"What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?": The Communications Between a Husband and Wife

“Baby, I’m cold,”  I called to John, who was in the living room. “Could you turn down the air conditioning?”

“Sure thing, hun.”

Ten minutes later, when I got out of the shower, I was shivering even more. “John, did you turn the air down?”

“Yeah. I turned it down right when you asked me.”

“Weird, I’m so much colder. I can’t stop shivering.”

“That makes sense. I turned the air down.”

“But it should be getting warmer then.”

“No, colder. The air down means that it will get colder. You know, the temperature will go down.”

“No, the air down means warmer. It won’t blow as much cold air.”

I should have known right then that communication wasn’t going to come easy for John and me. This was only the third day of our honeymoon and we were already having issues.

Fast forward almost exactly five years.

“John, I can’t get this lighter to work.  What’s the trick?”

“Push down on the slide bar and pull back on the trigger.”

“I can’t push down on the slide bar. I can only push up on it.”

“No, you push it down. Here, I’ll show you…”

John proceeded to show me that what he meant by “push down” was exactly what I meant by “push up.” Both of us were referring to moving the slide bar forward using downward force from our thumb.

About two hours later…

“Uh-oh! I started to top of the marshmallow stick on fire!” I called over to John..

“How’d you do that,” he asked.

“I was making a mallow and it fell off and the stick started on fire.”

“So, you started the bottom of the stick on fire, not the top.”

“No, the top. You know, when you stand the stick up to put the mallow on, you’re putting it on the top.”

“Okay, but when you put the marshmallow in the fire to cook it, that end is down, making it the bottom.”

“I can see what you’re saying,” I responded, “but I still say I started the top of the stick on fire.”

“No, it was the bottom,” he answered with a grin.

Sometimes it feels like we’re living in real life version of Who’s on First? We can use the same words, in the same language, and mean totally different things. What I find even more interesting is that when we share these stories with friends, the women often understand what I mean while the men understand what John means. 

At first I really thought John was wrong. I’m sure he thought the same of me. But now we’ve come to realize that we’re both right—we just speak differently.  Luckily, we find these communication lapses pretty funny and have spent a lot of time laughing about them. Somehow, I’m pretty sure that we’ll have plenty more to laugh about over the next 50+ years…

Little Sins

My family and I recently spent the afternoon on the rocky shore of Lake Michigan. George and Patrick played in the water with John while I sat on the beach, enjoying the view. After a bit, I started playing with the pebbles around me as I listened to the giggles floating in from the water.

Picking through the rocks, I found one that stood out.  It was nearly a perfect rectangle with rounded corners, about an inch long and a half inch wide, sandy brown in color. What made this one particularly unique was the cut it had along the middle, nearly the entire way through.

At first I wondered what could have sliced through it like that. Then, as I looked closer, I saw a grain of sand wedged in the cut. I realized that this grain had been pushed back and forth by the water, and, over a long period of time, had sliced through the middle of the rock.

It struck me that this grain of sand is like so many sins in our lives. So often they seem small and insignificant. Maybe it’s just a little lie to our children. Maybe it’s a gossipy story to a friend about a friend. Maybe it’s something that we don’t even think of as a sin, like worry.

But the more we ignore those “insignificant” sins, the more often we do them. And the more often we do them, the more acceptable they become to us. And slowly, over time, those sins cut deeper and deeper into us, causing more and more damage.

That rock, so badly damaged by such a small grain of sand, is on my nightstand now, as a reminder of the harm something “trivial” can cause. I don’t want to let sin eat away at me. I don’t want to get years down the road and wonder, “how did I get here?” I don't want to broken by something that could have easily been stopped.

Lord, I confess to you that I often put sins in categories, and some even end up in the “little” category. I’m sorry that I ever find separation from you trivial. Thank you that you renew your compassions every morning and that you remove our sins as far as the east is from the west. Thank you that you not only remove them, but you heal us. Let me be washed clean and made whole in you. Amen.

Musings on Music

I love music.  It magnifies feelings I have, changes my emotions from sad to happy, and utterly inspires me.  It’s pretty much the coolest thing ever.

To be honest, though, I haven’t put much thought into the type of music I listen to,and what I’m filling my head (and heart) with.  In fact, some of my favorite singers are what I like to call “angry girl singers.” The more angst, the better.

