Suck It Up
By Caroline Schermerhorn
scherm@ee.net

I’ve got a case of the blues.
It’s the Vacuum Cleaner Blues.
It’s those dust-chugging, bar-beating, air-coughing, penny- jamming, loud-sounding, dust mite-filtering, money costing 237 dollar and 15 cent Blues.
They began last summer when I replaced that ancient twenty-pound steel-enforced Kirby vac Mom had given me. I should have kept it. I ended up buying three new vacuums in as many months. When I finally coughed up enough change for a two hundred thirty-seven dollar vacuum, I figured I’d won.
Last week it, too, gave up the ghost.
I was uncharacteristically enraged. I stomped my foot like a three year old. I yelled at the machine. I pleaded with it to tell me what was wrong. I fantasized picking the thing up and hurling it through my beautiful living room picture window – just to hear how it would sound.
When I confessed all this to the lady at the vacuum store she just nodded her head in sympathy. “I know just what you mean,” she said. “I once threw a vacuum right down the stairwell of an apartment building.” Yep. She knew exactly what I was feeling.
I shouldn’t complain. Considering what my appliances and tools go through, it’s amazing that they last a month. My cleaning crew consists of six children, ages 6 to 16, and me. Let’s face it, kids just don’t handle with care. They expect a vacuum to suck up pennies, Legos, and dirty laundry. They run over the cord. They jolt the thing down the steps.
On the other hand, I couldn’t possibly keep up without them. It’s takes a team to care for a family of eight. It begins at the age of three, when each child is taught to sort silverware to set the table, and to help mommy sort clothing. From there, they learn to vacuum. To make a bed. To feed the animals.
I’m not sure when I began expecting so much of the children. (Perhaps it was the day when I found out I was pregnant with our fourth.) I found it difficult to allow the children to work at their own pace and level. I’d cringe when dishes were chipped as they went from washer to cupboard. I’d hold my tongue when streaks were left on the windows. And I’d go back over the kitchen counters with a soapy sponge, after they’d cleaned the kitchen and gone out to play. Ever so slowly, it started to pay off. Today, the sixteen year old handles the laundry zone; a couple times a week, our laundry fairy leaves clean, folded piles of clothing on our beds. After dinner each night, I join my husband for a long walk, while the dish fairies clean the kitchen. On the weekends, many hands make light work as we work the yard together, ready to get on with the weekend fun. The occasional chipped dish or dying vacuum is a natural consequence, as we slowly add the six and seven year olds into the mix.
This isn’t just about cleaning house. It’s about growing character and responsibility. It’s about children learning that they are valuable members of the household. It’s about growing the esteem of little people who will eventually leave my home and run the world.
Given all that, I suppose it’s worth an occasional new vacuum. This time, I think I’ll buy two, and just turn my head the other way. At least it might save the big streaky window.

Simply Living is a privately syndicated weekly column, dedicated to preserving the joy – and the sanity – of modern family life. If you are interested in publishing Simply Living, please contact Caroline Schermerhorn at: scherm@ee.net.

Finally - Teenage Fashions that Fit
By Caroline Schermerhorn

"There's a lot of pressure through the media that the fashion is to show off your body. I'm not interested in that." - Katy Kiracofe, 17, Newark.

