Carla: Last night my husband and I, along with my parents, saw Dave Brubeck in concert. The man is 88 years old and is arguably the greatest jazz musician alive. As I sat there with my parents, I thought about the incredible gift they have given me in instilling a love and appreciation for this legendary artist.

My parents are big jazz fans and we always had jazz music playing in the house. Every chance they had to see one of their favorites in concert, they bought tickets for all of us and we went. Mind you, I grew up in a small town and attending these concerts usually involved a 2-hour drive and often an overnight stay. Even when I was in high school, my parents would haul me along to shows by greats like Sarah Vaughan and Dizzy Gillespie and a much younger Dave Brubeck. I was often the only child in an audience of adults and I loved it. I loved the time with my parents, I loved the music, and I loved being in the presence of these great performers.

Last night, listening to music I’ve known for most of my life, sitting with the people who taught me to love it, got me thinking about the gifts I am giving my children. I wonder what treasures I am passing on to them. I don’t just mean the big-picture things like faith and love. I mean these little things that are part of our lives that the kids might not even notice right now but will thank us for one day. I wonder how they’ll fill in this blank: “My parents taught me to appreciate ______”

Maybe it will be “the woods.” My sweet husband was not outdoorsy when we met, but he has discovered a love for camping and has made camping with our kids a priority. So every summer, we hit the road at least twice to sleep on the ground and eat food with dirt in it. Our hope is not that our kids become expert campers, but that they learn to see the beauty of creation, that they find the same peace and contentment in the woods that we do.

Maybe it will be “community.” We have people in our house all the time. Sometimes they live here, sometimes they are here for dinner, sometimes they just pop in when they are out walking their dogs. Regardless of why they come or how long they stay, our friends–and their friends and so on and so on–make our lives better. We hope our kids pick up on the beauty of community, the joys and challenges that come from truly sharing life with other people.

Of course it’s just as likely it will be “show tunes.”

So much of what I learned from my parents happened simply because they included me in what they were interested in–theater, music, good food, books, Monty Python. They weren’t intentionally trying to teach me anything, just being themselves and inviting me into their lives.

Caryn: Oh, I love this topic (show tunes, the woods, yes!!). And I must tell this story. The other day I was looking through my son’s “take home folder” and sifting through his worksheets, etc. and I came across his Bible quiz (he goes to a Christian school, remember. No, our public schools don’t teach Bible here). Here was the question:

Jonah disobeyed God. Draw a picture or write about what happened to Jonah when he disobeyed.

My son’s answer: He got slurped up by a big fish.

SLURPED! I nearly squealed. My son—who is an incredible artist, so I’m surprised that he didn’t draw a picture—chose the word “slurped.” His word-loving teacher wrote “interesting word choice!” and put a smiley face next to it.

Darn tootin’ (in words my mom passed down to me) it’s an interesting word choice! But beyond that, I felt like such a roaring (another passed on word) success as a mom because one thing I’ve tried to pass on is a love of words. In English. In Spanish. Big ones. Little ones. Real ones. Made up ones. And here my son writes that Jonah got slurped. I’m still smiling.

Now, who knows what my son will do in life. But if he does it with wise word choices, I’m happy.

I think that’s what makes families so cool—that God plunks these kids into our lives and it’s our job to pass things on. Maybe they’ll grow up sharing our loves—our family’s love of debating issues, questioning, of politics and reading, of God, of animals—or maybe they’ll grow up rejecting some of it. But just that they’ve been exposed to our loves and loved during the ”exposing” is so awesome. It’s sort of a branding for families. What makes us special, unique.

Which brings me back to slurped. Note: On that same quiz, my son was also able to list two prophets God used to speak to Israel, which king was 7 when he was crowned and which one was told to destroy Ahab’s family and the Baals. But I’m less impressed. Anyone can know that (except I didn’t). But word choice is an art. Maybe even a family thing.

Carla: I love me a good word choice.

I was talking about this with my husband today and he thinks our kids are picking up goofiness from us. Considering I met him when he was playing the Church Lady in a skit, the chances are pretty good they will indeed learn a little bit about goofiness.

So Revs, how do you think your kids will answer the question: “My parents taught me to appreciate ______”?

Carla: This is worth talking about.

It turns out that when it comes to the working mom/at-home mom conversation, we have been dealing with a “straw woman” of sorts. It seems to be news to the people who write the news that the majority of stay-at-home moms are there not because of some deep-seated value about the family but rather because economics sometimes make working a non-option.

