Category Archives: Family

Pumpkin Carving

Usually I’m a Cinderella/fairytale/rascal pumpkin kind of girl. I like the magical harvest look more than the Halloween look.

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But this year, thanks to my cousins,  Lewis and I made a valiant attempt at having a jack-o-lantern on our porch. Jack-o-lantern may be a deceptive term. Why would we do something traditional, when we can have “that pumpkin.”

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I love my cousins. I love having people in my family with whom I can share faith, family lore, and traditions. Like pumpkin carving. If you could look back at the Stolhandske/Dahlberg family home videos you would year after year of intense little boys laying into the piñatas with perfect batting stances and determined grimaces.

When I hear that we’re having a “pumpkin carving contest,” that’s the image that pops up in my mind. A colorful paper-mache star swinging wildly while parents clear the other kids from the vacinity.

Fortunately my cousins married the right women.

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After a lovely evening of backstrap, beer, and strategy…

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There was cleverness to go around, and Lewis’s brilliant move of using a drill to create an avant garde design, a la West Elm, was a hit. It was not however, structurally sound, and we may have done too thorough a job, scraping out the innards.

This picture does not do justice to Lennox (who later had a tiny pumpkin named Leroy in his mouth) or Jack, whose nose was the pumpkin stem.

This picture does not do justice to Lennox, who later had a tiny pumpkin named Leroy in his mouth; or Jack, whose nose was the pumpkin stem.

The pumpkin lived on our porch for exactly 12 days, slowly deteriorating into something truly ghoulish. So Happy Halloween, jack-o-lantern. Thanks for hanging in there. I’ll put you out of your misery tomorrow.

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Something New and Good: Baby

So…three years of marriage, and still I have not experienced the bloodbath I’d been afraid of before I got married. Lewis and I have yet to go to bed angry. I’ve never wished he would just go away. I’m not bragging. I’m the girl who had a panic attack two weeks before her wedding because she was afraid that marriage was going to be a 50+ year battle with untold casualties. No bragging rights here.

I’m saying that marriage has been wonderful beyond my expectations.

But now…a baby on the way. And the voices are back, telling me life is about to get really, really hard. So many were these voices that I put off getting pregnant for as long as I could without pushing poor Lewis over the edge. We are happy. We have balance…why upset it? Why invite what, according to a lot of people I know, is the most emotionally draining and difficult thing they have ever done?

Because it’s time to believe that God makes all things new.

People love to tell you how you’re going to mess up your kids, just like your parents messed you up. They like to tell you how you bring all of your baggage into parenting. They want it to be freeing, to tell you that you don’t have to be perfect, because nobody is perfect. They want it to remind you that you need grace as a parent.

I get that, and I appreciate it.

And it’s true that we’re born sinners. Sure thing.  Got it. My children will not be perfect. I will not be perfect.

BUT, here’s the deal: New life. What could be more of a picture of God’s grace that is new every morning than an actual. NEW. LIFE.

This baby will not come out cynical and jaded. She will not have years of baggage yet. She will be fresh and new, and her experience of the world, the church, and family will be her very own.

This baby, to me, is a celebration of hope. When I feel like so much has been ruined or twisted or corrupted, an entire new person will exist in the world who knows nothing of that. And maybe she will experience her own pains, but she will also have her own joys and see God’s faithfulness to her in her own life.

I’m sure that when she’s two and rolling on the floor screaming…or thirteen and rolling on the floor screaming, I will be glad for the wisdom that prepared me for her humanity. I’m sure I will be glad that someone warned me that I can’t be the perfect parent. Lewis and I are both first children, and we’re having our first child. We will win the award for most neurotic house on the block.

BUT, that is not what sets me free. That is not what makes me feel new and good. What gives me hope is that God makes all things new. And there is something new happening here (between my abs and my bladder) and it has the potential to be good. Not the kind of good that doesn’t need Jesus, but the kind of good that brings him glory. This little girl has her own story, and Jesus loves her. And I have every reason to believe that her difficult toddler/teenage years are nothing in comparison to the person God is already making her to be.

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“Sometimes It’s Best to Lie”: Poetry for the Young Realist

Dear World,

Please please please don’t take this little poem too seriously…I really really really don’t intend to start a conversation on how it’s never best to lie, how you would tell the truth even if it hurt someone in the short term, the exact nature of a lie, etc. It’s just some late night musings on the times when you realize that, “yes, the whole polite world expects me NOT to say exactly what I’m thinking at this moment.”

