“Come and roll your sleeves up so that we can pitch in, cleaning crud up in the kitchen as we sing along.”

And now for something completely different.

So you all know that I’m obsessed with Young House Love. You also know that I’m a bit enamored with cleaning and organizing. So when I stumbled upon this post of homemade cleaner recipes, you better believe that my interest was piqued.

I’ll admit that I wasn’t 100% comfortable experimenting with natural cleaners, mostly because a) I don’t know much about them and b) I’m lazy. Luckily the post was simple and easy to read (not to mention the folks at YHL are big on: doing their research, saving money, only recommending things they’ve tried and tested, and explaining things in crystal clear details). So I sent Chris out for a giant jug of vinegar and more baking soda than I could imagine needing and went to town.

I opted to start with just the baking soda and/or vinegar recipes as they felt more accessible to me (and I didn’t have to try too hard to acquire the ingredients). I tried the microwave cleaning recipe and enjoyed the results. Fortunately or unfortunately, our microwave was not very dirty to begin with, so that experiment didn’t lend itself to before and after pictures.

The Great Oven Cleaning Experiment, on the other hand, definitely made for distinct before and after pictures.

Let me stress that we live in an apartment. I am not sure how old this oven is. I am sure that we did little to nothing to contribute to the look it’s sporting in these before pictures:

Kind of gross, right? Who am I kidding? Majorly gross. How did it get to that point? What poor, alien creature did they allow to explode in there? And why, why did they just continue to bake its remains until they crusted?

So I rolled up my sleeves (metaphorically because I think I wore a tank top that day) and applied (randomly threw on) a liberal coating of baking soda and water (thanks, tiny spray bottle that came with our clipper set!) to the oven.

After making baking-soda-water paste as best I could, I let it sit for a half hour or so and then attacked it with a scrub brush. After that I used far too many paper towels trying to get rid of the (now) brown goopy mess that remained. Once I succeeded in the goo removal the oven looked something like this:

Not bad, but not as good as I expected. As our oven had an inordinate amount of grime crusted on its every surface, I figured the baking soda method deserved a second chance. I mean, if it removed a fair amount of goo on the first go, perhaps a second round would yield results beyond my wildest dreams.

So I threw on some more baking soda and water, and let it sit for even longer.

Even MORE vigorous scrubbing ensued and when the goo finally cleared I was left with this:

Isn’t it beautiful? The results defied my wildest dreams. Now, being a perfectionist, I’m slightly disappointed that there are a few stubborn spots that have yet to taste defeat at my mighty, baking soda covered hands. A few patches look like the coating (paint? the visible layer of that which we call “oven?”) has merely been scraped off. A few more are obviously still stained. I may try to tame them sometime in the future, but for now I’m content to look back at the before picture of the oven and then skip gleefully over to the kitchen to bask in the spoils of my victory.

I hope to continue my experiments with natural cleaners. I’m not sure how often I’ll post about it (if at all), mostly because I don’t currently have a project with the potential to yield such drastic results.

Anywho. Excuse me while I go look at the oven again.

Cheers,

Katherine Elyse

“If there was a problem, yo, I’ll solve it. Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it.”

Yesterday I had the privilege of decorating Easter eggs with my cousin, Aliza, and her adorable little brood: Celene, Shelby, and Ginetta. (Well, Ginetta napped, but close enough.) As frequently happens with small children–and adults, let’s be honest–squabbles arose if something didn’t go a child’s way. Aliza always* seems to manage to stay calm and patiently remind the crying child in question of the rules or the proper way to respond.

On this particular occasion, one reminder stood out to me above all the others. It came when someone was upset over the seating arrangements for lunch. Aliza reminded the child that instead of crying and yelling to get her way, she should remember to ask, “Mom, how can we make this better?”** The child calmed down enough to repeat the question, and Mom came up with a solution that had not occurred to the child and that, it turned out, made all parties happy.

I hope you all will forgive my poor retelling of this simple story. Trust me, I am trying to go somewhere with this.

