Disney and Nickelodeon have a vested interest in creating a new generation of celebrity-worshippers. It’s central to their very existence: get kids worshiping celebrity status at a young age, and you’ve got viewers for life. Just take a look at the celebrity-themed shows on Disney and Nickelodeon — not just shows that have a celebrity cast, but shows in which the central theme is that of being or becoming a celebrity:

Jonas (three famous singing brothers)

Hannah Montana (famous teen rock star juggles celebrity with “normal life”)

Shake It Up (celebrity wanna-bes performing on dance show)

Victorious (celebrity wanna-bes developing their singing talents) 

iCarly (teens gain celebrity status through internet show)

Sonny with a Chance (the lives of teen actors on a variety show)

I’m with the Band (yeah, it’s about people performing in a band)

Then there are the specials like: Camp Rock (Uhm, it’s a camp . . . where people learn to rock . . . you know: Camp Rock)

High School Musical (self explanatory)

Starstruck (regular girl has romance with celebrity)

Even shows which were previously devoid of celebrities, like Zack and Cody, end up bringing a celebrity on board — in the case of Zack and Cody, singing sensation “Little Little” joins the cast.

And Disney, in particular, really gets their money out of their teen and tween celebrities because every actor also sings and every singer also acts. In addition to the big-name singer/actors like Selena Gomez (Wizards of Waverly Place), The Jonas Brothers (Jonas and Jonas-LA), and Miley Cyrus (Hannah Montana), you can also catch the latest vocal offerings by The-Guy-Who-Plays-Chad-on-Sunny-With-A-Chance, The-Gal-From-Good-Luck-Charlie, That-Other-Guy-From-Sonny-With-A-Chance, The-Gal-Who-Plays-Bailey-on-Zack-and-Cody, Zack-and-Cody, Sonny-From-Sonny-with-A-Chance, and Nickelodeon isn’t far behind — you can already listen to the crooning of The-Gal-Who-Plays-Carly-on-iCarly . . . none of whose names I could be bothered to look up. You get the idea.

I mentioned to my mother-in-law recently that the preoccupation with teen celebrity seems particularly intense these days, and she responded with a shrug, saying, “Meh. We had teen celebrities back in our day, too.” But that’s not the point. My problem is not simply that teen celebrities exist. My problem is that we have glorified their lives to the point where the majority the TV programing directed at elementary, tween, and teen kids revolves around the lives of those who are, or are in the process of becoming, celebrities — with all the false morality, dubious ethics, and disastrous lifestyle choices inherent in celebrity status. And that’s just not for me, nor is it what I want for my family. So be patient with me when I don’t know the latest happenings on a given television program — or even what programs exist. I’m only watching an hour of TV a week, and that suits me just fine.