I think this survey has the potential to be a conversation changer for women because it challenges the image of the stay-at-home mom, the one that has us pressed and dressed and busy and satisfied because, while we could have chosen to work, we love our children and don’t want to leave them in the care of strangers. The census survey suggests that far more women stay home out of necessity than out of moral superiority. Unless a second income (and we might need to do a whole other post on the problems with calling one person’s job a “second income” like it’s a slush fund) brings in enough money to cover childcare, the increase in taxes, transportation, and the expenses that come when all of the adults in the family are working all day (more meals out, hiring someone to clean the house, less time for bargain hunting, etc.) or it’s your life’s calling, it’s hardly worth it.

And this false image leaves all kinds of women out of the picture altogether–poor women, single parents, women with limited education, women with limited access to suitable childcare. That these are often the women staying home is the big news of this survey, but I know lots of the women reading this blog fall into at lease one of those categories. Many of these women might very well be home because they really want to be. But others want to be able to work, want to be able to finish a degree, want to do everything they can to build a better life for themselves and their children.

The reason that’s a problem is that when it comes to public policy about issues that impact families, the prevailing image wins. So policies get made with the assumption that women have health care, that if they need more money they can just go get jobs, that quality childcare is readily available and affordable. As long as that’s the person we think we’re talking about when we talk about at-home moms, we won’t really be able to move forward and create a culture in which women have real choices about how to support their families emotionally, physically, and financially.

Caryn: Of course, I too heard about this study—and had been meaning to write about it but I was too busy getting “pressed and dressed.” NOT! (Great image, Carla. Nice one.)

But I loved how this study shattered the image of the at-home mom, why we’re here, what we look like, what language we speak.

In fact, my own decision to “stay home” had a lot to do with economics. Still does. Since non-profit Christian publishing pays less than just about any other profession on the planet, when I was pregnant with my oldest son, it wasn’t too difficult to see that my salary wouldn’t cover all those things you mention.

But where you lose me, Carla, is when you start talking about “public policies.” You know those words make me itch and twitch when I’m pressed and dressed. Because I think you’d like to see all sorts of social programs spring up to give free or cheap or paid-for-by-rich-people childcare and (whatever else to make it easier on moms to work if they want to. I’d love to see programs like this pop up—run by churches and non-profits. But the government having their hands in this, you know, gives me the heebs.) (Note: Isn’t it nice that my husband is RUNNING FOR OFFICE and I show such public disdain for the government…. Think is a problem?)

And clearly, we need to CUT taxes on working families. Give us HUGER deductions for our massive health care bills. Stop taxing our food, our wine (please), our cars, our pizza, our parking.

And what I’d REALLY like to see is instead of mandating all sorts of rules and regulations that companies have to abide by regarding maternity leave and family-friendly policies and the like for moms everywhere to boycott companies with crap policies, give our patronage to family-friendly businesses, and, really, have us start our own businesses, make our own rules.

It’s still a man’s world, baby. Let’s make it a mom’s world. That’s how we create that culture where motherhood is not only sustainable but flourishes. So sayeth the weirdo Libertarian Feminist.

Carla: This is the sort of thing that’s going to come back to bite you when you’re running for president .(Would a libertarian run for president? I don’t understand you people at all.)

I don’t think public policy should necessarily be relegated to the government–local, state, or federal–but it seems like that’s often where these sorts of decisions play out. It took the federal government to ensure that a woman can stay in the hospital for more than 12 hours after she has a baby and that her job can’t be taken away if she takes a maternity leave. It would be incredible if the church or non-profits had that kind of power and influence.

At the same time, I’m totally with you that we can be agents of justice by asking questions, setting aside assumptions, pushing for change, and putting our money where our values are. And really, that’s what I’m getting at here. The Mommy Revolution isn’t just about the airing of grievances, it’s about making life sustainable for all mothers regardless of their circumstances. So what can we be doing–what kind of things are we doing–that help make life better for other moms. Big picture, grassroots, small steps, whatever it is, please share your ideas!

Caryn: How do I put this delicately? Ummm…….Well, today has sucked. Sucked. Sucked. Big time.

My kids are off school. It’s cold and rainy.  My kids have been fighting because they’re bored and cooped up. None of us feel great, but aren’t quite sick. I’m depressed that I can’t just curl up in bed and be left alone so I can read The Bell Jar, which I started to reread yesterday. And, I admit, I’m a little bummed that we don’t have the dough to take a little jog somewhere warm or pretty or fun like so many of my son’s schoolmates seem to be doing over fall break.

