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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

parenting

Autumn Is on Its Way

August 6, 2015 By Michelle

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I feel it in the early morning air. On the back patio this morning I said to Brad, “There’s a hint of autumn today.” He shook his head no. But I felt it, a wisp, suspended like gossamer threads beneath the river birch tree. Autumn…on its way.

The kids go back to school next Wednesday – Noah starts eighth grade, Rowan fifth. Don’t faint dead on the floor when I say this, but I’m not ready; I’m not ready for summer to end. I know. Unprecedented. Usually I’m in full-out count-down mode by now. Maybe it’s because I’m dreading full-time immersion into the Luther project. But I don’t think so…I don’t think that’s the whole story.

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Brad and Noah Crater Lake

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This summer was good, really good. Maybe the best yet. We traveled a lot, explored new places together, spent a lot of time winding along new roads. We sang out loud together with B-107.3. I’m even starting to learn some of the words to the latest pop songs. But when The Police come on the radio, or U2, or Madonna, and I know all the lyrics, every last one, Rowan always asks, “Is this one of your songs? Did you sing this one when you were a kid?”

The boys stay up late now. From my bed in the dark, I can see the light from Noah’s bedside lamp, a thin line, a boundary, beneath his bedroom door. They sleep until the sun has risen high over the white pines. They cook up their own waffles in the toaster oven. This week Brad taught them how to run a load of laundry while I was at the library, and they washed and dried their sheets and comforters themselves.

They read for hours and hours at a time, sprawled on the sofa, legs flung over the arm or propped on the back, feet against a window pane. Sometimes when I walk through the room I startle, glance again. Those long legs look nearly like the legs of men.

I don’t typically live in the backward glance. I don’t bemoan what I may have missed; I don’t sit square in regret. I’m a striver, a planner, a what’s nexter. My eyes are on the future, not the past.

Lately, though, when I glimpse those long almost-man legs, when I snuggle next to Rowan and realize the length of him nearly matches mine, the pangs of nostalgia strike sharp.  A reminder, perhaps, that summer does not last forever. Autumn is on its way.

Filed Under: parenting, summer vacation Tagged With: parenting

It Used to Be

April 20, 2015 By Michelle

I wrote this poem last week after reading Seth Haines’ beautiful blog post about the ephemerality of childhood. When I told Brad I’d written this piece, he said, “Since when do you write poetry?” Yeah, exactly. Since never. I haven’t written a poem since my undergraduate creative writing class back in 1994, but something came over me when I read Seth’s post, and I put my fingers on the keyboard and this is what came out.

I know what you might be thinking: last week the most controversial blog post ever, this week nostalgic poetry… what is happening to her?! Not really sure…but I’m going with it – though I have to say, I doubt very much I’ll be making a habit of writing poetry here.

Thanks for bearing with my sentimental trip down memory lane.

RowanFirstDayofSchool

Rowan, first day of kindergarten (he’s in fourth grade now, and no longer likes me to wait, waving, at the end of the sidewalk)

 

It Used to Be

It used to be
on the coldest days
I was the only mother left,
the others already slid behind steering wheels,
holding stiff fingers against dashboard vents
peeling off knit
smoothing static hair.

I’d wait alone at the end of the sidewalk
waving
watching his retreating backpack
flash of orange curls
bobbing step.

He’d turn first at the double doors, wave,
grinning
dip inside.
Turn toward me again at the bottom of the stairs
royal blue mitten
a Lady Liberty torch held high above a herd of jostling hats.

I’d crouch low then, knees nearly touching cement
February gusting at my back
waiting for him to turn once more
at the top of the stairs
flinging out a hand
craning to catch a final glimpse

Of me
bent
one palm on cold pavement
the other raised
head angled just so
to catch the final glimpse of him
rounding the corner
at the top of the stairs
still waving.

Filed Under: parenting

What the Infamous “Lamp Day” Taught Me about God’s Love and Grace

March 26, 2015 By Michelle

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My younger son Rowan once asked me if he could ever do anything that would make me stop loving him.

“No, absolutely nothing,” I assured him. “Even if you did the worst thing you could think of, even if you were in jail for your whole life, I would still love you. I will love you and your brother every minute of my life, no matter what.”

Rowan paused, considering my answer.

“Even on the lamp day, when you got super mad…did you love me the same amount that day, too?” Rowan pressed. “Or did you maybe love me a little bit less?”

Ah yes, the infamous Lamp Day — the day Rowan hurled a pillow across the living room (in spite of the no-throwing-pillows rule) and broke a lamp, mere hours after my mom had bought me a new lamp to replace the other lamp Rowan had broken eight months before, also by hurling a pillow across the room.

I cringe even now as I recall the scene, me gripping the lamp base white-knuckled, shaking it over my head and raving incoherently. My mother, who was visiting for the week, stood speechless next to me, paralyzed by my bellowing outburst. I ordered the boys to their rooms while I swept up the fragments, ranting about how they’d spend the entire day behind closed doors. My mother retreated to the basement guest room as I crashed around the kitchen, slamming the box of fresh donuts into the trashcan and fuming aloud to myself while the boys howled in their bedrooms.

All in all, the Lamp Day was not my most stellar moment in parenting.

