When I was a new parent, I read a variety of books about parenting and education, everything from Dr. Spock to John Holt.
Dr. Tom Brewer's pregnancy diet became the foundation for the way I still eat today, and I learned the difference between "freedom" and "license" from a Scottish educator called A.S. Neill, who is considered (by some) to be the founder of the "free school movement" when he began Summerhill, a boarding school that is still governed by its students and mostly forgotten by the rest of the world today.
Because many people considered Neill's perception that children have rights meant raising their children without any discipline, he followed up his first book with a second one: "Freedom: Not License."
While many of his ideologies have not withstood time (and some consider him to be homophobic), and while I have no idea if any of this is true because I have not re-read his books since the first reading in 1982, the entire concept of "freedom, not license," has remained with me, to the point these three words are words my adult kids hear today.
Although "God is love" (1 John 4:8) is the part most people associate with people being in the image of God, free will - the ability to choose - is probably the essence of that image and what makes U.S. citizens living in the U.S. feel free.
But for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every choice, there is something we do not choose.
Even love is a choice.
Now this post is not an excuse to rant against our inconsiderate neighbors, who consistently set off the loudest and most dramatic fireworks this weekend, starting around 11 p.m. July 4 and continuing non-stop until dawn on July 5 when two squad cars came out and insisted they stop.
Seriously, it's not.
Because once I realized the night would be an all-nighter, and that most of my Sunday plans would vanish due to lack of sleep, I realized I, too, had a choice.
I could be angry and fuming.
Or I could use the time well.
So here's how I celebrated my freedom, a freedom I'm so thankful to have words defy me, over the past few days.
Thursday: I had worked extra hours this past week to finish up early on Thursday. I did a little editing for clients, re-read some of what I had written for The Phoenix, watched the next episode (or so) of The King's Woman (a Chinese drama) with Rebekah, and went to bed early, happy and looking forward to the weekend.
Friday: The one day that was truly mine. I spent about fourteen hours working on Lycanthropic Summer. It's now about two-thirds of the way completed, and I'm super happy about how it's taking shape, better than I had thought going into the day. It also led to a different idea about a cover design, and one that should stretch Rebekah's fledgling Photoshop skills.
Saturday: I edited for clients until dinnertime. I'm waiting on an updated graphic for Phyllis' memoir and then that project is done. I returned the third round of novel to one author and the first round of a collection of short stories to another. I watched two-third of "1776" with my kids, ate homemade pizza, ice cream pie, and Independence Cake (more on this later) that Rebekah had made, and walked to a local fireworks event (a scary walk that felt like a war zone due to the vast amount of "independent" fireworks displays in the neighborhoods).
The in-between night: I commiserated with Timothy via phone most of the night, prayed for our neighbors, and practiced relaxation. The first was easy, the second two, truthfully, was extremely hard. I kept reminding myself I obviously needed this character-building exercise because I struggled so much with praying and relaxing.
Lesson learned: As wonderful as it was to spend time this weekend creating, using God-given talents to help others create, and hanging out with my family, I also wound up "exercising" that part of me that really needs work: being a better person. I wasn't crazy about it in the moment (whoever is?), but I'm (sort of ) thankful for it now.
It reminded me the neighbors were (most likely) not being intentionally rude. They were simply having what they considered to be a really good time. Maybe they've had a horrible year or week or day and felt they needed this.
In fact, I've realized over the years that most people, when they are being what we consider rude, don't even realize the effects their actions have on others.
It's a good lesson for me to remember. I don't operate in a vacuum. My actions affect others. I should be more mindful.
Sunday: I had Herald-News work in the morning (I'd saved it for when I'd be rested and refreshed, ha ha) and spent the afternoon editing for a client. I had intended to work on a special short story piece, but I was too tired. I was also too tired to read, exercise, work on the short story or finish "1776."
Timothy, who must have regular sleep, or he will wind up with terrible migraines, passed out for an hour on my living room rug.
