Glue

To follow up on my last post, I am going to talk about glue…

Super glue.

You quite likely have had a Super Glue incident,

when you accidentally got a glob of glue between two fingers, and you had that panicky moment when you remembered your mother cautioning you that there is NOTHING created-yet-by-man that can get your fingers unglued, should you bond them together, with this Super Glue.

And so, regretfully aware that you have disregarded yet another of your mother’s premonitions (she KNEW you’d do this), you hold up your two fused fingers, and – yep – you’re an extraterrestrial,

and you take that first step toward acceptance…that you will have to live like this.

Then, you realize. 

You can use nail polish remover.

And your mother is an alarmist.

In life, we experience a lot of these panicky moments, when we think we are glued to something, when in fact, we are not.  We also experience that moment of acceptance, when we say, “I am just going to live like this.”  Sadly, many people live like that…forever.  Many people are not taught, from the youngest of ages, how to discern what is for them and what is not for them, and – more importantly – how to steer clear of or break free of what is not for them. 

More important than academics, I try to teach my homeschooled children how to break free.  I think society has a lot of gluey, sticky pockets, and your kids need to know how to get through without being fused to something burdensome, worrisome, or – just plain immoral.  Also, your children need to know themselves well enough to know what isn’t for them in terms of their unique skill set; their God-given potential, and their future contributions to the world. 

If your child spends too much time stuck in the wrong education, it is likely that your child won’t have ample time to dig deep into the right stuff – for him or her.  There is no such thing as too much of the right stuff when it comes to learning.  This is how we foster brilliance, genius, and…well… Bill Gateses.  I don’t think Bill gave too hoots about his English Lit class.  I am not sure.  I am just guessing.  I bet Bill just wanted to get back to the garage.

We should let our kids hang out in the garage, their garage, as much as they demonstrate necessary.  We have no idea what kind of greatness is brewing in there, and – no – I don’t mean your kid is making beer in the garage.  You wish.

I MEAN – we don’t know what we don’t know.  Your kid is following his or her gift, and it is like a delicious roller coaster of fascination, with dips that give them that funny little feeling in the bottom of the stomach.  THAT is what learning should be.  It should be that funny little feeling – that feels like jumping out of bed in the morning because you smell bacon.  It should not be dread or anxiety or depression or doubt.  Your kid should smell the bacon, every morning.

IN COMES MARRIAGE (how's that for a segue?).

It is perplexing.  Our society is made up primarily of people who are glued to jobs they hate, BUT…they will lose their marriage if it doesn’t provide the "free-fall" state of plummeting down a hill of love.  

I think we have this backwards.  We should require our jobs to be the thrill ride, and we should understand that our marriage is the work.

Yes.  You read it correctly.  Marriage is work.  

You go to your JOB to take a little daily vacation from your spouse, also known as your “rock tumbler,” the device that will smooth out all your ugly imperfections.  And – yes – you are ugly.  If you think you are not ugly, then you have even MORE work to do, in your marriage.  The LEAST you can do is come into your marriage knowing you are a mess, unfit for heaven, and wanting someone to help you.  If you come into it thinking you are sliced bread and you are looking for someone to remind you of your perfect slices…well…then we are really going to have to get out the sandpaper.

We must teach this to our children.  It is very simple:

1)      Your JOB is enjoyable.

2)      Your MARRIAGE is work.

When we get this backwards, we are in big trouble.  

If you go to your job that you hate, and you get psychologically beat up and thrown around and tortured, you are not going to be in any condition to come home and have that happen to you again.

You will break.

Many break, and when they DO – they find a new spouse – instead of a new job.

Hm.

IN COME THE CHILDREN.

I would like to redefine your children for you.  Your children – herein – are called THE GLUE.

No…they do not glue you to your job.  Your children super glue you to your spouse.

