How Do You Get Dad More Involved?

I promised to share with you some great “mom questions” I’ve been asked over the past few weeks.  So here goes with the first one! A number of moms have asked how they can get their husbands more involved in the parenting of their kids.  Common complaints include:  “He just wants to be a playmate, leaving all the discipline to me.”  Or: “He really just wants to do his own thing and not get involved at all in day-to-day caregiving.”

Good question!  And not an easy one to answer.  As I thought about it, I happened to be visiting one of our sons, so I thought I’d get his male perspective on the issue.  He happens to be a very involved Dad himself.  But I asked him what advice he’d give other moms as to how to get their husbands more involved.

His first response put things into stark perspective.  “That’s really a hard one, because we all are basically selfish and want to do our own thing.”  [BTW, by “we,” I don’t think he meant just men.  All of us are basically selfish, though I do think moms get a lot of day-to-day practice in becoming selfless!]  He went on to say that a lot of the men he knows seem to be a lot more focused on their own leisure pursuits than on their time with family.

An uphill battle, for sure—at least in some cases.  And the hard part about it is that, as we say so often at Mom to Mom, the only person you have power to change is YOU.  You really can’t make another person do anything.

Having said that, here are a few tips I’ve gleaned along the way—some from my own observation and experience and some from a great group of moms who dove into this question along with me:

1. PRAY about it—first, last, and always.  Pray especially before speaking about it with your husband.  How you approach it can make all the difference!
2. Watch your attitude!  Some of us women are particularly gifted with “attitude,” and if, like me, you are also gifted in sarcasm, watch it.  Another point of prayer….
3. Use “I….” statements rather than “YOU…” accusations.  “I feel,” “I need,” “I miss,” “I want your input” are far more effective than “YOU always…” or “You never…”  But do tell him what you need, rather than “stuffing it” and letting it smoulder.
4. Use fewer words rather than many (and this from Linda!)  When it comes to men and words, less is more, believe me!
5. Help your husband see the difference he makes for your children—and you!  For example, “Honey, he so looks up to you. “ or “She’s just watching for you to notice” or “We just love having you home—and a part of these projects.”
6. Create opportunities for successful interaction.  Sometimes we get so used to “doing everything” that we don’t even leave space for him.
7. Avoid a constant critique of everything he does—e.g., he went to the store but bought the wrong brand, he put the baby to bed but put on the wrong PJ’s, he never sets the table right. (Ouch!  But honestly, Woody does still get the fork and knife sides reversed—is it male dyslexia?)
8. “Change your thinking.”  This from one mom who said she finds she needs to refocus periodically to see what her husband actually does do to help, rather than only what he doesn’t do.
9. Affirm whenever you can.  Let your husband know, at every opportunity, the things you appreciate about him.  One mom shared how an older wiser woman with whom she would sometimes share her “husband complaints” would always begin by asking: ”Have you made the list?”  The list, that is, of all you love about him—even before the “complaint list” that may come more naturally to us.
10. Pray some more.  Let “Lord, change him” become “Lord, change me.”  And sometimes—not always, but sometimes—he will change, too.

Not an easy question.  But maybe some of you have something to add.  We’d love to hear from you!

Cute shoes, a Clutzy Speaker, and Great Questions

In the past 10 days, I’ve had the privilege of speaking to two groups of terrific moms—one in North Carolina and one in Wisconsin.  My only regret is that I didn’t get pictures of each of these groups.  (If I get to speak to your Mom to Mom group sometime, will you PLEASE be sure we get pictures?  I always forget that!)  But you can be sure they look a lot like you—and other moms you know. My morning in North Carolina brought a new “first” in my speaking experience.  I actually spoke sitting down with my foot iced and elevated!  It was quite a scene—I really do wish we had gotten a picture!

I didn’t start the morning with a foot injury.  No, I waited until just moments before I was to speak and then I performed a feat (no pun intended) that would be absolutely non-reproducible, by me or anyone else!   In walking across the room to get some water, I managed to catch the toe of my cute red shoe on the leg of a chair.  Nothing really unusual for me about that.  But read on: my big toe actually came out of the shoe and got caught on the front edge of the shoe—and bent backward!  OUCH!!

