Work is our Play! Part 1: A Matter of Perspective

"Remember? Remember when I told you that play is our work?" My six year old says excitedly to her younger sister, "Well, work is also our play! Because this is fun!"

They are shelling beans. I have never seen anyone so excited about shelling beans as my kids were that day.

A mundane task out on the farm where my husband's family reside.

"Daddy, Daddy, come look! This is how we do it! See, we open these up and drop the beans in the basket, see?"

"You're going to tell me how it's done?" My husband jokes, "Honey, I slept in the bean basket growing up."

Ahh, if only all of life's jobs were as exhillirating and enthralling as shelling beans is to my kids. Or shucking corn, when I was a kid (I swear, that's what it's called!) Man we loved to shuck us some corn. My brothers and I would sit out on the back porch with a box of corn and peel away those tightly wrapped leaves. It was most fun when you got to the silk, it was so, well, silky. And hairy. And slimy -or dry, you never knew what you were going to get, maybe that was part of the fun of it.

I think, maybe, it's all in the attitude, though. Shelling beans, for some reason, is not particularly exciting to my husband. It was a task that always had to be done and he did it. Boring, whatever. For some reason my kids think it's really fun, because even though the novelty has worn off, they continue to ask their Grandmother if there are more beans to shell. Every time we go over, which is quite often. And when there are, they happily do it.

Shucking corn is still fun for me, I guess that's something that carried over from childhood. Maybe because it evokes fond memories it is a silly and simple task that I still enjoy. Unlike, say... Doing laundry. Have I mentioned my hatred of laundry? Laundry and dishes, sigh, weary, life-draining responsibilities.

Guess what? In a family of six, there be a lot of laundry and dishes mateys, a never ending train of crusty plates and dirty shorts.

But those things aren't the only ones I may have *cough* sometimes been known to have a deal with. Things like losing stuff. OH my gosh, I HATE losing things. My keys, my phone, the baby wipes, the spatula... It's infuriating to me when something I just had has completely vanished.

So sometimes I'll hear one of my kids playing with a toy and it will o something like this:

Kid making toy (usually a My Little Pony) talk: "OH MY GOSH. WHERE is it, grrrr... I can't find it anywhere, Arg! I'm so mad! Does it have legs? Did it just walk away? Aaaaahhhhh!"

Me: "Uuuhhh, what's up with your pony?"

Kid (laughing): "Oh, my pony just lost something, see? She's really mad (makes toy talk again) Arrrrggg!!!"

Me: "Ah (gulp) I see..."

You see how Me equals Bad Example Extraordinare? It's bad when they're making their toys act like you. It's worse when they themselves actually act like you.

That example goes somehing like this:

Kid (from backseat while sitting at a long light): "Sigh, Mom, when is the flipping light ever going to change?"

Hey. Mini Me. Back off. Frustration with inanimate objects is my turf. Kapish?

It's really all about attitude, isn't it. It is incredibly important that we model good attitudes for our kids. Obviously, there will be times we fail and those are great times to point them to the cross, to model repentance and humility and other words that still sometimes stick in my throat because, homygosh, I am so human! But I do believe that practice makes us better and that just through practicing having a better attitude about things we will actually grow a new perspective of them and that is a great model for our kids as well.

Back to the farm yard.

The sun is dancing down and great ribbons of gold are streaking across the sky. The beans have been shelled and we're all sipping tea in the shup (outdoor kitchen) and it's a little chilly because fall is at hand. The six year old laughs to herself as she helps Gjysha carry the tea tray and says again, "Work is our play!"

May work be your play today.

Beans, all harvested and shelled, drying for winter use.

Play is our Work!

I love it when I see little children acting out "grown-up" things. Practicing for when they are us, copying what they see. I especially love the imaginative and innocent twists they put on every day things, which give us little glimpses into that magic of childhood. I love how exciting they find things like washing the dishes, hanging laundry, standing in line at the airport. (Really? You want to play airport lines? Not airplanes, not travel, but airport lines???Because I think that actually makes my top ten list of worst things ever. Yup, it's right in there under Having One of My Limbs Devoured by a Shark.*) Huh, maybe we could stand to learn from their attitudes... as they are undoubtedly learning from ours...

I will get more into that aspect of it in my next post~ "Work is our Play" A Post on Attitude and Calling~ but for now, I'll just share this sweet story.

This past week we applied for our baby daughter's U.S. passport and documents (which were approved, yay!) Paperwork, for me, is a nightmare. I hate it. It brings me into perilously close contact with the left side of my brain, that hemisphere I usually try to keep in hiding, pretending it doesn't exist because, frankly, it hates me and its extended use is always painful and frequently embarrassing.
But I did that paperwork. And then I did it all over again when we found out we had the outdated forms. And I ran back and forth making sure we had every document and copies of every document, all placed in perfect order in a neat and shiny blue folder. And it paid off, because we'll be getting our baby's passport in the mail very soon. Thank you Lord.