This is the kind of day where it takes every last ounce of energy to make it through (see our last post where I smugly admit I was in a better “season”)–where honestly I kinda hate being a mom. Which is so weird because just YESTERDAY was so freaking fantastic. Yesterday was a total “I love being a mom!” day if there ever was one.

The weather was ridiculously perfect (68 degrees, sunny, slight, slight warm breeze, crispy leaves, hello, what’s not to love!), and my kids and I used their half-day to run to the library, play outside, jump in leaves, read together…. Honestly. It was a great day.

So today—as I’ve wondered what’s gone wrong (ugh! rain)—I can’t help but think that it’s these wild life-fluctuations that make being a mom (and I suppose a dad) so totally crazy. It’s why we feel like we are going to lose our minds. Because, honestly, these drastic highs and lows do this to us.

I don’t know what my point is here (please don’t worry. I’m NOT going all Sylvia Plath on anybody)—except to wonder if anybody else senses this same thing. That maybe motherhood would be easier or saner if were just somehow more level, if our lives were less manic and depressive…… I dunno.

Carla: There must be something in the air. One of my friends posted on her FB today that she kind of wants to just pull the covers over her head and wake up to a new life. She wondered if anyone else ever felt that way and there was a resounding, unanimous “Yes!” vote from the Facebook sisterhood.

It is amazing how quickly our lives can go from manageable and even enjoyable to overwhelming and crappy. Sometimes it’s because someone is sick or it’s raining or plans fall through, but often there is no real reason for the depressive part of the bipolar parenting cycle. It just comes along one morning and is in no hurry to go away.

I wonder, though, if it’s not really a cycle at all. It’s a game of whiplash where you can be coasting along just fine and then Wham! you get pulled off your feet by the sheer force of the endless responsibility. Personally, I can have a long stretch of great days and then, out of nowhere, comes a hard one, the kind where I think one more demand is going to send me running for the open road. I know it’s getting bad when I see a TV show that involves prison and I think, That doesn’t look so bad. You get a bed to yourself, there’s nothing to do all day, and someone feeds you.

I suppose the real struggle is accepting that this is just life. It doesn’t matter if the hard part is parenthood or work or marriage or loneliness or school or friendship. Being human means having difficult days where we long to be anywhere else doing anything else than what’s being asked of us.

Helpful, aren’t I?

Carla: Caryn and I spent an incredible weekend at Christianity 21 and I for one am still so overwhelmed by it all I’m not sure I can write about it yet. Hopefully we’ll be able to connect some dots in the coming days and put words around this amazing experience.

For now, however, I am trying to re-enter my daily life. Today was particularly hard. I am exhausted–in a good way–from the weekend and just want to lay on the couch and process and imagine and nap. But of course that’s not happening–far from it. Precious child #3 woke up at 5:30 ready to eat breakfast. I convinced her to climb in bed and snuggle instead, but that lasted about 15 minutes. She began to get rather vocal about her hunger so we got up in the dark, she ate, I tried not to be bitter, and we got back in bed for a few minutes before the rest of the household woke up and began the day in earnest. Now I’m extra tired and there’s no respite in sight.

We’ve all had days like this, days that for whatever reason start too early, end too late, are too full, are too dull, are soul-sucking or mind-blowing or crazy-making. So what I want to know is, what’s your secret for moving through days that seem endless? Whether it’s something that helps you stay calm, something that perks you up, something that maintains your sanity, or something that brightens the dark corners of motherhood, I want to know what it is.

My list includes–but is not limited to–the following: Diet Coke (although I have given it up for the most part, today was a DC day if ever there was one), a new magazine (I might only get to read it in snippets in the bathroom, but it makes me happy just the same), a plan for dinner, chai tea, peanut butter M&Ms (seriously, these are coated in crack), and my daily dose of wellbutrin. A glass of wine helps, too, but I try to keep the bottle closed until at least 5 p.m..

What’s on your list?

Caryn: Since kicking the DC habit last Lent, I still won’t buy it for the house (though I do drink it socially—you know the drill). So now my vices are confined to my newly acquired coffee addiction, my afternoon tea (don’t think anything elegant here), and the occasional glass of wine (which I used to drink out on the front porch until 1.] I realized I looked like the neighborhood drunk and 2.] It started to get cold).