1.  Limited TV viewing.  And by limited, I mean REALLY limited.  Cliff and I have one show we like to watch .  We’ll watch that once a week, and that’s it.    For the kids, no TV.  They’ve gotten used to watching TV every day, because, when I was working from home, it was the only way I could get them to stop fighting while I worked.  Without it, they were constantly interrupting me to tattle on each other for hurting one another.  See?  This is where the part about different circumstances comes in.  I’m not working anymore; the TV has served its purpose, and now it has outstayed its welcome.  My kids are picking up bad attitudes and rude behaviors from the characters they see on TV (Hannah Montana-inspired sarcasm, anyone?). 
2. Limited computer time.  This one applies primarily to me.  I find that the more time I spend on social networking sites and message boards, the more restless and agitated my kids become.  I’ve decided to limit my online time to one or two Facebook status updates a day, and one blog every few days to a week or so . . . more on that in a bit.
3. More time with the kids.  If we’ve got no TV time and no computer time and no time shackled to the computer doing transcription, I’ve got plenty of time to involve them in my daily activities.  I’m hoping to foster more of a sense of cooperation and consideration for one another.  When they’re left to their own devices, it just doesn’t go well.  Time to face the facts:  I’ve got four young kids, and that’s a lot of work.  Time to put on the big girl panties (har!) and accept the fact that I can’t ignore them while I get my own stuff done; they all, especially the younger ones, still need a lot of my time and energy.  Time to accept that what other people do in 15 minutes I need 45 minutes to do because I’m doing it with the kids and I typically don’t have someone to tend to their needs while I cook/clean/surf the web.  We need to simplify our lives enough to make room for what is really important, and cut out the time-wasting activities.
4. Healthier meals.  I’m not doing TOO badly in this area, but I rely on a lot of pre-prepared stuff, because when you’ve got four littles, and no one is watching them while you cook, you need to be FAST!  I’m hoping, though, that the time I save by not working/watching TV/being online will allow me a little more time in the kitchen.  We’ll see.
5. More sleep.  My sleep habits are horrible.  I’m good about getting the kids to bed, but I am so used to staying up late working on my transcription until all hours of the morning, I’m still staying up past midnight every night.  Time to go to bed at a decent hour.
6. More physical activity.  Since we won’t be watching TV, surfing the web, or working in the evenings, I’m implementing an evening walk for me and the kids.  When Cliff is home in the evenings, I hope he’ll join us!  I need to work in activity for myself, because all these pregnancies and c-sections have really taken a toll on my body – and now my gym has discontinued their child-care!  So we’ll be walking in the evenings, and since I’ll be going to bed earlier (!!) I’ll be getting up earlier to exercise before the kids are up. 
7. Simplify, simplify, simplify.  Really, instead of all those other points, I could have just written this.  (But then who would reap the benefit of all my verbosity? LOL!)  I’m giving lots of stuff to charity, so we have less stuff – less stuff to clean, less stuff to deal with, less stuff to clutter up our lives.  Simplifying and getting rid of the excess, both in terms of physical possessions and in terms of the things that clutter our lives and zap our time and energy. 
8. I’m blogging about it.  I won’t be updating every day; that would defeat the purpose.  I’m spending less time online, remember?  But maybe once a week or so, I’ll post about what is working and what is not working, and what needs to be “tweaked” as Cliff would say. 

My mother was only about six years older than I am when she died of cancer.  She never saw any of her grandchildren.  I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I do know that I want to make the most of what time I do have.    I want to spend it on what really matters.  I want to be present and joyful and healthy and hopefully live to see my grandchildren – hey, I’ve got the potential here for lots of grandkids to enjoy!  I don’t want to screw that all up by dying! 

But even if I were to leave this world tomorrow, I want to know that I spent today on what really matters.  Today I lived in the moment and noticed every smile, every ray of sunshine; that I built sandcastles and listened to the leaves in the trees; that I held the hand of someone I love while watching the sunset.  And I want to know my children reaped the benefit of my being there.

This is my oldest daughter’s latest question, whenever she is told something with which she’s not entirely happy.

“I told you it’s time to brush your teeth; when I tell you it’s time to do something, you need to do it.”

“So what matters?”

“When you went running by, you knocked Samuel down.”

“So what matters?”

A better translation for what she really means is probably, “So what? It doesn’t matter.” But the way she has worded it does get me thinking. So what matters?

There have been a lot of stressors here lately. My husband traveling. A new baby coming. My husband’s impending lay-off and the resultant financial insecurities. My taking on extra work to compensate. And it’s been showing up in unhappy ways in our household.

I’ve been focusing a lot on being a “good mother,” in terms of how I perceive the world to define the term. I’ve been trying extra hard to keep the house clean. I’ve been fixing meals from scratch. And while I’m doing that, the children are hitting and yelling. Things are getting broken. Harsh words are being said. The atmosphere of love and acceptance that I want for our family is falling apart. Relationships are strained. Frustration is running high. . .

“One day you’ll just decide it’s time to start spanking.”

Those words were uttered by a friend of mine, not too long after I had my first daughter. She’s a dear friend . . . but a friend with no children. Her own experience was one of being spanked and, “I turned out okay.” I can’t expect more from her, given where she is in life right now. But I knew, even then, that she was mistaken.

And so it was that I knew something had to change: I started thinking she was right. Six years and three children later, as I struggled to put my children to bed amongst screaming, fighting, roughhousing, and flat-out refusal to cooperate, I cried as I thought that, regretfully, she had been right all along. I didn’t want her to be right. But something had to change. Our family life had deteriorated to the point where I was ready to give up all my parenting ideals.