I didn’t think much about this interaction until I got stuck in traffic on my drive home. During that traffic jam my mind wandered back to the little exchange, and I found myself admiring Aliza’s cleverness both in parenting and problem-solving. (Or are parenting and problem-solving synonymous?) And then–as seems to happen more and more in the past few weeks–I had the sensation of receiving a frying-pan-to-the-face reminder from God. One of those how-has-it-taken-you-this-long-to-realize-this? reminders.

How often do I throw a tantrum or a pity party, how often do I wallow in my own unhappiness instead of asking God to help me figure out a way to make the situation better? I think, like the pint-size-person from yesterday’s example, I often trap myself in my own disappointment; I’m unable to envision a solution because I can’t see beyond my own tempestuous emotions. I can’t imagine any scenario other than the one that’s just been denied to me, the one that’s currently at risk of not going 100% my way.

In the lunch seating example, there was a simple solution that pleased all parties. I think it’s easier to accept the answer to “how can we make this better?” when the answer does not really require a sacrifice or compromise of our own desires. It’s easier to stomach an alternative when that alternative does not require hard work on our part or a delay in gratification.

Is this what stops me from approaching God the Father like a little child and asking, “how can we make this better?” Do I not ask because I don’t want to run the risk that the answer won’t be to my liking? Do I reject God’s answer and tell myself that the only good or right answer is the one that perfectly complies with my desires and emotions? Do I forgo asking for His advice–or seeking His wisdom by turning to the people he has placed in my life: Chris, my parents, my family, my friends–out of a selfish, childish belief that my desires are supreme and supersede all other concerns?

I fear the answer to all of those questions is yes. In my mind I’m right. If I’m not getting my way it’s because other people are stupid or selfish and I’m the poor, put-upon soul that always gets the short end of the stick. But that just isn’t true. I need to unlearn selfishness and learn, instead, how to seek God’s solutions to my problems (big or small). I need to learn a willingness to compromise and develop an ability to imagine solutions outside the MY WAY OR BUST box.

As with everything I feel God is smacking upside the back of my head with in the past month, all of these realizations mean nothing if I don’t strive to put them into practice. I think two good starting points would be to:

1) Remember to pray. I fall into the bad habit of only praying when something big is freaking me out. I need to remember to turn to God in all things. I also need to remember to offer prayers of thanks instead of just gimme-gimme prayers.

2) Remember to lean on the supports God has placed in my life. I need to learn to lean on Chris’s compassion, calm, and steadfastness. I need to remember to respect and rely on the wisdom of my parents. I need to remember that I am blessed with a strong network of family and friends who are willing to share alternate perspectives when I am bogged down by my own.

I hope these past few personal posts don’t make it sound like I have it all together, like I’m growing by leaps and bounds. I hope I don’t sound preachy. I decided to post these thoughts as a way to work out what I think I’m learning. Publishing them on this blog is my way of saving a lesson so I can–hopefully–look back on it later, when I’m once again caught in the quicksand of my own emotions.

To lighten things up: decorating Easter eggs was great fun. It was amusing to observe the differences in Celene and Shelby’s decorating techniques. (Celene’s first born qualities never fail to make me laugh, since, as a first born, I share many of those traits.) Lunch was delicious and I’m grateful to Aliza for inviting me to share both the meal and the craft with them. We also solidified a few plans for Shelby’s fourth birthday. (We’re hosting it at our apartment.) Shelby was very decisive about the decorations and menu. Here’s hoping she’s pleased with the final result. I’m also enjoying getting to know Ginetta; she seems like such a happy little girl. During this visit she got to take her turn at the Get-Thrown-Over-Aunt-Katie’s-Shoulder-And-Spun-Around-Like-A-Lunatic game (G.T.O.A.K.S.S.A.L.L. for short). I think that was the first time she participated. I’m told she looked happy. I couldn’t see for myself as I was busy whirling around and trying to keep my balance. All I remember is laughing myself silly watching Ginetta try and regain her land legs after being set down.

All in all it was a fun and challenging day. Thank you, Aliza, for sharing your hospitality and your wisdom (whether you knew you were passing it along or not)!

Cheers,

Katherine Elyse

*I know she’ll argue that she doesn’t always stay calm, but she’s setting a pretty good example for her not-yet-at-the-munchkin-raising-stage cousin, so she’ll have to forgive me for shining the light on her patience.