Katy's comment echoes a national trend that buyers are just starting to notice - and parents appreciate: fashionable modesty. The trend recently came to light when Ella Gunderson of Seattle, Washington wrote to Nordstroms department store, asking why they don't carry modest versions of the fashions she loves. Nordstroms took notice, and a resulting media storm landed 11 year old Ella Gunderson on the Today Show.
This week, Our Town interviewed four local teens who have made modesty a priority in their wardrobes.
Katy Kiracofe 17, is a perky brunette who dresses smart and to her own taste. When asked why modest fashions are important to her, she said it was a personal choice. "I just don't want to show off my body to people. Besides, guys should not be interested in me just because of my clothing. I can't be comfortable if I'm showing too much skin. On the other hand, I can still be comfortable and cute without being over-revealing. My friends don’t all feel the same way, but I find it totally comfortable."
For Katy comfort and modesty go together when she can find a "completely adorable but not revealing top".
Sonya Knoefel, 17, is also a graduating senior. She takes great care to wear what she calls, "cute, but modest clothing". Admittedly, this was a requirement first imposed by her parents. "But," Sonya added, "Once I was around fifteen, it was a decision I made for myself. I decided I didn't want to wear revealing clothing because at that age, guys start looking at you, not because they like you - but because they are looking at you. I'd much rather wear something because it makes me look pretty, but not sleazy. I like to wear clothing that makes me feel good about me - not just because everyone else thinks it looks good."
Hilary Madrid, 16, is another teen who's known in her circle of friends for good fashion sense that doesn't "let it all hang out". She admitted that she works hard to keep her standards high. "For me dressing modestly is a big thing because I find that I gain more self respect. I have a lot of guy friends now, and I know that if I was dressing immodestly, they would take our friendship for granted."
Mature words from a teenager, but these girls back it up with their actions. As Anna Pugh, another modestly graceful seventeen year old offered, "a girl should dress tight enough so that you know she's a woman, but loose enough that you know she's a lady."
The media pressure surrounding fashion doesn't help, Hilary admitted. " Everyone wants to keep up with what the media is giving them."
So, how does a teen in today's culture go about finding modest clothes that don't look like a shapeless oatmeal-colored burlap sack? All three girls agreed: you have to work for it.
For starters, they go shopping with their mom or a good friend who shares their taste in clothing. "I really need that second opinion when trying on clothes," Hilary admitted.
Secondly, they take time to try on clothing and see if it fits well. They move around in it asking:
Is the neckline high enough? Does it gape open?
Are the armholes small enough not to give a peek show when arms are raised?
Do tank tops have straps wide enough to hide underclothing?
Do shirts cover the midriff when arms are raised?
Do shorts or skirts ride up high and reveal underclothing when you sit down or bend over?
Are waistlines high enough not to be distracting in mixed company?
Hilary raised another point: skin-tight clothing. "Lots of girls wear it because they think it makes them look skinnier" she said, "But skin-tight clothing actually makes you look fatter, because it really does show all the lines. If you want to look thin," she explained, " find the same style and shirt, but a bigger size -- still form fitted. I like form fitted clothing, but I always try for not tight. Go one size bigger. Go the extra mile to get the respect."
Surprisingly, buying modest clothes isn't about going to the right places.
Walmart, American Eagle, Gap, Plato's Closet and Old Navy all made the cut with these girls - you just have to look through it to find what you want. Generally, they said that the immodest clothing is featured in the front of the store. As Hilary explained, "You can go to any store and find really cute clothes. You just have to dig through everything else. Don't look just on a superficial level. Dig deeper."
The girl's also like thrift stores, where they find modest clothing at modest prices.
Katy offered additional encouragement to girls struggling with MTV-inspired fashions: "There's more to life than how you appear to others. You don't have to be pressured to wear the trendy, revealing clothes. You can be cute and modest without being overly revealing… there's more to life than that."

This article was recently published in Our Town newspaper, published by Plus Publications.

The Secret Formula



Having grown up in the tropical land of Florida, I should know something about swimming pools. However, we never had a pool, because most of our neighbors did – and it was a lot easier to maintain a neighborly friendship than a pool of your own. So it’s taken four Ohio Summers for this Floridian to finally learn how to clean a pool.

Pool maintenance isn’t one of those weekly duties that can be relegated to the indigent slave labor (i.e. teenagers). Getting the water in your test kit to turn just the right shade of pink or yellow every morning requires copious amounts of chlorine, hours of filtering, and a weekly trek to the pool store where you buy the other chemicals needed to compensate for over-chlorinating. Then, of course, you have to run the filter, rinse the filter, and … replace the filter.

For two years, we ran this course and were still faced with slimy green water. How in the world bacteria was able to breed in my four foot, above ground, chemical spill, was beyond me. Looking for a magic solution, I asked a fellow pool owner to have a look.

"Why, that’s not a chemical problem," he observed. "That’s a bacteria problem."

"You’ve got debris in there, breeding bacteria", he insisted. "All you need is a daily brushing and skimming."

Skeptical but desperate, we started brushing and skimming. We worked every day for a week. We scooped out leaves and seeds as quickly as they fell. We cut back the cottonwoods that had provided such lovely shade over the deck. Every little wrinkle in the liner was brushed out, and every corner attended to.

The pool was sparkling and inviting – for a couple of days. As soon as we let our guard down, the pH was up, the chlorine was depressed, and those little green bacteria were smiling from their water wonderland, "We’re Baaaaack!"

We finally realized: there is no magic formula. Maintaining a pool takes a daily dose of thought and care. A little brush here, some attentive skimming – a few hours of pumping… and three months of happy screams from splashing children make it all so worthwhile.

Now that spring is again in full bloom, we are again dancing the daily Pool Shuffle. Brush, Skim. Brush, Skim.

The water shimmers, the birds chatter, and I often enjoy the time to think as I work.

Brush, skim. Brush, Skim. The net ripples the surface. The widening circles have a hypnotic effect on me. The disturbance accentuates my sorrow this weekend. My peace has been capsized with the news of a friend’s impending divorce.

I still can’t believe they are having such difficulties. We shared such blessed moments of our early marriage with this couple. We supported each other through those first giddy days of several pregnancies. We prayed for one another when a child needed stitches. Moreover, they survived so very much in the last eighteen years: financial struggles, intense needs of the extended family, then the birth of a Downs’ Syndrome baby. How could he walk out on her now?

