MacTuan's Index on a Pool Party

Notice the murky pool--not safe with a gazillion hormonal
teens!  

Some Stats on Yesterday's Pool Party

# of kids Ling said were coming:  20
Time I thought they were showing up:  11:30
Time Ling popped into the house while I was still having a supervision app't:  10:50
# of kids outside my door:  21
# of boys:  8
# who signed in on my sign-up sheet eventually:  23
# of kids who weren't at least part Asian:  4
Minutes a girl who signed in stayed at the party:  3  (we spent the next hours wondering where she went, but thankfully knew she wasn't at the bottom of the pool)
Times I made everyone check to find their buddy:  2
Times I counted to make sure I could see 22 heads in the pool:  30+
Minutes before kids demolished a double serving of Auntie Heather's Taco Dip and 6 avocados worth of Very Good Guacamole:  5
# of younger kids I was also supposed to be watching but who just took care of themselves:  4
Liters of soda/lemonade drunk:  18
Hamburgers grilled:  24
Hot Dogs grilled:  36
Cups of coleslaw consumed:  1/4
# of hot dog buns chewed on by a squirrel before the party when I wasn't looking:  2
# of kids who knew that had happened with the squirrel:  0
# of super-soakers being employed almost constantly:  4
# of times kids forgot the cardinal rule "You will not shoot the mother of the party":  5
Time we said the party would end:  4:00
Time last kids left:  5:50
Time we were supposed to leave the house for Kai's 8th grade graduation:  6:00
Photos friends took tagged with Ling posted on Facebook:  72
# of kids who drowned:  0  (Thank God!)

Last Day of School Pool Party--What was I Thinking???

"How many kids can I invite to the pool party?" Ling asked over the phone last weekend while I was away on a women's getaway.

"How many do you want to invite?"

"About 20."

"Um, that's kind of a lot," said I, mostly thinking about how many hot dogs I'd need to buy for a pack of hungry teens.

"But I don't know who I can cut!"

"Well, OK, but keep it to 20."

She kept it to 26.

And of course, this is all my fault.  I'm the one who's been pressuring her to have friends over, to host movie nights, to throw parties, to do something, anything social.  Unless her mostly Asian-immigrant crowd of friends are excluding her, the social life for her circle IMHO is dire.

"Believe me, your friends aren't having fun.  You can really bless them!" I've said over the past two years.

Several weeks ago, after her successful birthday party (the only time there's an "excuse" to party), I suggested, "Why don't you have friends over every week this summer?  A movie night?  A pool party?  Anything!"

I've been the social life Tiger Mom, but all to no avail.

Until today.

Because she actually considered my offer.

Now I'm having a minor panic attack because it wasn't until 4:45 this morning that I considered what 20 hormonal teenagers and a pool can do, especially a murky pool because we've sprung a leak and can't keep the water in balance.  Nightmare visions of kids drowning and resting on the bottom of the pool unseen have been dancing in my head all morning.

Scott and I have been plotting, can we do a sign-in list?  Should we do the buddy system?  But there's no way teens in bathing suits are going to remember to watch out for their buddy unless it's a cute person of the opposite sex.

How am I going to grill, life-guard, drive Kai to a voice lesson in the middle of it all, and ensure safety?  I feel like the quintessential reckless teen--so swept up in the social potential I've forgotten about sane adult responsibilities.

So pray for us if you're reading this sometime between 11:15 and late afternoon.

I think I'm going to need every prayer I can get.

My Theology of Parenting or Why I Gave up Being God

BK (before kids) I met 2 women with vastly differing parenting styles, both of whom rooted their parenting in their beliefs about the nature of God and humankind—their theology.

Donna emphasized God’s order and the sinfulness of humanity.  Therefore, providing babies with a structured environment including scheduled feeding, napping, and playing would corral their sinful natures.  The baby was not the center of the universe.  Instead the baby was a part (albeit an important part) of a community, so the baby’s needs didn’t trump the needs of the mother, the marriage or the rest of the family. And because Donna eventually had 6 kids, her emphasis on order may have been a necessary survival skill!

