This is NOT about what it sounds like it’s about.
No, it’s about Ethan. Again.
Ethan is a very jovial little fellow. He talks non-stop, asks “why” after everything I say, and has more volts (or wattage, or ohms…whatever works) than the energizer bunny. The kid lives and plays hard, then when he’s tired, he falls to the ground where he is and is nearly impossible to wake.
With Mason homeschooling, I often find myself distracted. I’m not complaining about it, but I can’t finish folding a basket of laundry without having to take Ethan to the potty, or find Ethan’s Thomas, or fix Ethan a snack, or juice, or put his shoes on. A couple times this week while Mason and I have been working together I’ve said, “Wait…do you hear that?”
“What, Mom?” he asks
“That silence. I must find your brother.”
Once, after one such interchange, I walked to the top of the steps to find that Ethan had decorated the hardwood floor with every sticker he could find in the house. There were monster trucks, Disney Princesses, Thomas the Tank Engine, and various cars and other vehicles. I believe these stickers were stocking stuffers…purchased from the Dollar Tree, no doubt…so one can only surmise at their quality. It didn’t take me long to realize that their removal was going to be a time consuming job, one I decided to leave for later. Bad idea. I’ll leave it at that.
One other time, after hearing a deafening and uncharacteristic silence from my youngest, I traipsed downstairs to find the playroom totally trashed. Books thrown from the shelves to the floor, paper spilled everywhere, Barbies strewn about, the desk overturned. I even found a ballet outfit on the one-legged Ken. Hmmm…
In both of these instances (and I have more), Ethan learned some (painful!) lessons about operating within the boundaries of the rules of our house (especially rule #4 – We don’t make unnecessary work for others), and I was reminded of something, too.
Here it is: If I don’t keep my house in order, it will progress to chaos very quickly. I don’t mean my literal “house” either, but rather “life”, I guess, though certainly my home would fall into this category. I’m thinking of things like relationships, physical, mental and spiritual health, and even my relationship with the Lord. If I don’t maintain my relationships, encourage them and keep short accounts, they can grow stale, or distant. If I don’t exercise and watch what I eat I can become sluggish and tired. And if I’m not daily feeding on the word of God, sitting at His feet and talking to him, it’s ME who suffers because I’m more prone to trust my own thoughts and feelings in the moment rather than what I know is true.
Chaos can slip up on me when I’m not watching out for it. Maybe I should be more alert!
Bless ya!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Tales From the Potty
This one IS what you think it’s about, so if you’re grossed in the slightest by bathroom stories or references, I implore you to hit the page down button. This will serve as your disclaimer!!!!! No complaints!
It seems like with each child potty training has gotten more difficult. With Mason, I bought “How to Potty Train in a Day,” or whatever that book was called. I followed it’s instructions more or less, and Mason was trained in mere days.
Caroline was a little more difficult, but still basically easy.
Molly, though she was (and is) a bright little spot of sunshine, she just about pushed me over the edge and Michael had to finally barge in and rescue us both.
Now we have Ethan. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
Ethan will go #1 when I take him and make him. This involves setting the kitchen timer for every 30 minutes, which I do. Sigh.
As for the other thing - #2 – not one ounce of success. I have tried and tried and tried, but he just won’t cooperate. In fact, I have had him sit on the potty for 30 minutes or so, only to have him “make his deposit” the minute I put the big boy pants back on.
The other afternoon I just decided that he and I were going to hang out in the bathroom and have fun. We made up songs about the potty, we made up cheers about things one DOES in the potty. It was a party. The time just flew by. I wish I could say that it was effective, but I cannot. I think Ethan’s favorite was: “Push it out! Push it out! Waaaay out! Hey!” Which he, in turn, DID as soon as the Blue’s Clues big-boy pants were back in place.
Ethan even sang it for Michael when he got home from work. Michael wasn’t impressed.