So yesterday I found our oldest daughter engrossed in cutting out and coloring a stack of pretty papers. They looked like rainbow snowflakes. I asked her what she was doing.
"Oh, just getting all my documents ready to get my passport for Adelina Land."
"Ah, Adelina Land."

Some kids have imaginary friends, mine have imaginary lands, complete with their own unique flora, fauna, dress, culture, and apparently, passport application processes.

"Yeah," She went on, "Then I have to take these documents over there to get that other document that I need to take to the Embassy."
She completes this task and shows me the paper filled with blue swirls she has colored, which she 'receives' in exchange for the rainbow ones she has just finished at the imaginary office, which is the living room couch.

I go away to stand at the sink and daydream as I inconspicuously nibble on a cookie, hoping not to get caught wash dishes.

A little while later she bounces into the room, "Mommy, take a picture of me for my trip! I got my passport, I'm ready to go!" She has donned her fanciest shirt, a bandanna, a purse, and has made herself a passport complete with self-portrait which she has hooked onto her shirt with a pipe cleaner."

"Oh my, you sure are!" I snap her picture and she flounces up the stairs. Later I head up to my bedroom for something and find her reclined on my bed, reading a book. Next to her is her purse and a bag full of books, as well as a stuffed rabbit nestled against the pillow beside her. "Oh hey, are you having some alone time? I can come back later." I ask. Her alone time is very important to her. "Nah, this is my hotel room in the country I'm staying in. Tomorrow I fly back to Adelina Land. See? I brought some books to read so I won't be bored and my bunny to sleep with."
"Wow, you thought everything through didn't you? Good planning."
"Yeah." She goes back to reading and I get what I need and go back downstairs. She played this game for a good two hours straight.

And I continued to be amazed by the way she played out her perception of things, there was so much learning and processing that went into this little play session. It reminded me of something she said (*caughyelledcough*) at her very practical younger sister the other day when said sibling confronted her with the (horrendous) idea that they didn't need anymore toys because they have a lot: "Teuta! Play is our work!"

And that right there is a great truth of childhood.

*For all the litteralists out there, I fully realize that having one's limbs torn off by a shark would be way worse than standing in line at the airport. Like, two or even three spots above it.

A Waterbirth Poem

The water circles her belly;
A moon in the glassy, rippling sky.
Little waves undulate
Back and forth
With the hum and thrum inside of her.
The lotus begins to blossom!
Oh-oh! The tigress calls.
The water flower opens
-And spills out life.
Lifted, lifted towards the light,
Floating and feeling.
Air on skin
-A gasp!
Wide eyes wonder.
Her smile dazzles,
Breaking through the sheen
Of tears and sweat.
Serenity pervades
As soul meets soul.


Copyright Jacquelyn Bytyqi 2013

The Birth of Violeta Mae

Thursday night I went to sleep after putting the kids to bed. I’d been having fairly regular mild contractions for two or three days, which is pretty typical for me. I think of it as pre-labor and try not to get too excited, because I know this part can last awhile. At about 1:30 am I woke up with the pain of stronger contractions. They were coming about every ten minutes and I could not sleep through them. After a short while I got up, I couldn’t lie like that anymore; these contractions were really getting strong and closer together. I went into the bathroom where I lost the remainder of the plug, which I’d lost bits of slowly over the week, and quickly the contractions began coming very fast, like every couple minutes. I thought “Oh my gosh, this is going to be it!” Teuta, our almost-four year old, woke up about then and I gently led her into the bedroom to lie down with my husband, telling them both that I thought the baby was going to come tonight and I’d wake them if things got more intense.
The contractions I was having were strong enough to make me stop wanting to talk and just focus. I did that for a while. I had the shakes which I assumed were hormonal but then the contractions slowed down again to about every ten to fifteen minutes and I dozed on the couch, waking with a few strong ones, and then finally falling asleep completely. Around 7 am they had stopped almost completely. “Huh. That was weird.” I thought. Throughout the day I had contractions every half hour, strong ones that were difficult to walk or talk through, but spaced very far apart. I knew that between the first and second stages of labor there can be a nice long break, still I was worried by the way labor had seemed to start and stall like that the night before, but my Mom was there to reassure me, “Don’t worry, she was getting some stuff done last night. When she comes, it’s going to be fast.” I remembered too that it had been very similar with my previous labor and birth. I was frustrated with how long things were taking, but reminded myself that this was normal for my body and, as my Mom said, how much “stuff” was getting done in there in the mean time.