Of course, if you are now wondering if you are the extended family, neighbor, or friend who was lied to, the answer is most certainly, “of course not.”

Sincerely,

Bekah

Sometimes It’s Best to Lie

I.

You’ve always learned to tell the truth,

And surly you must try.

But sometimes to be kind or couth

You have to tell a lie.

Don’t ever lie to save your skin.

Don’t lie to hurt another.

A lie is not the way to win,

It’s a way to love your brother.

II.

When your sibling’s choice couture

Be it dress or tie

Makes them look like furniture

Sometimes it’s best to lie,

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III.

When dear granny’s getting old

And she forgets your size

Her gifts may smell of cats and mold.

You’ll have to tell some lies.

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IV.

When your host has burnt the beef

Or undercooked the pie

There’s no need to cause him grief.

Just tell a gracious lie.

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V.

When your buddy’s lost a game

You know how hard he tried

The brutal truth would cause him shame

You’ll be glad you lied.

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VI.

When great-auntie buys you junk

That makes you wonder, “Why???”

Don’t act like an ungrateful punk

Just suck it up and lie.

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VII.

When sharing cold hard facts of life

It’s easy to be jaded.

But when your thoughts could stir up strife

They may be better shaded.

Though few would outright tell you this,

They would say be polite

But manners, tact, and thoughtfulness

Are knowing when to lie.

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Florence’s So-Called Life : Season 1, ep 5

In which Florence makes a bold move in body art.

(read in the voice of Florence, which sounds uncannily like a 14-year-old Claire Danes)

My people are sort of boring. They have NO piercings. NO tattoos. They never even change their hair.

Brown hair. Yawn.

Brown hair. Yawn.

They call it being “natural,” but I’m like, “what is natural anyway?” I mean, is natural just about having the same skin and hair you were born with? Delilah next door says that’s stupid because our skin and hair change all time. So what’s the big deal about changing it a little?

There’s this chow down the street. He’s totally cool, and a little scary. And he has this amazing blue tongue. Wiley says it’s the blue tongue that make people think he’s cool. (Our people say it’s because he’s so fluffy and lazy).

On Friday mornings, Lewis has a bunch of guys over for Bible Study. Wiley and I are to be neither seen nor heard. Milford Dogs.

This is me being neither seen nor heard.

This is me being neither seen nor heard.

I hate being away from the people, with all those hands available for petting.

Me when I'm not being pet.

Me when I’m not being pet.

So we were locked in the utility room with Lewis’s drafting table and all the cleaning supplies. Cleaning supplies are of no interest to me. But on the drafting table…there was a pen…a Pilot Precise V7 Rollerball Pen, to be exact …I could see the ink inside swirling around…and it was blue.

Wiley casually mentioned that it looked just like the blue chow’s tongue. He said that he had a delicate constitution or he’d eat the thing himself to turn his tongue blue.

Well, he does have a delicate constitution…but I don’t. It was a little messy, and Bekah and Lewis were, well, furious. But sometimes you have to make bold moves and try new things or you’ll never know how cool it really is to have a blue tongue.

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Florence’s So-Called life: Season 1, ep 4

In which Florence faces peer pressure from her brother.

(read in the voice of Florence, which sounds uncannily like a 14-year-old Claire Danes)

Sometimes Wiley and I totally get each other.

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And sometimes it’s like we’re two different breeds.

Sometimes he’s like, the bravest, coolest, guy. He’s all confident… and swaggering… and peeing on everything. The trainer said that Wiley enjoys “marking his territory” more than he enjoys fetch and the other kiddie games she made me play. So she just let  him. Everybody just lets him. Sometimes he marks me…and I just don’t even…I can’t even stop him.

He just lays in the room like he owns it…

Wiley's so cool that PROFESSIONAL ARTIST sketched him once, at our house. by Jacinto Guevara

Wiley’s so cool that PROFESSIONAL ARTIST sketched him once, at our house. by Jacinto Guevara

while I’m constantly finding myself awkwardly in everyone else’s way.

I don't understand why yoga mats are not for sharing.

I don’t understand why yoga mats are not for sharing.

He’s just sort of…over it when it comes to food.  He never begs. He never chomps Bekah’s hand when she gives him treats. It’s just…not a big deal to him. I get so excited I jump in circles, fall down, and then end up biting her hand. And then I’m in trouble.