Finally, I decided that the approach to take with Ethan was just to lay it all out there and have an honest heart to heart talk. It went a little something like this:
ME: Ethan, sweetie, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Everyone poops in the potty! Mason does, Caroline does, Molly does, Daddy does…
ETHAN: Pawpaw does?
ME: He sure does!
ETHAN: Aunt Lynne does?
ME: Yes, yes! You’ve got it!
ETHAN: Yeah! Woo-Hoo! Hey Mommy…I lost my udder quock (translation: other croc)
Any tips? If anyone is still here reading this, I’m desperate!
Bless ya!
It seems like with each child potty training has gotten more difficult. With Mason, I bought “How to Potty Train in a Day,” or whatever that book was called. I followed it’s instructions more or less, and Mason was trained in mere days.
Caroline was a little more difficult, but still basically easy.
Molly, though she was (and is) a bright little spot of sunshine, she just about pushed me over the edge and Michael had to finally barge in and rescue us both.
Now we have Ethan. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
Ethan will go #1 when I take him and make him. This involves setting the kitchen timer for every 30 minutes, which I do. Sigh.
As for the other thing - #2 – not one ounce of success. I have tried and tried and tried, but he just won’t cooperate. In fact, I have had him sit on the potty for 30 minutes or so, only to have him “make his deposit” the minute I put the big boy pants back on.
The other afternoon I just decided that he and I were going to hang out in the bathroom and have fun. We made up songs about the potty, we made up cheers about things one DOES in the potty. It was a party. The time just flew by. I wish I could say that it was effective, but I cannot. I think Ethan’s favorite was: “Push it out! Push it out! Waaaay out! Hey!” Which he, in turn, DID as soon as the Blue’s Clues big-boy pants were back in place.
Ethan even sang it for Michael when he got home from work. Michael wasn’t impressed.
Finally, I decided that the approach to take with Ethan was just to lay it all out there and have an honest heart to heart talk. It went a little something like this:
ME: Ethan, sweetie, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Everyone poops in the potty! Mason does, Caroline does, Molly does, Daddy does…
ETHAN: Pawpaw does?
ME: He sure does!
ETHAN: Aunt Lynne does?
ME: Yes, yes! You’ve got it!
ETHAN: Yeah! Woo-Hoo! Hey Mommy…I lost my udder quock (translation: other croc)
Any tips? If anyone is still here reading this, I’m desperate!
Bless ya!
Life Soundtrack
I totally ripped this off from my friend Julie over at learningtowaltz.blogspot.com . This is just a fun/silly thing that tells you what the soundtrack would be if your life was a movie.
Here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you're cool… and alot of the songs will fit with the setting
Here are mine...
Opening Credits:
I surrender all – amy grant
Waking Up:
in my hiding place – mike lunsford
First Day At School:
great and mighty – caedmon’s call
Falling In Love:
the shadow proves the sunshine - switchfoot
Fight Song:
we all bow down – twila paris
Breaking Up:
god is in control – twila paris
Prom night:
do you love me – andy cloninger
Life:
Jesus whispers – red mountain church, the gadsby project
Mental Breakdown:
the nightshift watchman – david wilcox
Driving:
where the streets have no name – u2 (ha!!)
Flashback:
we have seen your glory – twila paris
Getting back together:
trip through your wires – u2
Wedding:
you’re the only woman - ambrosia (yes... I DO like Ambrosia. No snide comments, please)
Birth of Child:
the world is alive – casting crowns
Final Battle:
spin - david wilcox
Funeral Song:
enter in – twila paris (!)
Final Credits:
now to him – paxson & allison jeancake
Yep, that's 2 minutes of your life you're not getting back!
Bless ya anyhow!
Here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you're cool… and alot of the songs will fit with the setting
Here are mine...