Boy were we right.

Around 6 pm I thought, “Man, even if we wanted to go in to the hospital, I don’t think I’d go in yet!” Still strong contractions. Still a half hour apart. Hmph. I began to feel a little grumpy. And the contractions began to come closer together. Every 20 minutes. Every 15. 10. 15 again. 5. 10. At 8 pm my husband was reading a Bible story to the girls before bed. I felt very impatient and snapped “Hurry up! I need to get the kids in bed and I need to get them there NOW!” I had no idea why I was so impatient. I felt like I wanted them all asleep so I could go into the bathroom by myself and just focus. Sit or kneel quietly and breathe and pray through these contractions without any other distractions. My husband wisely prayed with them and wrapped stuff up quickly without saying anything, other than giving me a meaningful sideways glance. I told the girls a quick couple stories, turned out the lights and sang to them. I rocked our two year old, even though at bed time she mostly likes to just lay in the bed now as I hold her hand and sing to them all. But I felt like rocking her a little first and wanted to kiss her head and tell her I loved her. Then I layed down in the bed too for a few minutes as they began to drift off. I’d had a couple contractions during story time that were hard to talk through and one on that bed that made me pray I wouldn’t have another one in that position. I peeked at them all. Out cold. Thank you Lord because another wave is coming. I hurried out of the room with the next contraction. It was about 8:30 pm. I sat down on a chair in the living room where my Mom and Hasan were hanging out.

“You having this baby tonight or what?” My Mom joked.

I think I had two, maybe three contractions on that chair before my Mom suggested we get out the plastic wrap and lay it on the floor. I hadn’t planned on being in the living room, I had imagined this peaceful, slow evening of labor, maybe in a warm shower. Suddenly though, kneeling on a soft mat by the couch was sounding pretty good. I had just a few more contractions as things were quickly put in place. I was quite lucid between them, saying things like, “Hasan, get that other towel from the bathroom, hurry, cuz another one is coming.” I knelt there. I could not believe the intensity of the contractions that came then. A dear friend sent me a couple of encouraging notes written on pretty prayer flags, one of which said “You can do anything for one minute,” and I kept repeating that in my mind. My water broke and at one point I said “I think I’m transitioning.” They kept asking if I wanted my pants all the way off (they were around my knees) but it’s funny how once you are in that place you don’t want anything to change, so I said no, even though they were soaked.

The pressure now was tearing through me, so that I could barely catch a breath. I remembered my midwife back in the States telling me during my previous labor that “open palms mean an opening cervix” and that closed fists hinder the process and a couple times reminded myself of this as I’d find myself clutching at the couch cushions as though hanging on for dear life. I was moaning and shouting and praying out loud “DEAR GOD JESUS PLEASE” which was about as far as I could get, but I know he knows what I meant.

Hasan says that from the time I knelt down I had about six contractions before she was out. As I look back, I believe these were the most deeply intense contractions I’ve had with any birth, including when I had back labor with Adelina. Hasan was amazing, by the way, simultaneously pushing my hips together and rubbing my lower back hard for counter pressure. I seriously don’t think I could have made it through without him. I remember in the midst of it thinking “Why are these so strong?!” followed immediately by “Oh my gosh I can feel her descending! I’m not ready for this part!!! I am NOT pushing yet!” followed immediately by “My gosh I’m pushing! How is this happening?!” My body was doing it, despite me. Then I began to help it by putting my mind into the pushing as well. I reached down a couple times and could feel the slimy bulge that I knew was her head, though I couldn’t reiterate this in words to the rest of the room. But they were right there with me and a few moments later my Mom was peeking with a flashlight and saying “Oh my gosh, I can see her head! She’s coming!” I could feel a long, slow burning and realized, still in shock, that she was crowning! Now! Already! I shouted, “Pants, pants, pants!” Now I wanted them off. I reminded myself to try and hesitate so as not to tear and “breathe the baby out.”

She crowned beautifully, albeit quickly. The back of her head first and facing my back.

I stood in a half stand/squat with my left leg up a little. My Mom asked if she should run in and get the girls. They had so wanted to see the baby come out and I had so wanted them there. But it was going too fast, although I couldn’t communicate it, I knew there wasn’t time even for my Mom to run into the next room. I managed to grunt “Actually, no-“ then the final contraction came. My Mom asked if I needed counter pressure down there, I grunted “Yes” and as she reached down, the baby’s head was born right into her hands! Then out popped her right shoulder, and then her left, -then the rest of her in a rush and with a gush of the remaining waters.

Instantaneous relief.