Because music is such a big deal to me, it’s been important that my boys don’t listen to too much “kids only” music. I’ve always wanted them to listen to and appreciate “grown up” music too. Because of that, the very first song we played for the boys was “Better Together” by Jack Johnson. Until recently, Jack Johnson was their favorite musician.

In the past few weeks, however, my heart has been changing a bit on the music front, at least in relation to my kids. While I’m still not a huge fan of kids’ music, I’m also not particularly fond of the idea that I’m pumping angry lyrics into my boys’ heads. Okay, so Sara Bareilles isn’t exactly “angry,” but really, should I have to turn down the volume on a few select songs so the boys don’t hear swear words? Probably not.

Something else encouraged this change in me. I fell in love with Francesca Battistelli’s music, and since it is completely kid friendly, it’s been playing in our car nonstop for a few weeks. Not surprisingly, my little musical boys have picked up on the lyrics. They’ve started to call out “I want Emily!” and when I put on “Emily (It’s Love)” they sing along.

Hearing those two sing “It’s love, it’s love, la la la la, it’s love” has really changed my heart. While I can appreciate secular music, I want my boys’ minds and hearts to be filled with God’s songs. When they’re singing about love, I want it to be God’s love. The Bible teaches that from the wellspring of the heart, the mouth speaks (Matthew 23:34). I want to be sure that George and Patrick’s wellspring is absolutely full of the right things. So, for that reason, I think we’ll be fasting from secular music for a bit.

Adventures in Camping: Life on Planet Mom

Two years ago I joined my church’s MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) program. The theme that year was “Life on Planet Mom.” The idea was that we’ve spent our whole life on “Planet Me” and then, once we became mamas, we moved to “Planet Mom.”

I had two “Life on Planet Mom” moments this past weekend. 

My husband and I celebrated our fifth anniversary on July 1^st.  We decided a few months ago that we were going to go camping in honor of the anniversary and made reservations, as well as plans for our sons, George and Patrick, to attend “Nana-Papa Camp” at my parent’s house.

People asked if it would be hard to leave the boys for three nights. To be honest, though, John and I leave our kids all the time. Okay, that sounds bad. We do, however, value alone time and our families see the importance too, so often they offer to take the kids for us. While the initial goodbye is hard, I’ve never cried over leaving them for a night or two—not even the first time.

Something was different this time though. When I called to check-in, Patrick yelled out “I want to talk to Mommy” and then began to cry. I’m not sure if it was his tone or if it was the tears, but my mommy-heart shattered right then and there. Suddenly, Planet Me and Planet Mom collided and I felt the earthquake on both sides.  One part of me knew this trip was exactly what my marriage needed; the other part of me would have run through fire to get to my boy.

Thank goodness I couldn’t get to him, because I was right: this is what John and I needed. And, as a matter of fact, it is exactly what Patrick needed too. He had a great time with Nana and Papa and even cried when he had to leave their house.

My second “Planet Mom” moment came in the middle of the night. For those of you who are familiar with tent camping, you’ll understand what I mean when I say the walls of a tent aren’t thick. You can hear everything and everyone around you (which is why we choose wooded campsites, but more on that in a later post).

At around 4am, I woke to the sound of a baby crying.  Without thinking, I started getting up to help. In my mind, I’m a mommy, so when I baby cries, I go.  As my head cleared, however, I realized that the crying child wasn’t mine and that his mother probably wouldn’t be impressed by a stranger coming to help.  After this realization, I fell right back to sleep.  About an hour later, when the baby cried again, I just reminded myself “that’s not mine” and drifted peacefully back to sleep…for five more hours. As much as I like being a mom, it was great to not deal with the crying for once!

This weekend was another reminder that my life is completely changed now that I’m a mama. Trips are no longer easy. Not only do I have to pack my belongings, I have to pack my heart up too…it’s not going with me, it’s going with my boys. And sounds aren’t the same now either. What once would have annoyed me (seriously, who lets their kids cry in a public place in the middle of the night), now sets my body in motion (oh dear! That baby is crying. I need to help!). So long Planet Me. I’m fully living on Planet Mom now.