One day he asked me to keep a secret for him. I promised I would, because I want him to think I’m cool. Then he broke out of the fence. He goes through Delilah and Henry B.’s yard like it’s nothing. Like Henry B. is not the scariest dog on the block.  I’m just scared that one day, you know, he’s going to get into trouble. Not just because Bekah has to go running down the sidewalk in her nightgown screaming like something off of “Real Housewives of Appalachia.” I mean real trouble. What if, like, ACS gets him?

Here I'm in a funk because Wiley's mad at me for telling on him.

Here I am worrying about Wiley, waiting by the front door.

So I told Bekah. Then Wiley was mad, because I broke my promise. But sometimes being a good friend/sister means doing things your friend/brother doesn’t like. 

So… yeah… Wiley’s, like, totally brave. But then…it rains. And suddenly he’s a complete mess. There’s drool everywhere, he shakes, he hides in the shower. He has to wear this ridiculous shirt, that only half-fixes the problem.

And then I’m like, well, I guess maybe we all aren’t so brave sometimes. I’m afraid of maracas. Wiley’s afraid of low barometric pressure. We’re all just sort of a mess, but we’re family.

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Florence’s So-Called Life, Season 1, Ep. 3

In which Florence resists the natural processes of getting old and lame.

(Read in Florence’s voice, which sounds uncannily like 14-year-old Claire Danes.)

My people depress me. When I look at their lives I just think, “That’s…it? Why are you so lame?”

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That’s what I’m doing all of this for? All of this “sitting” and “staying” and “get off the damn couch!” So that I can be a slave to the leash? I’ve seen pictures of my people as…whatever little humans are called…hummies? Anyway, I’ve seen pictures of when they were young. They had so much promise.

They ran around naked. They pooped standing up. They laid down to eat.

What happened? When did they just start working all the time? Why all the extra…stuff? Like silverware and toilets and people-only furniture. It’s so lame.

Bekah sits in her office all day! I could easily chew on a tennis ball for that long. She never chews on anything. It's depressing.

Mom sits in her office all day! I could easily chew on a tennis ball for that long. She never chews on anything. It’s depressing.

Even Lewis's friends come over to work. How much more fun would it be to lick our butts together???

How much more fun would it be to all lick our own butts together???

It makes me want to be young forever. And just, you know, roam the world. Like Delilah next door. The one who plays under the house. She gets out all the time. Wiley does too, and sometimes I think he hangs out with Delilah when our people aren’t looking. They poop where they want.

Here I am on a leash, tied to a bridge. This picture would be awesome without the leash. Because it would be of my tail as I ran from Mom.

How much better would this awesome picture be without my leash? Leashes…why???

Except…I heard them talking today about how they went camping. Apparently they pooped outside. And ate with their hands. I don’t think they ran around naked, but I blame that on their pink skin. Not everyone can be black and tan.

Maybe there’s hope.

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Trying to Write a Wedding Toast, Part III

So…Liz and Jason. As their wedding draws nearer, I know that they are overwhelmed with details. I also know that they are overwhelmed with all the things they love about each other.

Meanwhile, there have been some loose ends in my own thoughts on marriage.  I know that I heard all of this before I got married, but it’s just now starting to make sense. I just remember thinking everyone was killing my love-buzz. And now that I’m not a newlywed…where did all those sages go who had so much good advice? Suddenly insight bills at $125 an hour.

Pop culture to the rescue.

Summary: The no-escape clause

At some point, ironically, the sameness in marriage and the changes in your spouse might make you shake your head and say, “I don’t think I knew what I was getting into.”

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But it doesn’t exempt us from the “til death do us part” part. So we have to figure out how to deal with the fact that forever has a lot more Mondays than we’d calculated, and our spouse seems to have grown an extra arm out of his or her personality.

There are three movies I’ve seen that had some telling insights into this. They are not particularly fabulous movies. At all. I didn’t even really like them, and I don’t think that their overarching themes hold the key to happy marriages. But there were moments in each one that made me say, “THAT’S IT!”

The first is an older rom-com starring Topher Grace (see disclaimer above!) called “In Good Company” (83% on Rotten Tomatoes). I remember exactly one thing about that movie:  this quote, right here. (Carter Duryea is placed by Topher Grace, and Dan Foreman is played by Dennis Quaid.)