But, honestly, the things that really keeps me from losing my mind are baby carrots and a good book. Seriously. This is what a dork I am. I go through a bag of the carrots at least every couple days. I crave the crunch like you wouldn’t believe. When I run out, I just about lose my mind. It’s weird.

And the book thing—well—that’s how I escape my life. If I’m not in the middle of a good one, again, that mind-losing thing happens. (Right now I’m trying to get into Anne Tyler’s Accidental Tourist. So far it’s my least favorite of her books. If you must know.)

But I must say—I’m in a better place motherhood-wise right now (Lord knows how long it will last!) than I was, say, a few months ago. So, it’s easier for me to sort of rely on the carrots and books to get me through the craziest days. But when I read an article in this weekend’s Chicago Tribune on the upswing of alcoholism among mothers like us, let’s just say I totally understood why. It ain’t easy.

Carla: The other day I saw one of my favorite Monty Python sketches in which four men reminisce about their youth, each one trying to best the others’ tales of woe. It reminded me of something that happens too often among mothers–reverse bragging. In fact, I did it myself yesterday.

I was at the orthodontist with my 12-year-old and the assistant–are they called hygienists at the orthodontist?–asked me if I was going crazy with the hormone shifts of my preteen. It turns out she has a 12-year-old, too, and is dealing with the head-spinning mood swings that come with puberty (and no, my daughter was not in the room during this conversation). I nodded my head a lot and offered looks of commiseration. I gave a few laughs that said, “Oh sister, I’ve so been there!” But the truth is I haven’t.

I have to say, my daughter is a pretty even-keeled kid. Of course she’s had her moments and I’m certain there will be more as she moves fully into her teens, but so far, she has been pretty easy–even delightful–to live with. So why would I act like she was a moody mess when she isn’t? So that this other mom wouldn’t feel bad about her life.

I actually find myself in lots of conversations in which moms aren’t bragging about their children’s accomplishments but rather bemoaning their failings. And then the one-upmomship begins–”You think that’s bad….” and pretty soon we’re living in a paper bag down mill (watch the Python clip and you’ll get that).

In some ways, this is progress for motherhood. It means we aren’t afraid of telling the truth, that the cathartic act of telling other parents about the crazy things our children do helps relieve the shame or the guilt or the frustration. And that’s all good. But maybe we need to find some middle ground where we can be honest about the good and the bad.

I think I can be supportive without painting my own child in an unflattering light–especially when it’s a false light. I can tell another mom that parenthood is no picnic without my problems having to outweigh hers. And I can certainly listen and let another mom vent without inserting myself into the conversation with confessions that are really meant to make me feel better.

Caryn: Read you loud and clear on this one. It’s a common trap—in our desire to connect and relate and not come across as total motherjudgers (a word I’m totally trying to get into the lexicon)—one I’ve fallen into many a time in my motherhood.

But every time I have, I’ve also had little internal alarm bells go off for another reason. Ever since my stint at Marriage Partnership magazine, where every third article was about the dangers of public husband-bashing, these alarms have rung now and again. They started ringing for new reasons when I had kids.

I think in our haste to connect we can not only tell fish tales—as you so wickedly did—but we can also kid-bash. While it’s good to commiserate with other moms about the horrors of mommyhood, it’s also important that we protect our kids a bit. Respect their privacy and their right to behave badly without the world knowing.

Of course, the problem is when kids have mothers who are writers and kind of tell their stories for a “living.” Oh, Carla. What do we do?

Carla: You’re totally right (you might want to copy and paste that somewhere since it’s not likely I’ll say it again any time soon). There has to be some third way between acting like our lives are perfect and trashing our kids for the sake of connection. Maybe what we need to do is take the focus off the kids altogether and talk about our own struggles, our fears, our questions, our concerns. Instead of letting the hygienist think that my girl is an emotional wreck, I could have said, “It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?” or “I’m never really sure what to do at any given moment, either.” Because really, that’s what she wanted–someone to let her know she’s not the only one who feels overwhelmed now and then.

Carla: If you aren’t familiar with Andy Crouch and his book/blog Culture Making, well you should be. Today, he links to a short discussion of a documentary I hope we all get to see one day. It’s called Koolhaus Houselife.

The premise of the documentary is to see what it’s like to actually live in a fancy-pants house, in this case a house designed by “starchitect” Rem Koolhaus. The movie apparently spends a significant amount of time with Ms. Acedo, the woman who cleans this house, which was clearly not designed with vacuum cleaners in mind. The movie isn’t just taking a peek inside a famous house, it’s exploring what happens when art meets dust.