I mean, the sacrament of marriage actually glued you to your spouse, but since you cannot SEE the sacrament of marriage running around your house in a saggy diaper, then I am going to give you the visual –

your children are the visible GLUE.  

And, not just glue…your children are SUPER GLUE.  Thas right.  You and your spouse have been further irreversibly super glued together – you are a unique alien being- one big lump of ugly, and you can thank your kids.

And – this time – nail polish remover does nothing for you.

You can even get divorced.

Your kids still glue you together.

Get used to this.

Every time my husband and I have gone through a particularly rough patch in our marriage, and by particularly rough patch, I mean a time when the sight of his face made me physically ill, yes…every time we got in one of those patches, God sends glue.

Not kidding.

I know, I know. I know you wanted to picture me with my pregnancy test wand, in the bathroom, crying tears of great joy, calling in my fabulous husband, embracing my supportive husband lovingly, thanking God for my wonderful, fabulous, supportive husband.  I know you wanted that image.

Sorry.

With the exception of our first TWO children, both of whom were conceived and born before the proverbial Shih Tzu hit the fan....

After the Shih Tzu…

the occasion of learning of my pregnancy was less than pleasant.

I would be struggling through my days.  Praying incessantly…a walking rosary on repeat…begging God to get me through without maiming my husband, and I would stop dead in my tracks. 

A loud, clear voice would speak a very precise question,

“When was your last period?”

Long 

Long Long 

Long Long Long Pause.  

A walk to a calendar.  

Counting.  Recounting.  Counting again.  Going back to previous months.  Counting every day in the past year.  

Counting again.  Hm.  Yes.  Well then.

Back home.

To bathroom.

To toilet.

Pee all over your shaking hand.

I would place that pregnancy test wand on the bathroom counter, and I would fall to my knees – FALL to my knees…like the REAL DEAL…when you actually don’t plan a theatrical display…you FALL, unannounced…to your kneecaps.  And, from that place on the ground, I would CRY OUT, “Let it be done to me according to your will,” and I meant it, people.

We are Catholic…conservative Catholics…NO birth control.   I mean…we throw in a little NFP for good measure, but we are humans.  

We are OPEN to children. 

This word – OPEN.

Do NOT be confused.  This does NOT mean we are delirious or delusional.  I am not overconfidently, arrogantly thinking, “I – because I am superwoman – can raise 25 children.” 

NO.  

I am open and thinking, “I know nothing.  God knows everything.  God will entrust me with whomever he will entrust me, and whoever comes will be a gift beyond imagination, and I will give all I have and all I do not yet have, and will be all I can be, completely dependent on God.  This child will remind me how much I am completely dependent on GOD.  This child will bless my marriage in ways unimaginable and infinite…much like God’s love.  This child is LOVE.  I am open to love.”

SO, there I would be, on the floor, in my bathroom, bawling over God’s love…

feeling very little love, 

“I do not like my husband.  How am I going to like him with mind bending morning sickness and debilitating exhaustion?”  

I would then come back up from my knees, ready for the announcement, and I would see that I was pregnant, 

and I would go back down to my knees, like a mole burrowing into a hole – for however long it took – to find the will to get back up again – to get back up and face love. 

Face love.

No one broken is ready for love.  We are ready for anger.  We are ready for battle.  We are ready to fight, with claws out.

Love.

Hurts.

The Ugly.

Sometimes, I was down there until someone came looking for me, and then I would have to lie and say I dropped something and was looking for it,

and the wee visible glue that came looking for me would say, “Mommy, Why are you crying,”

and – as usual – I would say, “I remembered a sad song.”

My kids think I listen to a lot of songs.

God sends the Super Glue.

God sends it.

Because you are coming loose.

Because you need LOVE.

And at your worst, you need the MOST.

Let us review:

1) Your JOB is enjoyable.

2) Your MARRIAGE is work

3) Your CHILDREN are glue.

And maybe your mother wasn’t an alarmist; she was just coming unglued.  

That’s when we tend to overreact.