I managed to get the three restless children to sleep, and there, in the dark, watching their sleeping faces, I knew I couldn’t let her be right. I knew I couldn’t resort to hitting my children, no matter how desperate I was. I thought about the words my daughter had hurled at me a dozen times during the evening, “So what matters?”

What matters most? What should be given TOP priority?

For us, here, now, the answer is surprisingly simple: spending time with these little ones, before these days are gone forever, before this precious time is wasted on cooking and cleaning and working, before all the happy childhood memories we could have made are swallowed up in yelling and scolding and night after night of anger and frustration and tears.

So the housework will slide. The house is clean enough to function, and it’s not unsanitary; the rest can wait.

Meals will be simple. Black bean and corn tacos, chicken and rice, spaghetti with store-bought sauce.

Work will be decreased. No NEEDING the kids to nap in order to keep me from exploding because I can’t get my mountain of transcription done. The Lord will provide. He always has.

Instead, we will play outside. We will dig in the dirt; we will plant flowers. We will bake banana bread. We will read stories. And we will play just-one-more-please-just-one-more-game of Hi-ho Cheerio.

The result of this shift in thinking has been astounding and immediate. Peace is returning. Joy is returning. Not peace and joy as in perfect children who never squabble . . . but contentment – patience – room to breathe – space to handle everything and everyone that needs attention. And in the midst of it all, I will remind myself that it’s all good. All of it. Every moment is a waking meditation of the Lord’s good providence.

To everything there is a season. And this is the season of remembering what matters.

I’ve been taking “media-free” days lately — setting aside a certain number of days where I spend no time on TV and no time on the computer other than what’s required to do my transcription. 

I’ve asked around, and apparently, I’m not alone in feeling that our culture of information is overwhelming sometimes.  The Internet is such a major part of our lives, it’s sometimes difficult to imagine life without it.  Message boards provide us with constant companionship.   Social networking tools provide us with an environment where every aspect of our lives is a potential for dialogue:  “I’m matching socks.”  “Did you find them all?”  “What colors are they?” 

Those times during the day when we would naturally be alone with our  thoughts become times for composing messages in our heads, for thinking about what we’d like to say in response to that post about cloth diapers, for wondering if anyone commented on our status update.  (“I’m washing dishes.”)

When I really stop and think about how often I am not actually on the computer, but planning what I am going to do the next time I am on the computer, it becomes alarming how much time I am spending NOT living in the moment.   That’s where media-free days help me regain my balance.  After a day or so without electronic media, the chatter in my head slows down.  I stop wondering what’s been said in response to my posts, because I haven’t made any.  I start thinking about how nice the breeze feels, about how cute my kids’ dimples are, about the smell of the dinner I’m cooking and how blessed I am to have a family to cook for.  I start thinking about this moment.  I start thinking about God.  I start praying.  

And in the stillness, my mind composes internal dialogue with the Creator in the space left by the absence of media chatter.

There are miracles all around us.  Every moment of every day is a miracle.  Every rock, every leaf is a miracle.  There is an American Indian tradition in which all of life is part of a three-fold miracle:  the fact that things exist at all is a miracle, the fact that living things exist is a miracle, and the fact that living things are aware and sentient is a miracle.

For most of our lives, we take the miracles all around us for granted.  We work, eat, sleep, play as if the wonder of creation, the miracle of existence had nothing to do with our daily lives.  But what joy is found when we remember!  Your home is a miracle.  The bricks, the mortar . . . the fact they exist at all is a miracle.  The wood, the trees . . . miracles!  The fact that humans have the ability to turn crude matter into the home you’re living in — miraculous! 

Your children are miracles.  Their very existence is a miracle.  Their eyes, their eyelids — wondrously designed.  Their minds, their spirits, their souls . . . their existence is a miracle.  You are a miracle.

Our lives are prayers of thanksgiving, when we tune in to the breathtaking miracle of the existence of all that the Lord in His generosity has bestowed upon us.  Our hearts are grateful and our spirits are joyful, when we realize the miracles all around us.

What miracles can you find today?

In a water bottle.

Or so she says.  Every day, I send her to school with a plastic bottle full of water.  When she comes  home, she refills it — usually with water, but occasionally with milk or juice.  For the last week or two, she has been telling everyone who asks what she wants for Christmas, much to their confusion, that she wants milk in a water bottle.   That sounds strange to most people, but we’re used to it . . . last year she wanted a Four. 