“How in the world does such a thing happen?”, you may be wondering.  I could never do it a second time — at least I hope not!  It was all about the cute shoe . . . and I have my friend Kay to blame for that. Kay is a real Southerner (she grew up in Alabama and now lives in Atlanta), and thus is my chief clothing consult when I speak in the South, where even moms always seem to manage to look really cute all the time.  Or at least that’s my impression.  Those of you who live in the South may take it for granted — but for us northerners, it can be a little bit intimidating.

So I ask my friend Kay about what to wear when speaking in the South.  In the Fall, for example, where it is actually HOT in October.  As I stand in my Wisconsin closet eyeing the woolens that hang there in ready protection against the winters which seem to start here in October, I think of Kay’s advice (only half tongue-in-cheek): “Just wear cute shoes and carry a cute purse.  The rest doesn’t matter.  It’s all about the cute shoes and purse.” So of course last week when I was speaking in North Carolina I was wearing cute red shoes.  Now these cute shoes are actually very uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable.   I bought them really cheap at Marshall’s and only wear them for short periods of time — never, for example, in airports or when walking long distances carrying grandchildren.

Last Wednesday I obviously wore them too long—even though it was early in the morning!  But the women there were wonderful, producing ice packs, towel wraps, a chair to elevate my very red big toe, plus lots of great mom-TLC.  And, despite my clumsiest intro yet, we had a great morning together.

The best part, I thought, was their questions.  They had asked if I would do a Q&A after my talk (which I love doing) and had submitted some terrific questions.  A wonderful discussion grew out of both what I could share with them and the great, creative ideas they shared on various topics.

Then this week I had a similarly great discussion time with moms at a Mom to Mom here in Wisconsin.  (Just for the record, some of those moms had cute shoes, too, I think.  The only reason I’m not sure is that being a northerner, I don’t always tend to notice shoes.)  These moms also had great questions.

And it got me thinking: one of the most important things in life is asking the right questions.  It’s the starting point for so much learning—and growing.  Over the years I have often agonized over what was the “right thing to do” in various situations.  Often when I bring up these questions with Woody he will say, “Well, for starters, at least you’re asking the right questions.”

So I’m thinking that in the next few blog posts I would like to share a few of the questions these and other moms have asked me recently.  And share some of our discussions in response to them.  I say “discussions” because good, hard questions don’t tend to have easy answers.  And I definitely do not see myself as an “”answer lady.”  I am most definitely still learning as I go through my mom-life.  And I learn so much from all of you.

But there are some great guidelines—from God, above all, and also from experience.  And from other moms.  So I hope you’ll stay tuned for some great mom-questions in the future.

And watch out for those cute shoes!

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Do We - and They - Have More to Tell?

“Nana, we’re having Easter at our house on Sunday and—Can you come over?” That’s what I heard from the sweet little voice on my cell phone one afternoon just before Easter. Of course it brought tears to my eyes. For many reasons—one of them being that, since we live in Wisconsin and Soren lives in New Hampshire and we weren’t traveling this Easter, I couldn’t “come over.” And how I wished I could!

When I told Soren this, his next words got me even more: “But I could come to your house!” Realizing it would be difficult to explain to a 3-year-old the unfortunate distance between our homes, I shifted the conversation to what we celebrate on Easter. And I reminded him of how we shared the story when I was with him last Easter. “Remember, Soren, how you and I said ‘Jesus is alive—YAY!’ and we threw our hands up?”

“But Nana,” Soren replied, “I’m older this year and I can tell more about that.” He proceeded to tell me the whole Easter story. Of course I was reminded of his father, Bjorn, when he was 4, telling the Easter story to his friend Mark and directing their own little “Passion Play” in our back yard many years ago. Soren may be ready for that before long . . .

But it was that one sentence that stuck with me: “But Nana, I’m older now and can tell more about that.” Isn’t it cool, I thought, how children learn a little more each year about the stories of Jesus and the love of God? It’s such a developmental thing. It makes me thankful—oh so thankful—that my children are telling these stories to their children. It’s just what God intended, isn’t it? It’s Deuteronomy 6, and Psalm 78, in action. In real-life, everyday life, ordinary life.