Carter Duryea: Dan, you seem to have the perfect marriage. How do you do it?

Dan Foreman: You just pick the right one to be in the foxhole with, and then when you’re outside of the foxhole you keep your dick in your pants.

Carter Duryea: That’s poetic.

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Similarly, another sort of lackluster rom-com was “Friends with Kids” (67% on Rotten Tomatoes) I watched it because I needed a Kristin Wiig fix. Well, she’s in it, but she doesn’t say much, and what she does say is not funny. But Jon Hamm plays her husband, sooo…yes, I kept watching.

In the movie, Jon Hamm’s character Ben says something along the lines of, “You pick the person you want to be with in the bad times.” Probably also good that they share the good times… but that’s the easy part.

I tend to get dramatic about my needs, my feelings, Lewis’s needs, and Lewis’s feelings. But in the end, it all comes down to committing to the partnership like your life depends on it, and then dealing with the flurry of bullets and grenades. And you have to remember that the person in the foxhole with you is the one person who has taken a sacred vow to be ON YOUR TEAM. Taking aim at them is totally counterproductive.

Does that sound like too much negativity? Well, here’s the reason it’s not: you are no longer alone in the foxhole. That fact alone should be the underpinning smiley face on the rest of your days (which are more numerous than if you really were facing sprays of bullets and hand grenades, so, again, hooray!).

Also, it emphasizes the importance of picking well. Pick your spouse well. Because the last thing you want is some screaming Mimi running out into the fray.

But even if you pick the right person, there’s still days where the foxhole gets a little…foxholey.

The next movie that I did not like, but that I did feel had some insight was “Take This Waltz” (77% on Rotten Tomatoes). It’s about an achingly hipster married woman who seems “restless in a kind of permanent way.” Basically, she’s jonesin’ (in a muted, listless sort of way that hipsters express longing) for excitement . And there’s a shiny new boy across the street.

It’s her alcoholic sister-in-law, played very nicely by Sarah Silverman, who falls off the wagon and delivers the moral of the story.

“Life has a gap in it…it just does. You don’t go crazy trying to fill it.”

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I’m keenly aware of the gaps in life, and the perils of my hunt to fill them. If Lewis was everything I wanted him to be every single day, he’d have to be psychotic, because I change my list of demands as often as I change my socks. Often to reflect exactly the opposite of yesterday’s demands.

The hip Christian way to say this is, “you never marry the right person.” The choice of words there is a little too let-me-blow-your-mind-nouveau-Puritan for me.  I propose this revision: “You can’t marry God, so cut your spouse some slack.”

It was actually Ira Glass, host of This American Life, who put this all together the best. He was talking to a man who had decided that marriage should have a contract expiration. That because people change, they shouldn’t have to stay in relationships forever. Honestly, I expected quirky, progressive Ira Glass to agree with him. Instead, he said,

from umamigirl.com

from umamigirl.com

I think it was the “no-escape clause” that gave me a panic attack two weeks before I got married…and has kept me from having one since.

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Florence’s So-Called Life: Season 1, Episode 2

In this episode Florence continues to be humiliated by her parents, but also is forced to over come her fears.

(Read in the voice of Florence, which sounds a lot like a 14-year-old Claire Danes)

Going to the vet. I just don’t get why we have to do it. It’s this…thing…that keeps looming on the horizon. Making my dinner taste like guilt.

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All they do is weigh me (which is humiliating) and get me wound up. I know I’m going to pee on the floor and upset my parents, but I can’t help it. There’s something about the way the vet tech talks in that high, excited, goo-goo tone that just makes me so…. happy? Then she pets me…and I pee. Every time.

But then she says, “Wow, what a big girl.” And I’m like, “We all know what that means. Just say it. Why can’t we just be… real?”

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And then there’s my parents. They have this, like, need for me to get in and out of the car by myself. They are perfectly capable of lifting me. 60 pounds is not going to kill them.

We sat like this for a long time, since all they are going to offer as bait are those “organic” cookies they buy. Seriously guys, Milkbone. One little incident with a brand new Costco-sized bag of treats and suddenly we only eat “organic.”

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And then…I did it. I made the jump. Maybe I am a “big girl.” Maybe I am ready to start getting in and out of the car by myself.

But then my parents made this big deal over my jump. I looked up and the boxer across the street was watching. The one with the big, sweet eyes. So was edgy Delilah, who lives next door and plays under the house. I thought I was going to die.

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