A Woman's Place Is In The Bookstore

Last week I had to go on the road to help out DH. While I was gone I spent my days far differently than I normally do... I had long blocks of time with nothing required of me, and then short bursts of intense and focused work. The nothing-required time gave me a rare opportunity: to hang out at the B&N like an unemployed IT guy! Wow, what fun!

I think I read every home decorating magazine out there, a couple of business rags, and lots of bits and pieces, whatever seemed interesting at the time. I also reread Captivating, by John and Stasi Eldredge. It challenged me again to confront what it means to be female - not by examining the hats I wear but by examining my heart, who I am at my core. Fascinating and frightening. Then I came home and went to a marriage conference put on by Dan Allender, where he spent a good part of the weekend analyzing marriage issues in light of what it means to be a man or a woman. I feel like I could spend the next year working out these issues and still only scratch the surface.

Back on the homeschool front, my kids got very little done while I was away. In fact, the amount accomplished follows the age of the kid in a direct and linear fashion: 13yo got almost everything done; 11yo did lots but little math and no grammar (argh!); and 7yo did n.o.t.h.i.n.g. It was a true test of self-control for me today when I discovered her complete lack of progress in anything. But I'm happy to report that there was no yelling, only matter-of-fact consequences. I consider this progress in me (and am happy that God does not yell at me for my lapses).

Small Talk

For the last week, my wonderful dh has been speechless. Literally. Last Tuesday he underwent surgery to have a node removed from his vocal cords, and a key part of his recovery was the requirement of "total vocal rest." No talking, whispering, humming, even whistling. Coughing only if he had to.

How do you think you'd respond to a week of silence? I think it'd be very insightful. You know where dh found it most difficult? At the dinner table. Sitting around eating the evening meal, talking and laughing, the kids and I had no idea how hard it was for Dad to sit quietly. He wanted to participate! To joke with us! Typing his responses on his laptop was frustratingly slow.

But he also found that, during the day, he was amazingly productive. He tackled all kinds of boring administrative work: Budgeting. Answering non-urgent emails. Researching. And he found that he could get a LOT done when no one was calling. (And we didn't call him - what would be the point? A phone is useless if you can't even whisper. Unless it has text messaging.)

But today, the ban was lifted. The doc cleared dh to speak again... and his voice was music to my ears. It'll be a month or two, they say, before his voice is back to optimal clarity. That's okay with all of us, especially him. You don't have to have perfect vocal clarity to participate in family dinner again.

Time to Check Back In

Well, if you're reading this right now, then you either have RSS feed or you're really persistent. I know it's been a long time. Forever in Blogworld. For whatever reason I have not been able to write for months, trying but finding that my thoughts to be small and scattered. For the past few days, though, they've seemed more solid, almost visible when I close my eyes, so I'm venturing an attempt to capture them here.

I guess a good place to begin would be to update you on what has happened with my father. My dad is much, much better, physically. He is not the person he used to be, and I've gradually come to realize (and grieve) that he will not be that person again. But releasing the old Dad has surprisingly opened my eyes to the new Dad. This Dad has a terrible short-term memory and bouts of confusion and a frailer body, but his warm heart and the smile that lights up his face when we come to see him are warmer and lighter than they have ever been. He's more joyful, happier than he's been in years. He knows all of us who love him, all the time, even if he doesn't remember our conversation from the last visit. He is game for most any adventure or outing, regales us with funny stories from his childhood, and showers us with appreciation for anything we do for him.

What's more, I am not the person I was before my dad's crisis. I'm making the transition from the daughter who calls on her parents for help to the daughter on whom her parents rely for help. It is a strange position and has taken some getting used to. I did not know how much I loved my dad until I discovered that I can be patient with him when he's telling me the same story for the fourth time in one hour. Really patient, not just pretending to be. I did not know that I would stop feeling frustrated over all the old patterns and tug-of-wars that children play with their parents and start feeling amused by them, even grateful for them.

My dad no longer punches the same buttons he used to in me. Maybe it's the transfer of power; maybe it's the beginning of realizing that I'm standing on my own, and that I will be okay. The strength I got from him no longer depends on his physical presence but on the memories and experiences and lessons he spent years cultivating in me, that have now not only rooted but blossomed into their own being, separate from him but owing their existence to him. It's a wondrous lesson that I can hardly believe.

I have more to say about this process, later. I'm very hopeful that I'm back for a long while.