… I’m over at Good Life Moms today, writing about what the infamous Lamp Day taught me about love and grace. Join me over there for the rest of this post…

Filed Under: grace, love, parenting Tagged With: Good Life Moms, parenting

What To Do When Your Kids Don’t Believe (Right Now)

October 7, 2014 By Michelle

Rowan in water

If you are popping in from the lovely Ann Voskamp’s place, welcome! I’m so glad you are visiting, and I hope you find a bit to enjoy around these parts. I am smiling at the opportunity to meet some new friends today, so feel free to say hello in the comments!

“I think I’m in a not-believing-in-God stage,” he declares, holding his fork high in the air over his dinner plate like Lady Liberty’s torch.

It’s an ordinary dinner hour.

The four of us sit around the dining room table, plates of mashed potatoes and meatloaf set before us on the polished oak.

The kid’s trying hard to sound nonchalant, but as I peer around the vase and meet his wide, unblinking eyes across the table, I can tell my son is afraid.

I lay my own fork down next to my plate.

I’m not sure I’m breathing.

The truth is, a declaration like this can stop you dead in your tracks, fork frozen mid-air…

…What I really want to do is jump up and down and shout, “I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place, I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place! ” but I will try to maintain a shred of dignity and simply invite you over to Ann Voskamp’s blog to read a guest post I am delighted to have over there today. Thanks, friends…

Filed Under: doubt, God talk: talking to kids about God, parenting Tagged With: Ann Voskamp, Spiritual Misfit, when your kids doubt

5 Signs Summer Vacation is Over

August 11, 2014 By Michelle

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School gets out in mid-May around these parts, which means we begin our summer vacation in Uggs and fur-lined hats with ear flaps. Meanwhile by the middle of August, while the rest of America is just hitting its summer stride, here in Nebraska we’re gearing up for the start of school.

Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate summer as much as the next mom. Fireflies, sleeping past 6:30 a.m., hamburgers on paper plates, no soccer practice or choir rehearsal or long division – there’s a lot to love about summer.

But here’s my theory: summer is one week too long.

Ten weeks, I’m good. Bring on the water balloons and the badminton. Isn’t it so great to have no schedule?  So much freedom! So much relaxation! Summer is the best!

But then comes the eleventh week, mocking my “Summer is so great!” enthusiasm, shredding my easy-going attitude, flaunting its seven slow-as-the-last-two-teaspoons-of-molasses-in-the-bottom-of-the-jar days in my face.

This summer, I’ve finally learned to recognize the five signs that indicate summer is over, done, finito for me:

1. Exercise becomes my favorite pastime.

By the seventy-first day of summer my exercise routine looks like Shaun T’s Insanity Workout for one reason and one reason only: the longer I exercise, the longer I’m out of the house. Two days ago I ran six miles for the first time in three years, despite the fact that it was 400 percent humidity outside. A mere 4.5 seconds into my run I looked like I’d been basking beneath the Pulse Kauai II Rain Shower System. By the time I finished, I had just enough energy left to splay my body on to the sunroom rug. I felt like my dog’s destuffified Wubby. But hey, I was still sane. That’s something, right?

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Can you see the remnants of Josie’s destuffed Wubby scattered around my prone body?

2.My kids use the word ennui.

“Mommy,” I think I have that thing you keep saying you have,” Rowan says.  “What’s that, honey?”

My eyes are on my phone, mindlessly scrolling.

“You know, that on the wii thing. The things you always say when you do this” — flings himself onto the sofa, limbs askance, crook of his elbow over his eyes, exhales dramatically through pursed lips.

You know you’ve entered the eleventh week of summer vacation when your nine-year-old son knows the meaning of ennui and can use it correctly in a sentence.

3. A trip to Lowe’s is as good as it gets.

I am frisbeed, miniature golfed, zooed, Cherry Berried, water parked, picnicked, crafted, movied, hiked, road tripped, beached, badmintonned, biked, sleepovered, s’mored, camped, water ballooned and museumed out. It’s a trip to Lowe’s in search of a new toilet seat, people. Get in the car, that’s all I’ve got.

4. Minecraft is now my native tongue.

I have lost all ability to converse with adults my age about topics appropriate for adults my age. Instead, I could teach a graduate-level class on Minecraft biomes. Go ahead, ask me about the Nether. Talk to me about Enderman. I now have a closer relationship with player Steve than I do with my own husband (If you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, you don’t have boys under age 12 living under your roof).

5. I have entered spacetime…or the fourth dimension…or something funky like that.

Time has slowed to a crawl. One hour is now equivalent to 35 hours, which mathematically looks like this: Δσ=8²x∛45+[Σ∞34ψ]. In English, this means my children have approximately 35 hours of screen time each hour. Ordinarily I would feel guilty about allowing my children to indulge in 35 hours of screen time per hour. However, during the eleventh week of summer, I fail to notice because I am splayed on the sun room floor like a destuffed wubby and suffering from a grave case of ennui.

You may be right smack in the blissful seventh week of summer right now, but beware. The eleventh week is right around the corner. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Filed Under: parenting, summer vacation Tagged With: over it, parenting

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a Triple Type A, “make it happen” (my dad’s favorite mantra) striver and achiever (I’m a 3 on the Enneagram, which tells you everything you need to know), but these days my striving looks more like sitting in silence on a park bench, my dog at my feet, as I slowly learn to let go of the false selves that have formed my identity for decades and lean toward uncovering who God created me to be.

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