daughter sprinkled the crushed peppermints on top.


And three ordinary sisters were transformed into friends, co-workers, merry little Christmas elves.
So I think the real magic of Christmas is alchemy: the power of transforming something common into something special. Whether those common things are sisters, baking ingredients or a baby in a manger, it's all magical at Christmas.

PERSPECTIVE

2 a: the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed ; also : point of view b: the capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance (perspective to view your own task in a larger framework — W. J. Cohen)

I truly love Christmas. It's always been my favorite time of year. My birthday falls in December as well, so perhaps it's just that I love the celebratory feel of the whole month. No matter why I love Christmas, I struggle sometimes to hang on to my joy for the season when I am mired in busy-ness. Today I need some perspective. I need a greater "capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance."

I love to cook. I love to entertain others in our home. I love it when family come in to town to visit, as many family members are doing this very week to see A perform in The Nutcracker. Yet I am feeling a tad overwhelmed. It feels necessary to focus only on the thing immediately in front of me in order to avoid feeling intimidated by what the next three weeks hold in store for us. Here are the highlights: 4 family members arrive from WI on Thursday, 3 family members arrive from AL on Friday & Saturday, A performs Friday and Sunday, all family members leave to return home by Monday, our family of 5 leaves on Christmas Day to drive to Disney World, Vanderbilt plays in its first bowl game in 26 years on New Year's Eve and A turns 9 on January 5. Are you tired just reading it?

The last time we had family in town, I felt a bit left out because other family in town have a larger, newer, nicer home for entertaining. This meant we gathered at their house for meals and I not only didn't get to host, I didn't get to cook. This made me sad, so I was quick to make sure we would get to host some things this weekend. We are - dinner on Thursday and a cookie party on Saturday - and now I'm questioning my sanity a bit.

I need to get some perspective and remember that everyone coming here loves me and loves my family. While I do love and serve people through food, they are not driving 6-10 hours to eat my homemade chicken & dumplings (they are good, but not that good). They are coming to see us, to share our lives and to share this joyful time of year. I am thankful they are coming and praying for strength to get everything done, wisdom to do it all in the right order and perspective to let it roll off my back when something, inevitably, goes awry.

FALL

noun

1) the time for a huge pot of chili
2) a respite from the heat of summer
3) the time to watch football
4) the herald of wonderful things to come, i.e. Thanksgiving, Christmas and a New Year


I love fall. This time of year is my favorite because it brings with it so many of my favorite things. I suppose my love of fall started back when I was in school and I looked forward to returning to classes. Sure, I couldn't wait to see my friends, but also because I loved (and still love) learning. Fall meant new things: new classes, new teachers, a new football season.


It's interesting to write a definition of what fall means to me now and see how different it is from what I would have said or written 15-20 years ago. Growing up on the Gulf Coast, fall didn't exactly mean a respite from the heat... that didn't really come until late November, if at all, but it is truly one of the reasons I love fall now. I clearly remember my first fall in Nashville and realizing that trees do actually have leaves that turn colors and fall off. When you're surrounded by Southern Pines and the occasional Oak, you don't really get the stereotypical colorful foliage.


My mother hated cooking, so a huge pot of chili as a harbinger for fall wasn't added until I grew to love cooking (somewhere within the last 7 or 8 years).


Football has always meant fall and it's been fun to talk football with my mom as an adult and realize that my love for the game came from her. I can remember her sitting and watching whatever the SEC game of the week while folding laundry. I'll be doing that myself in a few hours and will think of her.


Finally, fall is about what comes next: extended family gathered around a table and giving thanks for our many blessings, celebrating Christ's birth and a new year that reminds us of all of the possibilities that await. Each of these holidays focus our attention on a different aspect of life. Thanksgiving makes us look back at what we have to be thankful for, Christmas is a holiday grounded in the present (and, all too often, in the presents) and the New Year encourages us to look forward. As someone who needs introspection to feel alive, this trio of holidays clustered so close together feeds my soul.


I have so much to look forward to.

CREATE

transitive verb
1: to bring into existence created the heaven and the earth — Genesis 1:1(Authorized Version)>
2 a: to invest with a new form, office, or rank created a lieutenant> b: to produce or bring about by a course of action or behavior created a terrible fuss> <create new jobs>
3: cause , occasion creates high food prices>
4 a: to produce through imaginative skill <create a painting> b: design <creates dresses>

intransitive verb
1: to make or bring into existence something new
2: to set up a scoring opportunity in basketball <create off the dribble>

A few weeks ago at a luncheon, I received a stone with the word "create" on it. Each attendee was given a stone and they all had different words on them. I immediately loved my stone and what I took to be a command to create. I put the stone in my kitchen so that I would see it and remember when I'm cooking that I am doing more than meeting my family's nutritional needs when I cook. I am creating meals, memories and moments.

The stone is still in the kitchen where I will see it, but more and more, I feel the need to create with words. That's one reason I started this blog and continue to make time to eke out entries. Having been out of school and away from grammar books for so long, I'm a little rusty on the difference between a transitive and intransitive verb, so I'm not sure whether the best definition for what I do when creating is "to make or bring into existence something new" or "to produce through imaginative skill."

It seems like imaginative skill is required for writing a novel, not a blog. It also seems rather bold to say that I am bringing something new into existence, but I guess the beauty of words is that they can be strung together in innumerable ways and the way I am putting them together right now is technically new.

What's interesting is that the term create carries with it no value assessment. I am creating something here, but whether that something is worthwhile is a post for another day...