Quite honestly, it makes me feel a little insecure.

I lean out to reach for another drifting leaf. We have to be vigilant about this now that the swimming season is upon us. The strongest chemicals at the pool store won’t do a thing if there are leaves in the pool, fodder for bacteria.

I’m finally finished. The pump is humming, and I can start putting my tools away for another day. The crystal clear water is deceiving. Despite a four hundred-dollar pool pump, and seventy-eight dollars worth of chemicals, we have to check the water daily. Chlorine levels have to stay at a certain level, the pump must be run and then rinsed, and there is that daily brush and skim. Occasionally, a summer storm leaves too much rubbish in the bottom of the pool. On these occasions, a certain additive will create chemical buoyancy in the water, bringing all the debris to the surface of the pool, where we work to skim it off the top.

This was a lot easier when it was the neighbor’s pool that needed attention. Makes me wonder when my friends’ stopped paying attention to each other.

I know it’s not that easy. No one marries intending to fail. They are full of wonderful, principled, ideas that they believe will last forever. But life is dirty. It’s full of unkind words, and unspoken hurts. These sit in the water, attracting the growth of other unsavory little bugs. Suddenly, one is standing in nasty, murky, green water – and all they want is to get out.

The hard, daily use of an intimate relationship requires daily work. There is no magic chemical to dump in by the caseload. Strong daily doses of love and sacrifice are only the beginning. We skim daily for those innocuous little pieces of debris that give the bacteria of hurt and discontent a place to breed. We take time to talk; to bring out hidden concerns ready to be skimmed off the surface and made new again. .

Any successfully married couple will probably tell you, this kind of work doesn’t last for just the season. But then, neither do the rewards.

It doesn’t get any better than this!
By Caroline Schermerhorn
As I write this column, I am tucked away in an elegant two-room suite at a northern Michigan golf resort. It is a cloudy, but temperate, 50 degrees outside. Between the lovely gas fireplace in our suite, and an inviting hot tub in the bathroom, some romance and relaxation are a sure bet this weekend.. Having never swung a golf club, I don’t have the usual kind of appreciation for the legendary Weiskopf “Legend” course outside the sliding glass doors. However, there is something exceptionally beautiful about having breakfast while overlooking the eighteenth hole.
We got here last night after a pleasant eight-hour drive, just my husband and I. No Barney tapes, no extra potty stops. I didn’t even have to share my drink. We grooved to classic rock, drove for hours without stopping, and guzzled one $2.00 iced cappuccino after another. The car was uncommonly clean, the back seat empty except for our suitcases and a hanging bag with an elegant party dress, suit, and tie. We drank in our old camaraderie, telling jokes, sharing stories, or just holding hands and thinking to the familiar beat of the windshield wipers.
I was in seventh heaven.
“This is the life,” I thought.
When we arrived at the resort, we were seated to a candlelit dinner, tucked away in the dim corner of an elegant restaurant. A talented pianist tinkled the ivories of a shiny black grand piano.
“… and what will you have, young lady?” I looked into the decidedly young eyes of a well-dressed waiter. Young lady? I felt like royalty.
No dishes, no crises. I didn’t even have to get up from dinner to find the second ketchup bottle deep in the recesses of the refrigerator. Could anything be so luxurious? “This is the life,” I breathed, sipping a before dinner drink from a fine crystal glass.
This morning, my husband has a couple of meetings to attend, so I’m alone until lunch time. Completely, gloriously, and unapologetically alone. I sink into the sofa, pour myself a soda, choose an old black and white movie, and settle in for an after breakfast cat nap. With no other person “home” at the moment, I have no needs to look after – except my own. A bubble bath? A quiet bike ride?
This is the life!
We stay up late and sleep in later all weekend long.
By Sunday, I feel just about as relaxed as I’ve ever been. The smell of morning inspires me to sketch and write as I relax.
Our ride home is equally delightful. We thoroughly enjoy that easy-going, conversational, uninterrupted mode of sharing that we had when we first met. Once home, it’s time to pick up the children from the various friends who took them in for the weekend. One stop at a time, the six children and their luggage croud the van, which has been so empty since Friday. Happy to see each other, hugs and kisses go all around. Almost instantly, the calendar is out, and we are trying to figure out the following day’s schedule. Little League practice was moved up a day, and play rehearsal occurs in the same inning. Dinner needs to be made, bath times scheduled, and laundry cleaned.
Our solitude is a memory of yesterday. The time alone, focused on the eyes of my beloved, is just another twinkle to reminisce over.
Later, in the twilight of the evening, I smell the clean blond curls of my youngest. I savor the sounds of laughing and screaming from the trampoline. I immerse myself in the thoughts voiced by my lovely teenage daughters.
Bedtime hastens. One at a time, I feel the sweet closeness of six goodnight hugs. The eldest disappears up the stairs. The day is over, and I’m ready for bed, too.
But wait, there is one more to attend to… the six-year-old has slipped back downstairs for “one more hug”. His breath is warm on my ear as he whispers, “Mommy, I missed you.”
This is the Life.