But Soren’s comment took me deeper, into my own life right now. Having been blessed by parents who introduced me to Jesus at an early age, I have walked with Him many years. Do I have more to tell each year about Jesus and what it means to walk with Him? Do you? Do you have more to tell your children about Him as you grow in your own walk with Him? Your grandchildren? The younger moms God has given you to mentor—in Mom to Mom, or in your church, or in your neighborhood?

“I’m older now and can tell you more about that.” It’s actually the very essence, isn’t it, of the whole “Titus 2 model” around which Mom to Mom has grown? And even more profoundly, what Paul instructs “older women” to do for younger women in Titus 2.

“I’m older now and can tell more about that.”

Oh, how I hope that is true of me, every day of my life between here and eternity.

Expectant Easter Living

This morning as I was reading about Holy Week in The Message, one sentence jumped off the page at me. It was Mark 15:43, where Mark describes the man who was courageous enough to go to Pilate and ask to bury the body of Jesus, Joseph of Arimathea. “He was one who lived expectantly, on the lookout for the Kingdom of God.”

Living expectantly. Wow! What would that look like, I began to ask myself.

For starters, what did it look like for Joseph on that Good Friday so long ago? We don’t know a great deal about this Joseph. But as we piece together the various Gospel accounts (he appears in all four narratives), we learn these facts. He was a wealthy man who was a respected member of the Sanhedrin. He is described as a “good and righteous” man who did not go along with the decision to crucify Jesus. (Luke 23:50-51) John tells us that he had been a secret follower of Jesus because he was afraid of the Jews. (John 19:38)

Yet now Joseph goes to Pilate and makes a bold request. One that could get him in trouble with the Romans because criminals executed for high treason (as Jesus ostensibly was) were not given the right to a proper burial. One that would certainly get him in big trouble with the Jews, jeopardizing his place and standing in the religious community. He wants the body of Jesus released to him, so he can bury him lovingly and respectfully in his own tomb.

What gave him the courage to do this? Was it partly at least because he lived expectantly? Because he was “on the lookout for the Kingdom of God”?

Joseph, it seems, was searching for God, even though as a member of the high Jewish council he could have complacently felt as though he already knew everything there was to know about God. Or, if he wasn’t actively searching for God until Jesus came on the scene, at least he was open to seeing Him when He came along.

It makes me wonder how expectantly I am living. Am I “on the lookout” for God? Am I asking Him to show up in my life and show me more of Himself? More of who He is calling me to be and what He is calling me to do—as a wife, as a mother and grandmother, as a neighbor, as a teacher and Mom to Mom leader, as a follower of Jesus?

And am I willing to be surprised by how He appears and what He says? So often God doesn’t show up in the ways we most expect. Joseph of Arimathea, wealthy man in the community and respected member of the Sanhedrin, surely could not have expected the Messiah to show up as carpenter from Galilee (Nazareth, of all places!) who turned everything upside down by healing the sick and raising the dead and upturning the tables of the money-changers in the temple — and got the Jewish rulers so frenzied in their fury that they wanted him crucified!

Yesterday, on Palm Sunday, our preacher spoke of the varying expectations that people in the Palm Sunday crowd had of Jesus. And he asked a penetrating question, one that echoes in my heart on this Monday morning: “What kind of Jesus are you expecting? What kind of Jesus do you have — one Who submits to what you want Him to do? Or One to Whom you need to submit?”

It’s an important question this Easter. It’s an important question every day of our lives, actually. Because Jesus often shows up in places and in ways we least expect. Just ask Joseph the next day after he had buried Him. Or ask Peter or John or those first women at the tomb. They surely had not expected their Messiah, their Lord, to die on a cross. And once they had buried Jesus, what did they expect? Probably not what they got on Easter morning! But (praise God) He showed up anyway — and changed the course of history (and our lives!) from that moment on!