And that makes me happy.

Last summer, my sweet eldest child volunteered to bring the class tortoises home for part of the summer. With them came a 6-foot-long glass tank, two big bags of Timothy Hay, plastic tub, a heat lamp, a big orange extension cord, and power strip. The tank, which we’d thought would be upstairs, hidden away from the world, was so heavy we couldn’t get it past the dining room. So that’s where it stayed for 6 weeks. The whole house smelled like hay–and not in a sweet, summery, fresh-mown sense. Every day I’d look at that huge tank and think, Funny how you never see those in the house porn catalogs.

I live in a lovely house with wood floors and big windows and a fireplace. When you walk in, the first thing that hits you is the smell that, as far as I can tell, is a combination of the previous owners’ 50 years of smoking in the house, their cats, our cats, our dog, wet pull-ups, and something rotting that I haven’t found yet. If you want to sit down, you need to find a place with no dog hair or soccer gear or Polly Pockets on it–and good luck with that. The fireplace doesn’t work, the windows are drafty and only a few of them open, and the wood floors are coated in a fine layer of dog hair and dust that seems to come right back out of the vacuum as soon as I’m done cleaning.

Believe me, these are not complaints. This is our home and we are grateful for it and beyond happy to be in it. But it’s also a real house, not a showplace, and we really live in it: the kids, the dog, the cats, the tortoises (well, they’ve moved on but I’m pretty sure there are some mice who have taken their place somewhere in the basement), a messy man, and a woman who is still trying to live in the real world and not some magazine spread. I have to tell myself this every single day.

I can’t wait to see Koohaus Houselife if only to pay my respects to the woman who spends her days living in the place where fantasy collides with reality. I have a feeling she has a lot to teach me.

Caryn: You know, many, many people reading this might be afraid to come and stay at your house next weekend. But me? I just know that I’ll feel right at home. Nothing—and I mean nothing—of late makes me happier than people who live in houses that get messy, who recline on couches strewn with Polly Pockets, and walk across floors with a nice carpet of dog hair.

As is so often the theme here at the Rev: it just feels so good to know I’m not alone. I too live in a darling (though not fancy pants) home. Nice place. Nice town. Nice big yard. A big front stoop-porch hybrid that I love.

But my life does sort of feel like the place where art and dust meet. Or, actually, where art (the art of living, raising children, and writing) meets mess. Hmmmm….. I’m wondering what all this might mean. And I’m thinking that even if I lived in a fancy pants (or “shiney” as my daughter calls them) house and had a housekeeper, it’d somehow be crazy and messy and chaotic. Because that’s kind of who we are.

But, yes, a movie about where art meets dust? I’m in. I did see Andy’s tweet this morning and was initrigued. Of course, now, I also think he should do a bit on the Mommy Revolution for Culture Making. Because, really, the hand that rocks the cradle makes the culture. Isn’t that what they say?

Can’t wait to smell your house—see if I can help you locate that rotten something—next weekend at Christanity21!! The Mommy Revolution dinner is taking shape.

Carla: Seriously! Who is nurturing all those culture-makers? Who is letting the future starchitects mess up our lovely houses with their couch-cushion forts and Barbie houses? Who is letting the future chefs and scientists and inventors create concoctions in the kitchen and the yard and the basement even if it means they use all the chocolate chips?

I love that you just made a post that was essentially me crabbing about my house into a treatise on motherhood as the foundation of society. Nicely done.

And I promise I’ll clean the house before you come.

Caryn: Probably a month ago now, our pet snail Trappy died. When my 7-year-old son asked how I think she died, I said, “Well, she had 10 babies within a month’s time. I’m guessing she was exhausted.”

To which my son said: “Yeah. But she was a terrible mother. She totally ignored them. So I don’t know why she’d be so tired.”

To which I said: “Good point.”

Truth be told, Trappy was a terrible mother. Seriously. Never once did I see her anywhere near any of these crazy baby snails (and if anyone out there can tell me how and where these snails came from—when we don’t have any boy snails around—I’d appreciate it!). It just seemed like every couple days, we’d notice another tiny shell in the tank and Trappy would just be business as usual–hanging on the gravel, sucked onto the side of the tank, just looking for her algae.

And I have to admit, I loved Trappy for being such a bad mom. It was nice to have my children periodically comment on how she never played with her babies or got them food or snuggled them or anything. They would tell me this in contrast to me—a.k.a. the best mom in the house.