TGIF

Fridays don't mean as much ever since my dear husband returned to classes. He's focused this year on attaining his MBA. We've only three semesters left! Those of you who have been through this know all too well how much sacrifice and commitment this requires from the entire family. Saturdays are full of either work or school, and another night of the week is taken away besides. But it's a commitment we have made together.
Actually, it was a commitment we made 15 years ago at the altar - a life given to each other to help the other achieve their very best in body, mind, and soul. No, we didn't vow to "love and attain a good education, until death do us part." But the free gift of self at the altar took away our own freedom to live our lives for ourselves, based on our own comfort. As these two young twenty somethings looked into each other's eyes and said, "I Do'. (Actually, because of the way the question was worded, we had to say "I Will" - but that's another story), could we have possibly understood the fullness of the gift we gave and received? Did he perceive the possibility that he was taking on the responsbility, not only of a wife, but of six children who would depend entirely upon his loving provision and hard work for their very life? Was he prepared then to be her rock through their struggle with cancer?
Was his young bride aware that she had just given away her freedom to live for herself only, and to make decisions based on her comfort level? Did she know then that true love consists of a willing life of service? Did she know her life's work would be focused on getting six little souls into heaven?
Christian Marriage - it ain't for whimps.

Thy Kingdom Come!

Home, Christ, and the inevitable Laundry Pile
When I last left you, I was headed to transcend my laundry pile, Mount Neverest. Don't pity me -- the washer broke, and I got a three day pass. Lucky for us, we'd just done a Walmart run for socks and underwear! LOL Hey, nothing like a few pairs of dirty socks to make you realize how much you really love to do laundry.
Which brings me to my thought for today: stay at home moms.
The other day, a man was lamenting to me that "the church" doesn't say anything about how mothers should stay at home with their children...that there is no support from the church so far as helping families make this decision. He said that the Church was just too afraid of the feminists to say such things. I was astounded. "Haven't you ever read Famliaris Consortio?", I asked. Well, yes, he had -- but he meant that he never heard anything from the pulpit in the parish.
Seems to me that these words from the Pope are from the top - the very highest pulpit, no? And whose responsibility is it, anyway, to advertise for stay at home moms? WHat kind of image do stay at home moms portray? Is it appealing enough to make others want to consider the option?
Do we moan about the work-load, or do we allow others to see the transparent joy of our vocation? Do we get caught up in wishing we had our working friends' pretty homes, or do others walk in our homey, clean, and well-used living room and sense an "at homeness" that makes them smile? Is our joy at being home something only our husbands know about -- or do we broadcast it the public through our smile, our gentile manner with our children, and a willingness to "have children, will travel". Let's face it -- we are our own best press.
I am constantly surprised by ladies at the store, couples in the parking lots, cashiers from Lowe's -- people come up to me often and tell me "I watch your family at church - they are beautiful", or "it's so obvious that you and your husband are in love", or "what a good Dad your husband is!" The point being that people are watching!
What do they see when they watch you?

Thanksgiving
Tom Abbottwas very gracious to me in his blog today, so I just had to say "thanks" publicly...

And on to the business of mothering...
I was thinking today about Christ and his little discourse about children in Matthew 18. As a mom, I was drawn to how Christ said in the section immediately afterward that "if someone sins aainst you", it is your duty to them to "win him over". In other words, it isn't a matter of assuaging my pride - but of establishing my brother's (or my child's) salvation! What an eye-opener for me!
This isn't to say that we self-righteously go around correcting every sinner in our path, "for their own salvation". What it said to me, rather, was that my parental correction of my children mustn't come out of self love. (Oh, boy, is my pride in for it today,huh?)
Don't lose me now- this was a real break through for me...
When I correct them out of my own self-love, it is because I have been offended. (After all, doesn't everyone else in this house see when I've picked up their jackets for the eighteenth time?!!!) I am the shepherd, as it were, of their souls. I am Christ to my children, as long as they are in this house. If I am guiding them to make sure they don't offend me, then where has this investment of my life really gone? However, if I see that it is for their salvation that I must feed them, teach them to get along, and patiently help those boys get through their chores... aaahhhh... then it brings me to deal with them in true compassion. The compassion that Christ was mine when Christ died on the cross. The compassion with which he desires to touch their young souls.
What a transcendent grace it is to be the servant of the King.

...Now Mount NeverRest (the laundry pile) calls. Transcend that! :)

Thy Kingdom Come!