**Not a direct quote by any means. I, unfortunately, do not have the ability to perfectly recall everything I hear. I hope the spirit of the statement remained the same, even if the words themselves did not.

“And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night.”

Happy one year anniversary to us! Where did the year go? I don’t know the answer to that, so let’s focus instead on what I do know.

I know that I am incredibly lucky to have Chris as my husband.

I know that I do not praise God enough for bringing Chris into my life and blessing us with marriage.

I know that I often take Chris for granted. I pray that this would change and that I would learn to never let a day go by without telling him how much he means to me.

I know that the support, love, and wisdom of our friends and family has been–and will continue to be–invaluable.

I know that I do not deserve Chris’s patience, forgiveness, and love. How he puts up with my short temper, bad attitude, wavering self esteem, bossiness, laziness, senseless worrying, etc I’ll never know.

I know that I am blessed by his even temper, kindness, intelligence, sense of humor, encouragement, and love.

I know that I am thankful for the time he takes to proofread my blog posts and the creativity and work he puts into keeping the site beautiful and functional.

I know that I am grateful that we agree on our budget and hold each other accountable as we pursue financial responsibility and frugality.

I know that I look forward to working by his side as we seek God’s will for our future: jobs, children, housing, etc.

I know that I have a lot of growth left to do, but that Chris challenges me and supports me where I need it most.

I pray that God would continue to grow me–and our relationship–in the years to come. I pray that he would sustain us through trials, lead us not into temptation, draw us ever closer to him, and help us to be his salt and light in the world. I also pray that these reflections would not simply be words on paper (or a screen), but that they would be words written on my heart, that I would truly allow God to transform me.

Thank you, Lord, for this first year of marriage. Thank you, Chris, for marrying me. Happy anniversary to us.

Cheers,

Katherine Elyse

“I really hate that attitude, you know? ‘Everything’s already broken so why don’t we just keep on breaking it again and again?’”

I always find movies like Away We Go hard to describe. I tend to call movies like this a “slice of life” movie. I use this phrase because watching films like Away We Go feels more like peeking into someone’s life for a period of time instead of watching a story. If you’ll allow me to show my inner dweeb, I’ll say it’s what I imagine looking into a Pensieve would feel. Our lives do not follow a strict plot, nor can our experiences fit neatly onto a graph of exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution. That’s not to say that there isn’t a plot to this movie; it’s just that the plot feels closer to a glimpse of someone’s life than most (overly?) plotted movies do.

Does that make sense? I hope so.

“It’s all those good things you have in you. The love, the wisdom, the generosity, the selflessness, the patience. The patience! At 3 A.M. when everyone’s awake because Ibrahim is sick and he can’t find the bathroom and he’s just puked all over Katki’s bed. When you blink, when you blink! And it’s 5:30 and it’s time to get up again and you know you’re going to be tired all day, all week, all your life…And you have to be willing to make the family out of whatever you have.”

“She had another miscarriage…This is her fifth. I know she loves all those kids like, like they were her own blood. But, I wonder if we’ve been selfish. People like us we wait till our thirties and then we’re surprised when the babies aren’t so easy to make anymore and then every day another million fourteen year olds get pregnant without trying. It’s a terrible feeling, this helpless, man. You just watch these babies grow and then fade. You don’t know if you’re supposed to name them, or bury them, or… I’m sorry.”

Sam Mendes’ 2009 film, Away We Go, follows expecting parents Burt (The Office‘s John Krasinski) and Verona (SNL‘s Maya Rudolph) as they search for the perfect place to raise their baby. Their search begins when Burt’s parents announce that they plan to move to Belgium before the baby is born. Since the only reason Burt and Verona stayed in their current home was to be near grandparents (Verona’s parents died during her college years), they take his parent’s selfish announcement as a catalyst to visit friends and family in an effort to find a new place to call home.

What follows is an–at times–awkward, hilarious, frustrating, and heartbreaking journey that I found well paced, well drawn, and superbly acted.