Kathy stressed God’s unconditional love and omnipresence.  Believing that children’s relationships with God are fundamentally shaped by their relationships with their parents, she practiced her own version of Dr. Sear’s attachment parenting—on-demand feeding, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping.  When I invited her to speak to graduate students about parenting, she wore her youngest daughter in a sling the whole talk!

And then there was Nancy, who didn’t talk about her theology of parenting, but about the practicalities of parenting.  Her advice at my baby shower?  “With our first child, we wanted equality of child-rearing so we both woke up to feed, diaper and care for the kid every night.  And we were both exhausted all the time.  By child #3, we decided to divide and conquer!”

When I got pregnant I asked a friend with a 10 month old, “Do I go with Donna, Kathy or Nancy?”

“Oh Nancy all the way,” said my friend who hadn’t slept in 10 months, “Do what works.”

Yet always the idealist, I wanted my theology to guide my parenting.  But which aspects of God’s character should I emphasize?

As someone who’s never been particularly orderly, Donna’s parenting style was out—I just wasn’t capable.  I liked Kathy’s priority of God’s unconditional love, my education inclined me towards attachment theories of parenting, and if it would lead to my kid securely experiencing God’s love, why not?

But when our daughter was born, just keeping this tiny creature alive whupped my butt.  We moved cities 2 ½ months later.  Our daughter didn’t sleep more than 1½ hours for the first 8 months of her life.  I tried to work while my husband went to grad school and we had no money for childcare.

More sobering, when our daughter entered her terrible twos, my anger and control issues came out.  No matter how I wanted to mirror God’s goodness to my child, instead, too often, she received impatience and ill temper instead.

So my theology of parenting changed.  God indeed is good—unconditionally loving, omnipresent, and ever-forgiving.

But I’m not God.

As my 3 (now teenage) kids are too happy to point out regularly, I’m imperfect. So here are the great theological treatises that get proclaimed in our house:

• God loves you. I love you.  But I’m out of energy and need space.
• God wants you to ask him for everything you need and honors the persistent widow.  I’m not God.   STOP ASKING/WHINING/PESTERING!
• God has the capacity to listen to you forever.  I don’t.

Frankly, my clearest acts of practical theology are when I apologize and ask my children for forgiveness.

We’re resigned that our kids will need therapy to work out all the ways we’ve messed them up.  But I’m OK with that because I’m trusting that God’s love, mercy and healing can cover all the ways we fail.

And that’s good theology for parents.

What is your theology of parenting?

What aspects of God have shaped how you raise your kids?

You might also enjoy:

Regret, What a Waste

Mother’s Day Gifts, or Why I Never Get What I Want

Chocolate=Lies, Sex=Truth

3 Reasons I Work for Money

Some Reflections on Raising Hapa-Haole Kids

Do You Think Chinese Girls are Pretty?

This was first posted on What She Said

Why I Write

I recently attended a writer’s luncheon at my church, where we were given the assignment of writing a 6 word poem about either our life story or writing.  Here’s mine:

God called

I obeyed

I write

That very morning, as I served on the prayer ministry team, a woman told me that God gave her a picture of me writing.

“Yes, and. . .?” (Hoping that she had visions of what I’m supposed to be writing, that I’m supposed to get published, that someday fame and fortune will be down my road. . .)

“You were writing.”

“And???” 


That was it.  Other than her free advice to self-publish rather than go for publishers.

Sigh.  Believe it or not, that’s the 3^rd time someone’s told me God told them I should be writing.  By the 2^nd time, I realized God telling you to do something doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be easy or fun or sorrow-free.

Take marriage for example.  Have you met (or perhaps experienced yourself) someone who God told them who they were going to marry?  Well according to some wise folks who know a lot about hearing from God, if God tells you who you're supposed to marry, it's because the marriage is going to be so challenging that you will need to remember God gave you a special word so that years later when you're miserable and tempted to leave you know God was in it all along.