She has a wooden clock puzzle, and the piece with the four was missing.  So, what she wanted Santa to bring her was a new Four.  She and her sister have also requested flashlights (for making dancing lights on the walls, of course!) and red socks (I don’t know why!)

As funny and charming as this may be, it does pose some unique problems, namely, that we can’t figure out just what to give them for Christmas.  But, upon consideration, I realize that this is a nice problem to have.  We try very hard to maintain an appreciation for the simple things, at Christmastime and throughout the year.  The kids don’t watch much TV, and what they do watch is largely commercial-free.  We don’t have a Wii (whee!), we don’t have Nintendo (doh!), and my kids think Hannah Montana is any blond-haired girl on TV.

We don’t live like the Amish, honestly.  And we don’t live under a rock.  We go out, we talk to people.  We have computers and TV and plastic toys with flashing lights.  But we focus a lot of attention on the simple joys, too.  Hot chocolate in cups with snowmen on them.  The little white porcelain Christmas tree with the light bulb in it that belonged to my late grandmother.  Fudge made from a stained and blurry recipe penned in my late mother’s slanting script.  Singing “Silent Night” in German.  The older my children get, the harder it will be to maintain this appreciation for the simple things.  But it’s key — it really is — to finding happiness in any circumstance.  When you can delight in sunsets and apples and freshly brewed coffee . . . when you realize you already have everything you need . . . everything else is just icing on the cake. 

So on Christmas morning, we’ll unwrap presents.  And the children will marvel that they got so much more than they hoped for: not only flashlights and socks, but also toys and books!  And when we gather around the table for breakfast, Serena can drink  her milk out of a water bottle — what bliss!

I want a little house
Upon a little hill,
With lilacs laughing at the door
When afternoons are still.

I want an apple tree
Laden with drifts of bloom;
I want blue china all about
In every little room.

I want a little path
Bordered with brilliant phlox,
And on each windowsill I want
A painted flower box.

And then — I want  you there
In sun and frost and rain,
To smile when I come trudging home
Through a dim, scented lane.

For what’s a little house
Upon a little hill,
Unless you light the fire for me
When nights are strangely still?

–Charles Hanson Towne

It’s Advent.  The children want the Christmas  trees lit as soon as they wake up in the morning.  With the curtains and the blinds open and the Chrstmas trees lit, there’s a happy glow in the house.  Samantha is humming along with the choral music coming from the stereo as she paints with her watercolors.

I am serene.  Our budget is tight this year and the wolves are at the door.  My middle child has been referred for an evaluation for selective mutism.  I’m still not thrilled with my oldest child being in school; I’m still praying about homeschooling.  The house is only semi-clean and an aunt I haven’t seen in years has invited herself over for the expressed purpose of seeing the house.  Cliff is working long hours and coming home tired.

But we are happy.  We are blessed.  We are a family together.  And it’s Advent.  There will be time for worrying about those things later.  Or just maybe, they will sort themselves out in due time.  But now is the time for baking cookies with the children, for taking walks in the evening and looking at the lights, for lighting candles and listening to music.  Contrary to the call of society, it’s not a time to speed up, shop more, decorate more, or be the hostess with the most-est.  It’s a time to slow down.  It’s a time to be grateful.  It’s a time to wonder at the joy of all the simple gifts we’ve been given, and, of course, that greatest gift of all, that Gift Whose advent we so anxiously await.

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

–Es ist ein Ros ent­sprung­en, translated by Theodore Baker

My third child, Samuel is eleven months old.    Typically, I nurse him to sleep downstairs where his sisters are, and then I take him upstairs to the bedroom and shut the door, in hopes of getting something accomplished before he awakes. 

But it wasn’t always that way.  I remember when my oldest was a baby.  I remember nursing her and just staring at her, wanting to imprint every detail of the way she looked, sounded, felt and smelled .  . . I remember reminding myself that one day these days would be gone forever.  One day, she would outgrow nursing, one day she would no longer fall to sleep in my arms.  And so, I would memorize every detail.  And when she fell asleep, I would hold her.  Or I would lie down next to her and drink in the peace of resting next to my sleeping baby, and marvel in the wonder of my having been given such a gift.