On this latest viewing I found the journey to be less about Burt and Verona’s attempt to find the right physical location and more about their attempts to figure out what kind of parents they want to be. With Verona’s parents deceased and Burt’s parents more interested in taking a two year detour to Belgium than their family, the couple seems not desperate, but anxious to find another couple to serve as mentors and a support system. Their journey includes time spent with four main families (minus a detour or two to visit Verona’s sister and for Burt to attend an interview):

Although the film seems divided into two sections, disfunction (Lily and Lowell, LN and Roderick) and heartache (Tom and Munch, Courtney), I liked that the film never tried to present the “perfect parents.” With every parent displayed you could find both positive and negative aspects (I’ll admit I’m not sure I’ve found the positive with Lily and Lowell, but I’ll keep trying) of their character. And when I say “you” can find these aspects, I really mean that you can. The movie does not do it for you. Now, this doesn’t mean that the story is without bias; it clearly has a bias in favor of the last two families and against the first two (three, if you count Burt’s parents). However, years of studying fiction taught me that you have to make your own judgments of characters and situations; no narrator is perfect (whether the narrator is a character or a filmmaker) and so it is up to you to decide if that narrator is reliable, honest, or correct in their assumptions.

I mention the issue of unreliable narrators to lay the groundwork for my response to a New York Times review of Away We Go. Before I even begin to address the content and argument of the review, I have to say I found the writer’s tone unbearably snotty, rude, haughty, and judgmental. This is particularly funny to me, since the reviewer claims that Burt and Verona are self-righteous people “aware of their special status as uniquely sensitive, caring, smart and cool beings on a planet full of cretins and failures.” The reviewer claims the film (through Burt and Verona) is unfairly critical of the other characters in the story, while placing the protagonists in a special bubble of critical immunity.

I disagree. True, we see the other characters through Burt and Verona’s eyes. As viewers we tend to identify with and empathize with the protagonist or main character first, only identifying with others after we have determined a reason for breaking with the narrating character. Although films have the ability to blur third and first person narration due to the camera’s position as co-narrator, we still have to decide whether the narrator is one hundred percent reliable or not. In most cases the narrator is not infallible. No character is perfect; Burt and Verona are not perfect. They do experience periods of doubt. They worry that they are screw ups, that they don’t have it all together, and that they won’t be able to properly raise and nurture their child. Perhaps they do judge the other characters (LN or Lily, for example) harshly or negatively at times, but they also show great capacity for empathy when confronted with Munch’s deep sadness over the miscarriage of yet another baby or Courtney’s bewilderment and fear after being abandoned to raise his daughter alone. Not to mention that other characters are clearly shown judging them right back (LN and Roderick’s condescending disdain for Burt and Verona’s lack of enlightenment is quite clear and comical).

Burt and Verona aren’t perfect, but I love their imperfection. I love that they seem to be trying (whether or not they succeed is not the point of the movie, that’s a part of the story we don’t get to see). For the sake of fairness, I’ll admit that the Times reviewer was right to point out some of the indie tropes of the film: a distracting self-awareness, the tendency to over-romanticize quirks, etc. However, I think they were wrong to suggest that we’re to walk away from the film with a sense that Burt and Verona are perfect. They fall victim to juvenile mindsets: clinging, perhaps as a way to cope with the imperfection all around them, to the belief that no one else is in love quite like they are. Burt is shown to be a bit absent minded, naive, and perhaps immature. Verona appears to be defensive, easily irritated, and closed off (even with Burt); she also very clearly carries scars from the death of her parents. We are sharing the journey of two flawed people. What I take away from the film is the sense that we should all try, as we see Burt and Verona try, to learn from both the mistakes we’ve made and the mistakes we observe others make. “Flimsy premise” or not, the film is clearly less about the specific events and more about the overall journey: what happens matters less than how it shapes us, how we grow or change in response.

