Forest Fires

Posted by Aubrey Lively | 0 comments

Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to see the big picture when you’re living in the middle of it?

One problem crops up, and it gets your full attention, like a little spark in the forest. Then another and another, and pretty soon, all you see is smoke.

The last month and a half has been like that for me: a fog of sickness and small disasters here in my home. We spent the last half of January with sick kids, but not the gravely ill kind, not even the pathetic-pull-at-your-heartstrings kind. They were just sick enough to be picky, grumpy, and difficult. Then Landon and I got picky, grumpy, and difficult. We could barely drag ourselves out of bed for a week.

I remember measuring time by the smoke detector, which began going off randomly for an entire week. Wearing bathrobes and old pajamas, we hit at it with a broom handle, changed the batteries twice, and yelled at it eloquently. Nothing worked, and along with the sneezing, coughing, and shivering, we soon found ourselves twitching. Did I mention tempers were short?

One morning while we were sick and the smoke alarm was making its unimpressive complaints, two-year-old Abby announced that she had to go potty and without warning, she sat down on a load of clean clothes. It was 6AM, and when our oldest came running to tell us, Landon told him to go ahead and put the clothes in the washer and start it, hoping that I would never find out.

A half hour later when I woke Landon up with, “What’s that noise?” it was too late. There had been a load of laundry in the washing machine already, but John was too short to see it.

I spent the next three days hand-washing and line-drying the two over-full loads of clothes that the machine could have done in a couple of hours. Landon spent his evenings looking at diagrams of washing machines, trying to figure out how to repair ours. We had just replaced it in January, and since Landon had lost his job in December, it was hardly the time to be changing out washing machines faster than we clean out our fridge.

When my in-laws invited the kids to go to Houston with them the following weekend, we had to wash clothes at their house in order for the kids to have, um, clean underwear.

Clean was short-lived, though. With the kids’ return home (and vacation laundry), came news that the Abby had spent the last night of the trip throwing up. By Wednesday, baby was throwing up, too. By Thursday, Abby had learned to fake-throw up—eating a bite of food and then spitting it in the toilet, so she could get some more of that “juice-medicine.”

Friday, Landon’s car broke down. It had recently been in a small accident, so the hood wouldn’t open, and it overheated, so it had to be towed. Saturday, our oldest spent the day in bed, and by Saturday night, Landon and I were both throwing up. Our six-year-old joined our ranks on Sunday.

If I tell you the van broke down, too, you’d just laugh. There comes a point when it’s funny, and all you can do is throw up your hands at this thing that is life, and laugh. I’ve laughed quite a bit myself. And I’ve cried and complained.

To say I’ve felt like a failure lately is an understatement. I’m standing here, surrounded by cranky babies and whining kids and piles of laundry and dishes and germs like I’m living in the middle of an apocalypse. I’m the person standing in the middle of the forest, and who can see nothing but the smoke.

Understandable, perhaps, if there had been an actual forest fire, an actual disaster. Understandable, even to the helicopter in the sky, who could see the potential damage, in whose eyes that fire fighter is a hero.

On the ground, though, you’re left with ashes and stinky clothes and a sore throat. You see the destruction instead of the work of a hero. And all you’ve done is fend off a few pesky sparks.

Without a clear picture of being in the trenches, it’s easy to get a skewed picture of things, and that’s exactly what I did. Sometime last week, Landon came home to a puddle of a wife, who was claiming that it was all impossible. I explained to him how the kids’ attitudes were too bad, the babies too fussy, the house too messy, and I too disorganized to accomplish what was before me. See the smoke? I can’t be the Keeper of the Forest—I nearly let it all burn down!

A simple email from a friend made all the difference, though. “How are you?” she asked, because we haven’t been in church in a month. Taking the time to write out the events of the last six weeks helped me to see the forest.

My normally sweet-natured kids have had bad attitudes? No wonder, they’ve been sick. My high-maintenance toddlers have been fussy? Well, sure. My house is a wreck? Not any more than usual, and that’s a miracle, really. Homeschooling has barely happened? What a victory that it’s happened at all!

Thanks to a friend checking in, I’m motivated to start fresh. As soon as I kick this cold that’s just setting in.

Aubrey Lively is a homeschooling mother of four, ages 8, 6, 2, & 1. She has a BA in Literature and an MEd in Teaching and is currently surviving seminary with her husband of ten years. Visit Aubrey online at http://aubreylively.blogspot.com.