I remember sometimes feeling a pull, knowing I had transcription yet to do, or knowing the floor downstairs was sticky.  But those days were so fleeting, how could I not savor every moment?

And yet, now I tell myself, “I have a whole family counting on me.  I have more children to take care of.  I don’t have time for such a luxury anymore.”  And I lie him down, I blow him a kiss, and I rush off.  And to what?  What is it that pulls me away from these precious baby moments?  Dirty dishes.  Or a carpet that needs vacuuming.  Or the toilet brush. 

So today I let it all sit.  I let it go.  And I held him while he slept.  I sat and watched his eyelids flutter shut and I marveled in the beauty of his sleeping features.  And in doing so, I was blessed. 

I still managed to get most of the clutter picked up in the kitchen.  It’s not as neat as it could be or maybe even Should Be.  But I don’t care.  One day he won’t be falling asleep in my arms anymore.  One day, these days will be over, and when they are, I don’t want to have any regrets.  The house is livable.  It’s not perfect, but it’s livable.  And today, I really lived in it.  I held my baby while he slept.

I had a dream last night. I had been up and down all night with the children; they were waking one after the other in some kind of sadistic spiral that was keeping me going from the girls’ room, back to my room with Samuel, back to the girls’ room, and back again, until finally I resorted to putting all three of them in the bed with me, wishing my husband were in town, just so I could get some sleep. Now, I’m no mystic, and I don’t think every dream is an oracle from God. But this morning, right before awakening, I had a dream I believe was intended as a wake-up call. Or, more precisely, I had a nightmare from God.

I dreamt my children were dead.

I don’t know how or why they were dead, but in my dream, I was hit with the realization that my two girls (but, strangely, not my son) had died a few days earlier, both at their current ages of three and five. I was in a coffee shop, a public place, thinking I was “going on” with my life, when suddenly I was overwhelmed with the realization that I would never see my beautiful daughters again, and I was overtaken with a grief that surpassed even that which I underwent when, in reality, I lost all my other family members. Mercifully, I was allowed to awaken after only a minute or so of that suffering, to find all three of my children tucked into bed with me, their faces quiet with peaceful sleep.

And now it is all clear again. All that wisdom that I once knew, but allowed the busyness of life to steal from me. I know what’s important. I know what matters and what doesn’t. I don’t yet know what to do about what doesn’t matter, but I know what to do about what does.  This is a lesson one would think I wouldn’t still need to learn.  I’ve been through this.  I’ve lost my family of origin, both immediate and extended.  I know the preciousness of life.  But how easy it is to loose focus!

So I’m making some changes. I’m not sweating the small stuff. And the state of the house is small stuff. My work is small stuff. It’s necessary, but it’s small stuff. Making sure I look as “put together” as the other moms I know is small stuff. The big stuff are the preliminaries. The big stuff is my family. Only God knows how much longer I have in this world to enjoy my children; only God knows how much longer they have in this world. Every moment is a gift. Every moment is a blessing. It’s good; it’s all good. Even the nightmares.

I’m cutting back. I’m coming home. I’m focusing on what counts. I’m walking away from things that pull me away from what matters. And I’m blogging it. I’m not spending untoward amounts of time online; I’ll probably only be updating my blog once a week or so, and then I’m going to be largely offline. I have a couple small online communities I’ll continue to be a part of, but the larger, more time consuming ones, I’m going to have to step back from. I’m not sure yet if that will involve an official deactivation, or just a self-imposed leave of absence, but I don’t want to be like Rabindranath Tagore who said, “I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument, while the song I came to sing remains unsung.” I don’t want to spend my days talking about parenting, while failing to actually do it. I want to spend my days looking into my children’s eyes, laughing with them, touching them, imprinting every detail of their preciousness forever in my brain.

I’m somewhat abandoning my MySpace page, my Facebook page, and my old blogs. I used to blog seriously, about five years ago. Now I’m ready to do it again, in a new way. I want to Be There. I want to really live in the Moment. I want to really live . . . you know, marrow-sucking and all that. I’m not there yet. It’s a journey. But it’s a journey I’m ready to take. And I’ll share what I’m learning along the way.