Expectant Easter living. What would that look like for us, for you and for me, this Easter? I’m not entirely sure. I just know I’d like to try it. I’d like to ask God to show me Himself in new ways. I’d like to be open to surprises. I’d like to be willing to act on what He tells me to do — to follow Him even when I don’t understand what He is doing, to go with Him through the dark times toward the joy that comes in the morning.

“She was one who lived expectantly, on the lookout for the Kingdom of God.” Expectant Easter blessings to you this Holy Week!

Songs from the Mama-Heart

I’ve just returned from Dublin. We had nine glorious days there—with not one drop of rain. And, believe it or not, 8 of those 9 days were sunny! It must be some kind of record.

But of course we didn’t go to Ireland for the weather. We went to be with our daughter and granddaughter (and son-in-law, when he wasn’t working). In a sense, our 9 days there were very ordinary. What we wanted most to do was just “hang out” with Erika and Gabriella.

And that’s what we did. We took long walks with Gabriella in the “buggy” (what the Irish call strollers). We did a little shopping here and there—at Avoca in a beautiful place called Powers Court, at IKEA (well, more than a little shopping there, IKEA being nearly a city in itself), and even at local supermarkets. We visited “Kiddlywinks,” a large playgroup that meets at their church every Friday morning. We got to go in and get Gigi (Gabriella’s nickname) out of her “cot” (what we call a “crib”) after naptime and savor the huge grin and sweet hugs fresh from a well-rested baby.

In a sense, ordinary days. But of course not ordinary at all for this “Nana and Farfar,” who have to fly so many miles to experience them. The days always fly by too fast. And the trip home is always long. The westbound flight actually is an hour or so longer than the eastbound flight. But it feels even longer than that because my “Nana heart” feels we’re flying in the wrong direction.

But I come home with sweet memories—and music in my heart. One reason for that is that Gabriella absolutely loves music.—any kind. And dancing. At the least hint of music from any source, be it a CD or a toy or even a cell phone, she moves and grooves to the music. She is very much like her mother was in that it is almost physically impossible for her to remain still when the music starts.

Music is truly a great gift for Gabriella—and her mother. When she is sad, it soothes her. When she is cranky, it picks up her mood. When she is bored, it energizes her. She has music in her soul.

Which brings me to the “Mama-songs” in the title. One of my favorite memories from last week is getting to put Gigi to bed one night when we “traded rooms” with Erika and Richie, sending them for a night out for dinner and a movie and then overnight at a B&B while we stayed at their place and took care of Gabriella.

Before they left, I went over Gigi’s bedtime rituals with Erika. These involve reading a couple of board books with her, getting her “soother” (pacifier) and favorite stuffed animal Hammie out of the cot, and rocking her and singing to her before putting her to bed.

“What songs do you sing?” I asked Erika. “ ‘Children of the Heavenly Father,’ ‘Peace,’ and ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd,’” she said.

Suddenly I was taken back many years, for the first two songs are the songs I sang to all my children when I put them to bed. The first is especially precious—an old Swedish hymn that has been a vital part of life in my husband’s family for decades. We had it sung at our wedding, at the funerals of both Woody’s parents, and the music was used in the weddings of all three of our kids. I even tried to sing one verse in Swedish to our kids before bed, though I imagine a true Swede wouldn’t have recognized my butchered Swedish. The kids didn’t seem to mind.

As I rocked Gigi that night and sang to her, I could feel her settle and snuggle to the familiar songs. My mama-heart was flooded with memories. Memories of rocking and singing to my own children so long ago. But also a sweet memory from two Christmases ago. One night Erika had taken the then-newborn Gigi down to our lower level to calm her crying. She was rocking her and singing to her when our grandson Bengt slipped down the stairs and began to watch and listen from the bottom step. She was singing “Children of the Heavenly Father.”

“My Daddy sings that song to me,” Bengt said, mesmerized by the familiar music. “That’s my Daddy’s song.” Yes, it was. And is. And his daddy’s daddy’s song before that. And his great-grandfather and grandmother. Mommies and daddies of each generation probably sang that song to their babies.