He was sleep maybe fifteen minutes, when two kids (pretty little kids, too), came out of the neighbor's house and fired one very loud firework.
And I reached for my phone. If a second had gone off, I would have called the police.
For the kids who are too young to be shooting those things off. And for my son who was not going to get robbed of rest twice.
But it was only one. And I put the phone down and returned to my client's manuscript.
BUT.
While I was working, Timothy and Rebekah spent an hour in the heat cleaning up broken glass from the previous night's revelry to protect the neighbors (many of whom are disabled and use walkers), the tires of the neighbors' vehicles, and the tender pads of their pets (lots of dog walkers here).
Timothy hung some of my BryonySeries art in the afternoon (I'll show off the display when it's all done). He started to measure on Saturday and decided to wait for Sunday when, again, he was more rested and relaxed.
But he didn't want to lose the time. We've been in the new space seventh months, and he was tired of putting it off. And so, even with a migraine from lack of sleep, he measured and hung six pictures and fixed an issue with my phone.
He then cooked dinner because Rebekah had made so much food over the weekend.
And Rebekah said she'd help me with WriteOn Joliet's fourth anthology this week, which I also did not get done on Sunday.
We all complained a lot about how tired we were, but in a humorous way, to make each other laugh, and help us de-stress. This probably gave us more bonding than we had planned, another bonus.
And while I was showering last night, lots of ideas for the short story leaped into my mind, and I managed to get them into the computer while Timothy was grilling up ham steaks. So that wasn't a bust after all.
And I did sleep very well last night, and I'm ready for Monday.
Yesterday's Bible verse on my phone app said: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
Still, even the cats suffered through that horrible night.
They were super tired (as in zonked out cold) for most of Sunday, even struggling to crack an eye for meals.
Timothy sent this photo of Midnight at about 3 a.m. July 5. She was sooooo unhappy about the constant, heartbeat skipping noise that wouldn't let her sleep either, as is evident by her best "Angry Birds" expression.
It made me laugh out loud in true understanding.
I hope you smile, too. Enjoy Monday!
Dr. Tom Brewer's pregnancy diet became the foundation for the way I still eat today, and I learned the difference between "freedom" and "license" from a Scottish educator called A.S. Neill, who is considered (by some) to be the founder of the "free school movement" when he began Summerhill, a boarding school that is still governed by its students and mostly forgotten by the rest of the world today.
Because many people considered Neill's perception that children have rights meant raising their children without any discipline, he followed up his first book with a second one: "Freedom: Not License."
While many of his ideologies have not withstood time (and some consider him to be homophobic), and while I have no idea if any of this is true because I have not re-read his books since the first reading in 1982, the entire concept of "freedom, not license," has remained with me, to the point these three words are words my adult kids hear today.
Although "God is love" (1 John 4:8) is the part most people associate with people being in the image of God, free will - the ability to choose - is probably the essence of that image and what makes U.S. citizens living in the U.S. feel free.
But for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every choice, there is something we do not choose.
Even love is a choice.
Now this post is not an excuse to rant against our inconsiderate neighbors, who consistently set off the loudest and most dramatic fireworks this weekend, starting around 11 p.m. July 4 and continuing non-stop until dawn on July 5 when two squad cars came out and insisted they stop.
Seriously, it's not.
Because once I realized the night would be an all-nighter, and that most of my Sunday plans would vanish due to lack of sleep, I realized I, too, had a choice.
I could be angry and fuming.
Or I could use the time well.
So here's how I celebrated my freedom, a freedom I'm so thankful to have words defy me, over the past few days.
Thursday: I had worked extra hours this past week to finish up early on Thursday. I did a little editing for clients, re-read some of what I had written for The Phoenix, watched the next episode (or so) of The King's Woman (a Chinese drama) with Rebekah, and went to bed early, happy and looking forward to the weekend.