So I sort of encouraged this view of Trappy the Bad Mom Snail. Putting her down lifted me up. Of course.

I didn’t feel at all bad about this—or convicted in any way—until her babies started dying. When Trappy went to Jesus, her babies started kicking off too. We had 10 when she died. Now we have 2.

At first I attributed the snail deaths to something in the water—the thing that perhaps killed Trappy—but now I’m wondering. Was Trappy perhaps not such an awful mother? Was she actually caring for her snails in some way and now that she’s gone, her babies can’t survive without her?

So naturally, now I’m riddled with guilt. While I still have no idea why our snails are dying (and you’ll notice that I’m not talking about how I rushed out to seek help for them…..), I am convicted of my ever-quick willingness to judge another mom. Whether I know anything about her life or the way she raises her children or anything.

I seriously though that my whole journey as a mother who felt so judged by the world “cured”‘ me of my own motherjudgement, but my harshness to Trappy is kind of bringing to mind a bunch of other situations where I STILL tend to judge other moms—different moms—pretty unfairly.

So I don’t know what my point is–but I just wanted to come clean a bit and say as much as I try not to and as much of a “good game” I talk about mother being a motherjudger, I am. Probably always will be.

Carla: Maybe Trappy died of shame because she could feel your judgmental stares. I think she totally knew what you thought of her. Her last moments on earth were probably spent thinking, “You know what blondie? You try having 10 kids. Let’s see how long you last. And don’t pretend like dinging around on Facebook is any more maternal than sucking on the side of a tank because it’s not. Think I’m a bad mom? Watch how the kids do without me….”

I am pretty much over feeling judged for my mothering, mostly because my eldest child has turned out so well and I figure even if I go one out of three, that’s pretty good. But I do find myself having to turn off my internal motherjudger more often than I’d like.

I find that I rarely judge moms I know. Instead, I save my sense of superiority for total strangers. I think it’s because it’s so much easier to imagine that some random woman is dumb or lazy or careless than to cast aspersions on women I know are anything but. And really, isn’t the whole point of the judging thing to make ourselves feel better?

If I may quote the brilliant Bruce Cockburn for a moment, “Can it be so hard to love yourself without thinking someone else holds a lower card? Grow up you.”

Caryn: Judging might just be my favorite sin. (Don’t forget to keep checking here for more information on the Mommy Revolution event at Christianity21. Just over a couple weeks away!!!)

Carla: Not so long ago, I was in my car with a male friend of mine who is about 13 years younger than I am. An Audioslave song came on the radio and I happened to know the words. This fact stunned my friend into silence.

I get than when you’re 28 a 41-year-old mom in a minivan does seem less-than-likely to be familiar with Audioslave but I was kind of stunned by how shocked he was.

Then I realized that most of the people I know these days have no clue that I have an Alice in Chains song on my iPod or that I can belt out a showtune or that I can name all the original members of Kiss or–and this is impressive–that I can recite the entire rap section of the song “Rapture” by Blondie. Not that these are signs of my coolness by any means. Rather, they are reminders–to me at least–that I am more than what people see.

This really goes back to Caryn’s book and the ways in which motherhood tends to swamp the other parts of who we are. I don’t feel like myself most days and I wonder where that other Carla went. But in those moments when she pops up and other people are surprised, I realize just how hidden she has been.

Caryn: So, of course you lost me. My brain couldn’t get past you being in the car with a 28-year-old man…. Sorry. Didn’t come back until you mentioned my book. Perhaps there’s a whole other side of you we need to talk about here. If I didn’t find the word cougar so ridiculous and offensive, I’d be doing all sorts of cougary-growly-meows right now and insinuating that’s what you might be. But I hate that word and also believe OLD women can be JUST FRIENDS with young men. Plus, we ought to address all this later.

But I do love those mom-shocking moments. Mine usually have nothing to do with music (unless it’s with someone in their 70s. I LOVE me some golden oldies!!!), but I often get those weird looks when I launch into something political or economic or social or literary or something that people think, apparently, nice little suburban moms don’t THINK about. Or, what we might laugh about.

For example, I love it that two people who work for an organization with which I have some sort of affiliation BOTH emailed me the same funny thing (without knowing that the other did it). I love that they did this because it was a risk. The funny thing would not be funny to everyone. Certainly not to the stereotype of me. But to me, it’s hilarious. I love that these people (who are also like 10-13 years younger than I) know that I have an evil, depraved sense of humor. Makes me feel known and loved. Though I would like to recapture a time of my life when I laughed more.