God didn't tell me I was supposed to marry Scott, but God did give little hints, with 2 very trusted "good-at-hearing-from God" folks telling me I was going to get married right before and right after we had our "RDT--Relationship Defining Talk."  And indeed, in the first 10 years of our marriage--which were really really really hard--as I wondered whether I'd made the worst mistake of my life, I'd remember God's hand in it all and hope and trust and obey.

So here I am now.  3 different folks have heard from God on my behalf that I need to be writing.  And rather than assume it's because fame and fortune will follow, I'm assuming it's because I need that encouragement along this long journey.

So I write.

The Connections Around Tomato Soup

In the midst of reflecting on the reunion/college tours of last week (click here and here to read), my friend Marya asked me for my tomato soup recipe.

And it made me think about connections.

Marya and I met my freshman year of college through InterVarsity when she and her husband Kevin were lofty seniors.  That meant that when we re-met 25 years later, I remembered them clearly and they vaguely maybe remembered me.  Freshman year I dropped by InterVarsity occasionally, just enough to disrupt their winter retreat (where I became the center of attention as 100 students tried to heal me--a story for another time) makes me all the more unmemorable.

But we reconnected 25 years later when Kevin came to Boston to be a professor and I wanted to start a faculty fellowship.  It's so nice when God gives you the chance to befriend folks the 2nd time round.

At the Boston Faculty Fellowship, I cater all meals, hence the tomato soup connection.

The tomato soup recipe came from my grad school friend Margaret, who threw various parties where she cooked delicious gourmet food so far beyond what I ever conceived.  She took me a step beyond both spiritually and culinarily.

At a brunch on a cold blowy day, she served tomato soup.

I felt nervous about it.  My mother has an aversion to tomato soup--going to college as a Chinese immigrant, she couldn't stomach either the tomato soup/grilled cheese sandwich nights, or the tuna casserole nights.

But I took a sip, and voila!  An aversion was destroyed and a new love began.

While I was sipping Margaret's tomato soup in her apartment, Kevin and Marya were several miles away, working/going to law school/getting married.  We enjoyed mutual friends and we were all in the same place, but unconnected.

Tomato soup connects these dear friends, 25 years later.  It feels like a wonderful circle of friendship and food.  All homey, warm and nourishing.

Kind of like tomato soup.

Chunky Tomato Gazpacho

(Margaret Evans)

Makes 6 ½ cup servings

10 ¾ oz. can Campbell’s Tomato soup

2/3 cup milk

¼ cup finely chopped green onions

14 ½ oz can tomatoes, undrained and slightly chopped

1 tsp. oregano

4 slices bacon, well drained, crisply cooked, crumbled

Combine and heat thoroughly, simmer until the soup looks red rather than pink (30 minutes).  Can be served hot or cold

KTM notes:  I don’t put the bacon in during cooking, just sprinkle on top afterwards so it’s still crunchy.

Driving with my Daughter for the 1st time

Ling's had her learner’s permit for a whole 12 days.  I avoided driving with her the first week, when Scott took her out 3 times.  I resisted her pressuring me to let her drive during our trip to Chicago.  (“I’m 100% positive that it’s not in the rental car agreement to let an unlicensed 16 year old drive.”)

But then Monday night, exactly a week from when Ling got her learner’s permit, Scott booted me out of the front seat of the van where I was waiting for us to drive to a Japanese restaurant and redeem an almost expiring Groupon (yet again).  


“Get in the back unless you want to coach her,” he said.

I got in the back.

There’s all this research out there about how fathers give their children independence and freedom far more than mothers—a reason fathers are so essential for child development.  Well here was a case in point, because not only was she going to drive the ENTIRE family through crowded streets, ON THE HIGHWAY for the first time, but she also was going to drive our MINIVAN for the first time—the minivan that’s my ride.