What I found particularly repugnant about the New York Time’s review was the reviewer’s crass and, frankly, shamefully inaccurate summary of Munch and Tom’s dilemma. In the midst of describing the movie’s motif of “maternal instincts gone awry,” the reviewer boxes up Munch’s character by describing her as a mother “whose adopted brood can’t compensate for her inability to bear children.” Munch’s sorrow over the loss of her fifth baby was one of the most poignant, heartbreaking moments of the film for me. (I especially enjoyed the way her emotional turmoil was both expressed by and juxtaposed against the setting, but I shan’t spoil how.) In that scene I definitely felt at one with the protagonists: lost and completely unable to imagine anything I (or anyone) could do to comfort someone in Munch’s situation. What angers me about the reviewer’s blithe summary is the way it both ignores what Munch and Tom have shared about their struggle to be good parents to their adopted children (see the quote above the film poster, the one that starts “It’s all those good things you have in you”) and trivializes the loss the couple has suffered. Their grief has nothing to do with their adopted children not being enough, or not being worth as much as their own (potential) flesh and blood offspring; their grief has everything to do with that “terrible feeling” that comes with the pain of watching “these babies grow and then fade.” I cannot fathom that loss. As a woman who has not yet had children I’m completely incapable of imagining what I would feel knowing there was life growing inside me, let alone what I would feel if that life inexplicably ended (over and over again). Perhaps it is sexist, but I assume the reviewer must be a single man.

Though I’ll admit the characters and the film have their flaws (who and what doesn’t?), I found the film charming. I especially enjoyed facing those imperfections and finding within them an opportunity for personal growth; furthermore, I found that my process of questioning and judging the reliability of the narrative reflected the process displayed by the main characters. But hey, maybe I’m just a sucker for indie “slice of life” comedies and John Krasinski. (There’s just no escaping it, I’ll never be able to see him without associating him with Jim Halpert.)

Whatever the case, I encourage you to give the film a try. Go into it with an open mind and a willingness to both confront and accept imperfection.

NEXT TIME: A two for one deal: Batman Begins AND its sequel, The Dark Knight.

“Your art is the prettiest art of all the art.”

Recently I spent an afternoon making play-dough snowmen and cakes with my niece, Celene. (We made other masterpieces too, but those are the only two I can remember.) As I was making a top hat for my snowman, Celene looked over at me and–with all the solemnity of a five year old–asked, “Are you an artist?”

I was flattered, surprised, taken off guard, amused, and just a smidge saddened, all at the same time. I said no and explained that right now I work for a church and what it is that I do there. I then asked why she thought I was an artist. She paid some pretty compliments to my snowman-in-progress and made much appreciated references to the book I made for her and her sisters for their Christmas present. (Curious? I’ll include it–as best I can–below.)

Flattery will get you everywhere, really, and Celene definitely earned some brownie points with her sincere and unintended compliments.

Yet, something about the exchange still made me a little sad. I’m not an artist (not that I want to be, really). I’m not a writer, or an actress, or any of the other glamorous, creative roles that I may have wanted or daydreamed (okay, okay, daydream, present tense) about at one point or another. I’m not a film critic. Not professionally, anyway. And frankly, I’m still not sure if that’s just a hobby that I enjoy on the side (you know me, I love expressing my opinion) or a career path that I truly want to pursue. I’m a secretary. It’s not glamorous or exciting, but it allows me to make my little contribution to our family. Not to mention I only have a ten minute commute, flexible hours, a great boss, coworkers that I can talk to, etc etc. And why should I fret over the job I have when I don’t really have a clear idea of what I would pursue instead?

As I wrestled with this feeling of…disappointment, shall we say, that I did not, in fact, have the far more interesting occupation that my niece suspected me of hiding, I found myself thinking of a little note that Aunt Sherry sent me out of the blue. She wrote (and I hope she does not mind me quoting a section of it here):

“Thanks for using your creative talents to bless our family. Growing up in a Christian environment you often hear that God has plans for you. That is true but can create images of fame and greatness that aren’t part of the plan. Most of us are called to be loyal duds: faithfully exhibiting Christ in us to a small circle of people whom we love. We use our gifts to bless family and friends and our church. So your talents may not have gotten your name in lights, but your name does shine in our family.”

I don’t believe I gave her words the attention they deserved at the time, but my interaction with Celene sent me back to look at the note again. I meditated on Aunt Sherry’s words a little more before tucking the card away a second time. Then this past Sunday I heard a sermon (and some lovely songs) that packed a wallop and (in the long run) sent me back to reread the card a third time.