Carla: a) I’m flattered that you think I still have enough sex appeal to woo a 28-year-old, but honestly, can you imagine the trauma a single, childless man that age would go through seeing what childbirth does to a woman?  b) I was giving a friend from church a ride, and c) some of us are capable of being friends with men. You and your Harry-Met-Sally mentality. It’s always sex sex sex with you.

Anyway, it’s funny that for all my revolutionary ranting I still have this preconceived notion of what a mom should look like and act like and listen to. Whether it’s how we dress or what we drive or who we let ride in our cars, we tend to have this picture in our minds of what’s okay and what isn’t. But there’s no reason that raising children should suddenly put us into a whole separate category of self-expression and passion. Yes, we change and our tastes and interests change with us. And yes, I’m as appalled at a 40-year-old dressing like a teenager as the next person. I’m talking about who we were and who we still are, the secret selves we’ve either buried or forgotten about or just never show to other people.

For me, music–and I am so not a music snob or a person with cutting edge tastes in bands–is one of those things that reminds me of my inner groove. So what is it for you? What would people who know you now never guess about you? And what part of who you once were do you really want to recapture? It might be something profound, it might be something trivial. Whatever it is, we’d love to hear about it.

Caryn: So today kicked off the 2009-2010 ”speaking season” for me. Today’s talk was the one based on my book—with a smidge of the Rev thrown in—so it was all about losing ourselves, confused identities, and unrealistic expectations. All the stuff I love.

On the way home, I was feeling a big smug, thinking how after all my years of wrestling with who I was as a mom and a woman and all that, I was really doing pretty well. And I am, actually.

But then the rest of today happened. Two of the world’s crabbiest, screamiest, yelliest, fightingiest, whiniest kids stepped off the school bus and walked into my house–joining their already crabby, screamy, yelly, whiney little brother. It’s been, to be honest, the afternoon from hell. I cannot remember ever having such a wretched time with my kids.

I started out trying to remain calm, soothing moods with hearty snacks, cooler clothes, and a good rest. To no avail. Mass timeouts haven’t worked. Threats haven’t worked. It’s all descended into madness. My throat actually hurts from yelling so much.

My house is bedlam, and I seriously think I’m going to lose my mind. Have we talked about this at all, Revolutionaries? I can’t remember. But I’m dying to dig into these crazy-making moments of motherhood. To find out what sets you off and what you do to calm down. To regain sanity.

In many ways, I hate even bringing this up since it plays into a stereotype in and of itself (i.e. the crazed, frazzled mom). But these days are real. These moments when we “understand child abuse,” as one friend once told me, when we get why so many moms have turned to substances to get through the day or week or life, and why, we think we will (and sometimes do) lose our ever lovin’ minds.

(On a positive note, I escaped my crazy house to my front porch to write this. My kids followed [of course!] but are all playing quietly and nicely. Huh.)

Carla: So are you saying that the fact that I gave my 12-year-old a lecture on respect and how her leaving her lunchbox sitting out until bedtime even though it has an unopened container of yogurt in it that we now have to throw out and why do I have to keep having this conversation with her and when will she start to understand that her choices affect me and that’s why this is an issue of respect and she’d better start shaping up or I really am going to throw away everything she owns was crazy? You might have a point.

I had some time to myself last week and I had these big plans of getting my house really organized–or at least de-cluttered a bit–now that most of us are back in school. But honestly, I was so overwhelmed by the crap in my house and that no matter how often I pick up or clean or purge I am still surrounded by other people’s #$&^ that I didn’t do anything. So of course I am standing right there on the edge of losing it every time someone leaves a sock on the floor or a dish on the table. So I am totally snappy and crabby and mean.

To answer your question, I seriously think the only thing that will get me back to normalcy is to throw away everything we own.

Caryn: Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. But with that, you are on to something. The stuff makes me crazy. Actually, ever since I opened up a copy of our old friend Suzanne Woods Fisher’s Amish Peace and read about how the Amish live with what is only absolutely necessary, I’ve been on a mission to get rid of half of what we own. Except for the dishes and silverware and cups because we’re already running low. Ditto towels. And cute fall shirts for me. And money (at least right now. Someday I truly want to live on the whole reverse tithe thing). And maybe my books. I could get rid of 25% of those, probably.

But the point is, while I don’t agree with the Amish on many, many things, I do think they’re on to something with the only what’s necessary bit. Although, I’m guessing Amish mamas lose their minds too.