Look, even I can’t drive the minivan.  I’m a poor to mediocre driver with subpar spatial-visual skills.  The 2 minivans we’ve owned have each had their share of bumps and bruises due to me, and now Ling’s going to drive in the minivan ON THE HIGHWAY no less?

Scott warned, “You need to be quiet and let me coach her.”

I nodded and zipped my lips.  


Or tried.  


Until I couldn’t resist with a “Slow, slow, there’s a stop sign!”

Scott warned me again.  But I couldn’t help it.  Among the comments I threw out included:

·      

·      Stay in the speed limit—the speed limit’s 30

·      Blinker, turn the blinker on

·      Stop!  Did you see the biker there?

·      Slow, slow, SLOW

·      Turn!

“Stop yelling at me,” said Ling.

“I’m not yelling.”  And I wasn’t.  I spoke in a quiet voice, but a voice that clearly held levels of panic and anxiety that might as well have been yelling.

Scott warned me again and again. 

We got to the restaurant and back with no harm to the minivan, mild harm to our family relationships, and about 2 years off my life.

I’m not doing that again soon, I thought to myself.

Until the next day when it was time to go to the oral surgeon for Ling’s wisdom teeth consultation.  Again, with only the minivan at home.

“Can I drive?”

Pray for me.  As Scott said last night, "You don't have the temperament for this."

Regret--What a Waste

There’s nothing like a college reunion to raise a slew of emotions—and for me, amidst much joy, laughter and celebration, lay the bittersweet taint of regret.

Last week, I took my daughter on our first college tour, and attended a reunion celebrating the 25^thanniversary of the Northwestern University Graduate Christian Fellowship.  And while I enjoyed every bit of the whole process (other than developing some weird tendonitis on the top of my right foot from walking so much), regret inserted itself into my consciousness at various times throughout the weekend:

• Regret that I haven’t kept up with, or invested more in friends I love
• Regret that some of my decisions led me out of closer community
• Regret that I didn’t invest in graduate school as well as I could have

But most of all, regret that I spent too many of my undergrad years feeling regret. I didn’t attend my dream college because my parents couldn’t afford to send me and Northwestern was the only school that gave me money.  Despite praying throughout high school that God would send me where I was supposed to go by providing financial aid (but please please please God let me go to school on the Mainland), when I got to college and life was hard, a tint of regret poisoned the pure gratitude I felt for being able to leave home and attend a top notch university.  I wasn’t fully satisfied with how God actually answered my prayer

As I walked around the campus where I spent 7 years of my life, thinking what a great education I received, all I could think was, “What a waste that I spent any energy in regret.”

Yesterday I met with my spiritual director, and talked about regret—how knowing God opened and shut doors while leading me through most of my decisions still doesn’t kill regret over opportunities lost, how knowing that I probably wouldn’t be married to Scott or mother my 3 kids or enjoy the friends I love still doesn’t keep me from regretting some of the past, how I just don’t want to waste anymore effort in regret, but don’t know how.

She said, “I think all this comes down to the question ‘Is God good?  You probably should ask him that.’”

Hmmm. . .

Today, while I walked with a friend, she said she heard that ruminating can be bad.  Ruminating on the past can lead to depression.  Ruminating on the future can lead to anxiety.  Instead, we live and work and breathe in the present.

That made sense.  Regret robs me from receiving the present moment God wants to give me, as does worry.

As the reunion tempted me to ruminate on the past (regret), and the college tours tempted me to ruminate on the future (worry about whether and where my kids will go to college), may God help me to live in the present and show me, minute by minute, that He is good.

What do you regret?  How do you move on?

You might also enjoy:

Our First College Tour

Mother’s Day Gifts, or Why I Never Get What I Want

Chocolate=Lies, Sex=Truth

3 Reasons I Work for Money

Some Reflections on Raising Hapa-Haole Kids

Do You Think Chinese Girls are Pretty?

This was first posted on What She Said