It was a simple sermon really, a variation on one I’ve heard over and over again throughout my life: we’re saved by grace, not works. I cannot count how many times I have heard this truth throughout my life, but on that day it struck me in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. The pastor reminded us that we can’t do anything through our own strength alone: we can’t earn salvation; we can’t overcome our sin; we can’t even plan or achieve anything in our lives without His grace and strength. The pastor spoke about surrender, how only by surrendering ourselves to Christ can we gain salvation. This brought Philippians 4:13 to the forefront of my mind: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Only this time I saw the flip side: “I can do nothing without Christ to strengthen me.”

This isn’t an easy thing for a young American girl–who likes to think that she can do it all by her own steam, pull herself up by bootstraps and whatnot–to hear. It wasn’t easy, but it is so true. I was struck by how little I am able to control or conquer in my own life. Sin? I’m mired in it. That surrender the pastor spoke of? I finally realized that, without God’s help, I can’t even manage complete surrender on my own.

What on earth does this have to do with that note, you ask? Or my conversation with Celene? Everything, in a way. Aunt Sherry wrote that God has a plan for me. True. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11). “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well” (Psalm 139:13-14). Why does this all connect in my mind? Because I didn’t make me; God made me. What talent (meager or mighty) can I claim credit for? None. What inner strength can I praise myself for? None. What accomplishments can I boast of, what recognition can I demand? Absolutely none. God deserves all the glory; whatever is good in me belongs to God. He is my strength and my creator.

So I’m not an artist or an actress or a writer. So what? God gave me talents and abilities so I can serve Him and serve others. I am made according to His plan, not my own. Why should I care if I have a career or talents that I can boast about? If I had them it would be because of God’s grace, not my own merit. I can no more earn praise than I can earn salvation. I can no more deserve praise than I can deserve salvation.

So if Celene wants to think I’m an artist, I should let her. Moreover, if it happens again I need to remember not only to thank her, but to thank God.

This series of revelations I experienced is far from over. I don’t write this with the confidence that I “got” it; I write this with the confidence that I’ll need to reread this daily. I write this with the understanding that, as soon as I step away from the keyboard, I’ll stumble and forget: pride will return and precede a fall. So this is my reminder to myself to surrender daily. Surrender every minute of every hour. (And, in my remaining free time, remind myself to never assume that I’m spiritually mature. One of the pastors I work for just gave us a little preview of what he will be preaching on in a few weeks. You guessed it: spiritual maturity. If his brief summary made me cringe with renewed awareness of my own immaturity, I’m curious to see what I feel after hearing the whole message!) Throw myself on God’s mercy and trust His grace to cover me.

There just isn’t any other way.

And now for something not-quite-completely-different: a bit of levity brought to you by my first attempt at a children’s book. (Complete with scintillating writing along the lines of “see Jack run.” The aforementioned riveting lines will follow the picture–or pictures–they accompanied in the finished book.)

I used a program called MyPicTales to turn my doodles into a book. (Why MyPicTales? We had a Groupon, that’s why.) This was the cover option I liked the most.

No line accompanied this picture. Instead I used the crafty put-the-girl’s-name-next-to-the-doodle-that’s-supposed-to-be-her ploy, that way my readers did not have to tax themselves trying to figure out what they were supposed to be looking at.

“Meet Celene, Shelby, and Ginetta. They are three sisters who love to play games together.”

(**The four pictures above were all on the same page.)

“Today they’re playing hide and seek, but Ginetta is just too good at hiding.”

“Can you help us find her? Is she behind the counter?”

“Maybe she’s under the couch. Is she?”

“Perhaps she’s in the sewing room. Do you see her?”

“Could she be hiding under the covers?”

“Where could she be hiding?”

“Celene and Shelby are looking everywhere! Where’s Ginetta?”

“Could she be in the old kitchen?”

“Maybe she went outside to hide. Do you see her?”

“We’ve checked the whole house! Where, oh where could she be?”

“We haven’t found her anywhere. Maybe we should just give up. Unless…”

“Can you find her for us?”

“There she is! You found her!”

“Thank you so much for your help!”

And that’s the end. Well, I actually filled the last few pages with a thank you note (for being my flower girls) and some pictures of the girls and me. I think I’m quite satisfied to let my name “shine in our family.”

Cheers,

Katherine Elyse

P.S.- Why yes, I did spend part of my youth watching anime. And yes, I did frequently attempt to draw my favorite characters. Why do you ask?