Friday: The one day that was truly mine. I spent about fourteen hours working on Lycanthropic Summer. It's now about two-thirds of the way completed, and I'm super happy about how it's taking shape, better than I had thought going into the day. It also led to a different idea about a cover design, and one that should stretch Rebekah's fledgling Photoshop skills.
Saturday: I edited for clients until dinnertime. I'm waiting on an updated graphic for Phyllis' memoir and then that project is done. I returned the third round of novel to one author and the first round of a collection of short stories to another. I watched two-third of "1776" with my kids, ate homemade pizza, ice cream pie, and Independence Cake (more on this later) that Rebekah had made, and walked to a local fireworks event (a scary walk that felt like a war zone due to the vast amount of "independent" fireworks displays in the neighborhoods).
The in-between night: I commiserated with Timothy via phone most of the night, prayed for our neighbors, and practiced relaxation. The first was easy, the second two, truthfully, was extremely hard. I kept reminding myself I obviously needed this character-building exercise because I struggled so much with praying and relaxing.
Lesson learned: As wonderful as it was to spend time this weekend creating, using God-given talents to help others create, and hanging out with my family, I also wound up "exercising" that part of me that really needs work: being a better person. I wasn't crazy about it in the moment (whoever is?), but I'm (sort of ) thankful for it now.
It reminded me the neighbors were (most likely) not being intentionally rude. They were simply having what they considered to be a really good time. Maybe they've had a horrible year or week or day and felt they needed this.
In fact, I've realized over the years that most people, when they are being what we consider rude, don't even realize the effects their actions have on others.
It's a good lesson for me to remember. I don't operate in a vacuum. My actions affect others. I should be more mindful.
Sunday: I had Herald-News work in the morning (I'd saved it for when I'd be rested and refreshed, ha ha) and spent the afternoon editing for a client. I had intended to work on a special short story piece, but I was too tired. I was also too tired to read, exercise, work on the short story or finish "1776."
Timothy, who must have regular sleep, or he will wind up with terrible migraines, passed out for an hour on my living room rug.
He was sleep maybe fifteen minutes, when two kids (pretty little kids, too), came out of the neighbor's house and fired one very loud firework.
And I reached for my phone. If a second had gone off, I would have called the police.
For the kids who are too young to be shooting those things off. And for my son who was not going to get robbed of rest twice.
But it was only one. And I put the phone down and returned to my client's manuscript.
BUT.
While I was working, Timothy and Rebekah spent an hour in the heat cleaning up broken glass from the previous night's revelry to protect the neighbors (many of whom are disabled and use walkers), the tires of the neighbors' vehicles, and the tender pads of their pets (lots of dog walkers here).
Timothy hung some of my BryonySeries art in the afternoon (I'll show off the display when it's all done). He started to measure on Saturday and decided to wait for Sunday when, again, he was more rested and relaxed.
But he didn't want to lose the time. We've been in the new space seventh months, and he was tired of putting it off. And so, even with a migraine from lack of sleep, he measured and hung six pictures and fixed an issue with my phone.
He then cooked dinner because Rebekah had made so much food over the weekend.
And Rebekah said she'd help me with WriteOn Joliet's fourth anthology this week, which I also did not get done on Sunday.
We all complained a lot about how tired we were, but in a humorous way, to make each other laugh, and help us de-stress. This probably gave us more bonding than we had planned, another bonus.
And while I was showering last night, lots of ideas for the short story leaped into my mind, and I managed to get them into the computer while Timothy was grilling up ham steaks. So that wasn't a bust after all.
And I did sleep very well last night, and I'm ready for Monday.
Yesterday's Bible verse on my phone app said: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
Still, even the cats suffered through that horrible night.
They were super tired (as in zonked out cold) for most of Sunday, even struggling to crack an eye for meals.
Timothy sent this photo of Midnight at about 3 a.m. July 5. She was sooooo unhappy about the constant, heartbeat skipping noise that wouldn't let her sleep either, as is evident by her best "Angry Birds" expression.
It made me laugh out loud in true understanding.
I hope you smile, too. Enjoy Monday!
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