Deep breath. New day. Another breath. Women of the Rev (and Dude of the Rev): what do you need to do to regain your mind?

Carla: As you know, I am one of the 21 presenters at Christianity 21 (Oct 9-11), an unprecedented event that promises to be a cultural shake-up. There are some astonishing presenters involved and I can’t wait to hear what they have to say. PLUS: Caryn and I are hosting a Mommy Revolution hang out time so that all of you can meet each other, have some wine, and do some serious fomenting.

After much debate, I have decided to use my time to talk about loneliness. I have come to believe it is perhaps the greatest bane of human existence. But I have also come to believe that it is one of many human ailments for which the church is uniquely positioned to be the ultimate cure.

And yet I don’t think we’ve found the right approach to loneliness. For all our small groups and book clubs and community meals, too many people leave churches feeling just as isolated and disconnected as they were when they arrived.

Loneliness seems to hit nearly everyone–men, women, parents, non-parents, single people, married people, people with lots of friends and people with no friends at all. It cuts across every demographic category–age, race, social status, income, gender, educational achievement, etc. And it sucks. It is the worst pain I know and the pain least likely to be eased by words or even the company of other people. It’s deep and awful and self-perpetuating. But I think there is something we can do about it.

I’m not going to tell you what that is of course–I have to save something for the conference, which is why you should come. But I do need your help as I put this presentation together. I would love to hear from you about what loneliness feels like to you–just a few words or phrases or even images. I want to know what has kept you stuck in that place of loneliness or how you’ve found your way through it. What has helped and what has just made it worse.

Caryn: I’m glad we’re back on the loneliness kick. Because last week I had a tiny epiphany. As you all probably do NOT know, I’m on the board of my kids’ school. (I am now the boss of the man who was my high school principal. God is good.)

Anyway, as a member, last week I was tasked to call 17 of the new families. One of the members had rightly worried that parents of new students might feel as lost and disconnected as new students often felt. She thought just as we encourage veteran students to embrace these new kids (not literally, because then we’d have to expel them probably), we ought to embrace the parents (again, you catch my drift).

To be honest, this sounded like a nightmare to me. Aside from going door-to-door, the idea of “cold calling” literally leaves me cold. It takes every last ounce of “why SURE I can be outgoing!’ energy I have to do this. So I prayed hard for the words and time and plain ability to pick up the phone. And then I did.

The first day I only got through three people because each conversation lasted a long-ish time. But they were great conversations. They moved quickly from a place of “do you have any questions” to talking about where they were from, to me telling funny stories about my days at this school and decoding some jargon, to sharing about our kids, to hearing what they worried about.

After those first three phone calls, I sat down on my front steps and thought about loneliness. Specifically, that same thing you said a bunch of paragraphs up. There are a lot of lonely people in this world. And I think my conversations with these strangers attested to that. They were lonely. I was lonely. And a simple conversation with a stranger can do wonders to alliviate that. (This is starting to sound like how all affairs start! Hence the danger of loneliness!)

So I guess, my little idea for how the church ought to respond to loneliness is basic: pick up the phone. Start a conversation. Start chatting at a bus stop (though not if I’m trying to tweet at that moment). Say hey to the guy next to you on the train. Head over to chat with your neighbor when she’s out picking tomatoes. Ask people how they’re doing. Ask if they have any questions.

My fear of the cold call and the  door to door and (frankly) everything I just listed above is that I think everyone has full lives and is so bursting with friends that I’m just an intrusion. That I’d be the pathetic one trying to make friends (which I am). But my little phone-call epiphany sort of proved me wrong. I called barely-connected-to-me strangers close to dinner time and asked how they were. An hour-and-a-half later, I had three more people in this world I can’t wait to chat with again.

Carla: I think you’ve hit on something so crucial to the way we approach loneliness. I get freaked out about making new friends because I worry I have nothing to say. But I’m starting to think that all it takes is a few ordinary questions to get a conversation–”What’s the dumbest thing that happened to you today?” “What book do you wish you had time to read?” “What song do you secretly love?”–and a friendship rolling.

So please share your stories with us. What has helped? What has hurt? What do you wish was different?

On a completely unrelated note, I have declared this academic year “The Year I Get My Crap Together” and so in the last 24 hours I have made 4 dentist appointments, 2 vet appointments, an orthodontist appointment, and set up a lunch meeting. I was also two days early for a “Meet the Teachers” thing at preschool and I think that should count for something. Feel free to stand in awe of me.