From being torn in two to the most perfect and wonderful feeling in the world. “Run, get the girls!” I cried happily as I lifted my wet little baby up to me (And my gosh I’m crying as I write that part.) My Dad, who’d been praying in the next room, came in at that same time, overjoyed and amazed at how fast it had gone. She was born at 9:47 pm on Friday, May 31st. And here I’d thought she was going to wait and be a June baby. The girls were there, Adelina, age 6 wide awake immediately and super excited, Teuta, age almost-four, and very sleepy, but also very happy. They got in some kisses and stuff as we snapped pictures and rejoiced together in awe over this new little addition. Then Teuta went back to sleep on the couch while Adelina followed us in to the bathroom where I thought to deliver the placenta. She decided she did not want to see that, though, and I think she went back out to the living room to hang out with my Dad, checking back in on me every now and then with a big grin.

I stood, and squatted, and stood, and squatted, wondering after a time if I should think about taking the placenta release tincture I’d ordered just in case. I decided it was still all in good time though and it took a little while, but I was already nursing the baby and finally with a mild contraction the placenta sort of slid out into the prepared bowl I had handy. I called my husband in then and he held the baby, who was still connected, while I jumped in to clean off a little in the shower.

After, oh I don’t know, perhaps an hour and a half in total we tied off the now-limp cord and cut it. None of us could believe how clean the baby was. I hadn’t torn and she’d come out with some of the waters, so there was not a speck of blood or goopyness or anything on her. Clean as a whistle, so tiny and so so perfect. I took my baby back into the living room where we snuggled on the couch as she nursed some more. We thought to weigh her then on the kitchen scale my Mom brought along. She weighed in at 7lbs 2oz, although she’d already nursed a few times and had a diaper on by this point. The next evening when I measured her head it was 34 cm (just shy of 13 in) and her body length around 19 inches (little thing!) though I’m not sure I had her quite fully stretched out as she didn’t care for that.

We named her Violeta (pr. Vee-o-lay-ta) Mae, she and I are both doing great. She’s nursing beautifully and so far is a very calm and peaceful little one. Thank you to everyone for your gifts, your thoughts, your prayers and well-wishes. Blessings to you all. <3

I Fail

I fail.

Miserably sometimes.
Lot's of times, actually.
I'm talking major royal failage.

Oh there are many times that I walk away from a situation or a moment and get to feel proud, proud of myself for being a "good Mom", for doing a good job, for doing things right. For rising above my own human tendencies to be selfish or greedy or mean or whatever.

But those times are not what this post is about.
This post is about the many times I have, do, and will fail. I get angry and instead of "expressing it appropriately" I yell. Or threaten. I make unfair demands and use unkind words. I hurt feelings. I do exactly the opposite of what I try and teach my kids to do. I often have to apologize because they deserve more respect than that and I am acting selfishly and without either patience, kindness or grace. Sometimes I begin to parent in a way I think others think that I should. I do things or say things I don't believe in because I know those others are watching. I have to apologize for that, too, because it is prideful behavior.
I do lots of things wrong.
I do many things right.
That's life, Mamas. It's butterflies and rainbows and hail storms and locust clouds. It's the sunlight glancing off your toddler's curls and scraped knees and twirly dresses and tumbling off the porch or down a grassy hill and it's all mixed up in this messy, beautiful, painful, wonderful experience called life.

We will never be perfect. We will never handle every situation that comes flying at us in the form of cheerios from the hands of a tired and angsty two year old or hurting words from a frustrated six year old with perfect humility and gentleness.

But you know what?
Christ did.
He was perfectness in human form.
When they slapped, he turned, when they railed, He quietly spoke the Truth, when they killed Him, He died in our place, that we may be imputed with his purity and be Saved. The greatest act of love ever known!
Psalm 61 says "lead me to the rock that is higher than I." He is our strength, through Him we receive new grace for every morning, every moment, praise His Name!

So Mothers, sweet Mothers with hearts broken over what you may have messed up on this week, this day, this minute, take a moment to quiet your soul. Remember that we all fail, but that with Christ in our hearts we can rise to love better right now. So say you're sorry, if you need to, ask for forgiveness. Part of being a Mom is also modeling what to do when we mess up. And your kids will love, respect, and cherish that from you.

I Am A Mother

I am a protector.

I am a comforter,

A nurturer of little souls, bodies, and minds.

I make sacrifices, I am a servant.

I am a grace-giver, hand-holder, forgiveness-seeker.

I need to show them goodness.

I am a model.

I am a learner and I am a teacher.

I am a friend.

I am a Mother.

Wet Toes

Drip drop
Drip drop
Not a great day
for flip-flops,

I will wear mine
Anyway,
Because I wear them
Every day!

Copyright Jacquelyn Bytyqi 2013