It is a hymn reminding us all of God’s grace and protection in all the days—and nights—of our lives. In a sense it’s a grown-up song. The words probably mean very little to small children. They mean more, at the time, to the mommies and daddies who sing them, needing God’s love and grace and peace for another night—and another day.

But music touches the soul. It’s a beautiful way to live out Psalm 78:3-7: “We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord . . .”

Read the rest—and sing!

What songs are you singing to your children?

I Would Like to Introduce . . .

. . . the newest member of our family: Nils David Anderson was born February 23, 2010, in Dover, New Hampshire. Bjorn and Abby are two very proud parents, and “Big Bro” Soren is very happy to tell everybody: “I got a new baby brother!”

We are all so very grateful for Nils’ safe arrival. He is healthy and alert and, I have to say, quite a handsome little guy. What great gifts God gives!

You can imagine how much fun this happy Nana had spending 12 whole days in New Hampshire, first hanging out with Soren while Nils took his time coming, then staying with Soren while Mommy and Daddy were in the hospital. We read piles of books, played car smash-ups, and visited a children’s museum and the library - twice in one week.

He entertained me continually with his just-turned-three commentary on life. A commentary that included everything from his question on waking up one morning (“Nana, do I look older?”) to his concern about birds at a feeder (“Nana, they don’t pray before they eat . . . You should pray, guys”) to his descriptions of his little brother being in “Mommy’s tummy car” to his answer when I asked him about who the man was in a Bible story picture he had colored (“Oh, that’s Zaccheus. He’s just some climber guy.”)

Once Nils arrived home from the hospital, the real adventures began. That first night, the wind was howling wildly, rattling windows and shaking branches against the house. With Soren in bed, we snuggled up with Nils and settled in to watch the Olympics. Just as we were about to watch the final six skaters in the Women’s Figure Skating long program (my favorite part of the Olympics - sigh), Abby and I saw a flash and heard a strange sound outside. The house suddenly went dark. Obviously power was out throughout their neighborhood. And, as it turned out, for some 200,000 plus people in southern New Hampshire. We later learned that the storm sweeping through their area had clocked winds in excess of 90 mph.

That was the beginning of a string of adventures for Nils and his family. A two-day power outage. Packing up everything needed for a new baby and a 3-year-old for a trip down to the Boston area to stay with generous relatives in their warm house. A return home followed by a boiler eruption which sent huge clouds of steam pouring up the stairs into the kitchen. A leaking washing machine.

Then, just six days after Nils came into this world, a readmission to the hospital because Abby had developed an infection. She and Nils have spent two days there. But as I write this, I just got the call that Abby got the “all-clear” and she and Bjorn and Nils are on their way home from the hospital.

What a wild first week in the life of this sweet family of four! I know all you moms are feeling with Abby right now. She has been simply amazing through it all. As I told her the day I left and her parents arrived to help out, my admiration for my daughter-in-law, which was always high, has even risen higher.

Also my gratitude for God’s hand of care and protection through all this. Even amidst a week none of us ever would have wished on a family bringing home a new baby, there have been so many “God moments.” Protection during the storm. Provision of my great brother and sister-in-law to not only provide a warm house but even turn the weekend into a house party, with great food and fun and visits from friends. Heat now restored in Bjorn and Abby’s home.

The gift of antibiotics to knock out infections that decades ago could have raged unabated. God’s timing that a connecting flight Bjorn had on a trip he was to take to Colorado was delayed in Chicago, allowing him time to get word of Abby’s infection and turn around and get home instead of traveling further west. Even a great experience with airline customer relations, with an immediate flight back to Boston and a waived change fee.

Above all, we praise God that Nils is whole and healthy and Abby regaining her strength. How much we have to be thankful for!

And oh yes, another praise I almost forgot. Some of you will remember Soren’s broken femur last summer and his two months in a body cast. Last Friday he had his 6-month checkup and was told his leg has healed so perfectly they didn’t even need to do x-rays.

What a gift to see him running and playing. He’s had a hard time seeing Mommy go back to the “hostipal.” But today he welcomes her home again—for good this time, we trust.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!