Opening Credits:
I surrender all – amy grant
Waking Up:
in my hiding place – mike lunsford
First Day At School:
great and mighty – caedmon’s call
Falling In Love:
the shadow proves the sunshine - switchfoot
Fight Song:
we all bow down – twila paris
Breaking Up:
god is in control – twila paris
Prom night:
do you love me – andy cloninger
Life:
Jesus whispers – red mountain church, the gadsby project
Mental Breakdown:
the nightshift watchman – david wilcox
Driving:
where the streets have no name – u2 (ha!!)
Flashback:
we have seen your glory – twila paris
Getting back together:
trip through your wires – u2
Wedding:
you’re the only woman - ambrosia (yes... I DO like Ambrosia. No snide comments, please)
Birth of Child:
the world is alive – casting crowns
Final Battle:
spin - david wilcox
Funeral Song:
enter in – twila paris (!)
Final Credits:
now to him – paxson & allison jeancake
Yep, that's 2 minutes of your life you're not getting back!
Bless ya anyhow!
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Ethan...
Ethan has said a couple of really funny things lately, and I wanted to share them.
When your kids are born you just automatically think "Here he/she is...the cutest, smartest, most wonderful child to ever live!" And of course it's true, because it's YOUR child. And we other parents don't mind hearing it from you, because we have also thought/said the same thing.
I think that with Ethan being the baby and everyone so much older than him, we forget the mental capabilities of one so young. For example, if I put a Matchbox car in the shopping cart, he knows it's for him, he wants it then, and he will ask for it when we get home. But for some reason it seems like I ought to be able to load up a cart full of his favorite toys - with him never noticing.
My 40th birthday is just around the corner. Michael has been taking the kids out "running errands" with him a lot lately. Recently after one such excursion, the girls were sitting in the floor of the kitchen and I walked in...
CAROLINE: Mommy, we went shopping for your birthday and we bought you something that you are really going to like! But we're NOT going to tell you what it is!
ETHAN: It's a phone.
CAROLINE: ETHAAAAAN!
OK, fast forward to last night at dinner. We're all sitting around and Caroline brings up the fact that while I do know it's a phone, I don't have any idea what kind of phone it actually is...
ETHAN: It's a Blackberry.
CAROLINE: ETHAAAAAAN!
One more example, then I'm done.
Michael and I have been trying really hard to potty train Ethan. Yes, he's 3, no he's not potty trained. One of the methods that we, as parents, believe in is pure, flat-out bribery. We are telling Ethan that if he learns to go potty like a big boy, we will give him a fire truck!!! Fire truck, fire truck, fire truck...it's all we ever speak of as we wait with bated (baited? I just don't know/care) breath for him to perform the...tasks...we've been trying to teach him.
As Michael was dressing the other day he told me that he bought a T-R-A-C-T-O-R for Ethan instead of the item we had discussed giving him (fire truck!). He spelled it out slowly and carefully for me then Ethan looked up at his dad with those big blue eyes and said, "Daddy, can I have my tractor NOW?"
He makes me laugh.
Bless ya!
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas Caroline
‘Tis the Season to be Jolly…and my children certainly are! Every day I have been making a list and checking it twice– on my Blackberry, or course- of all the events/meetings/parties/plays/performances that this family has going. We’re probably a lot like you: too busy at this time of year. I’d like to just sit with a mug of hot cocoa, listen to some carols play and gaze at the tree.
Funny thing about the carols. My girls-especially Caroline- really like to sing, you see. Remember that song “I Wear my Sunglasses at Night”? Did anyone ever really know the words to that song? Have you ever been listening to a song on the radio with a friend, and they sing the ACTUAL words of the song? Words that, though close to the ones you were singing, were just not quite right? Well, I have. Sunglasses at Night being one of those songs. FYI, it’s “the guy in shades, oh, no,” NOT “the guy who shaves his nose”. I think there is an entire website dedicated to wrong lyrics, but I digress.
Like I said…my girls love to sing, and if you have been to my house for any length of time this Christmas, you have probably heard proof of this. I don’t know if it’s their ages or if they have the “defunct” sickness I have of singing the wrong words, but let me give you a taste of the yuletide lyrical sensations:
…Don we now our gay apparel, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Troll the Asian yuletide carol, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!
Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright,
Round your virgint, mother and child!
The cattle are lonely, the poor baby wakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes,
I love the Lord Jesus look down from the sky, and stay by my cradle, ‘til morning is night!
Glooooooo-ria, in Aunt Chelsea’s day-O!
Bless ya!
Funny thing about the carols. My girls-especially Caroline- really like to sing, you see. Remember that song “I Wear my Sunglasses at Night”? Did anyone ever really know the words to that song? Have you ever been listening to a song on the radio with a friend, and they sing the ACTUAL words of the song? Words that, though close to the ones you were singing, were just not quite right? Well, I have. Sunglasses at Night being one of those songs. FYI, it’s “the guy in shades, oh, no,” NOT “the guy who shaves his nose”. I think there is an entire website dedicated to wrong lyrics, but I digress.
Like I said…my girls love to sing, and if you have been to my house for any length of time this Christmas, you have probably heard proof of this. I don’t know if it’s their ages or if they have the “defunct” sickness I have of singing the wrong words, but let me give you a taste of the yuletide lyrical sensations:
…Don we now our gay apparel, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Troll the Asian yuletide carol, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!
Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright,
Round your virgint, mother and child!
The cattle are lonely, the poor baby wakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes,
I love the Lord Jesus look down from the sky, and stay by my cradle, ‘til morning is night!
Glooooooo-ria, in Aunt Chelsea’s day-O!
Bless ya!
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Perfect Mom
Last night while I was making dinner, Molly and Caroline watched an episode of “Everyday Italian” on the Food Network. They love Giada.
Now, I’m no Giada. That’s a given. But I can make a mean homemade spaghetti sauce: fresh herbs from the garden, home-grown tomatoes and onions, a bit of red wine. Yum! Caroline especially like spaghetti…and thinks my homemade sauce is just “ok”. She prefers Michael’s mom’s recipe: a jar of Prego.
Anyway, as Molly and Caroline watched Giada perform her magic on a pork roast, this is what I heard from the kitchen…
“I wish Giada was our mom!”
“I know! Then she could teach us how to cook.”
“Yeah, and she’s so pretty.”
I wanted to go in there and explain to these girls that, yes, Giada appears perfect in every way, but she also has a make-up person, a hair person, a stylist to pick out her clothes, and a prep staff to do all her chopping. But I said nothing. I gotta admit it: it stung just a bit.
This is not the first time I have been compared to another and fallen short.
But through all the seeming discontent, I remember the truth: They love me. They trust me. We have our own quirky routines and secret handshakes. And in the middle of a stomach-bugged night, who do you think they want holding their hair back and making sure the Cinderella trash can remains steady? Certainly not the everyday Italian. They want their everyday, sweatshirt-wearing, makeup-on-by-noon-if-you’re-lucky mom. That’s me. I know where I stand.
Later I got out some pots and pans and some odds and ends from the frig. Molly and Caroline like to pretend like they have their own cooking show. They even talk to the camera like Giada– it’s adorable.
So, maybe Giada does have a better wardrobe than me…and maybe her spaghetti sauce has that certain something that mine doesn’t, but I have something she doesn’t have, and that is Caroline and Molly. They are all mine (and Michael’s!)
Oh! Giada! If you’re reading this…no offense, ok?!!
Bless ya!
Now, I’m no Giada. That’s a given. But I can make a mean homemade spaghetti sauce: fresh herbs from the garden, home-grown tomatoes and onions, a bit of red wine. Yum! Caroline especially like spaghetti…and thinks my homemade sauce is just “ok”. She prefers Michael’s mom’s recipe: a jar of Prego.
Anyway, as Molly and Caroline watched Giada perform her magic on a pork roast, this is what I heard from the kitchen…
“I wish Giada was our mom!”
“I know! Then she could teach us how to cook.”
“Yeah, and she’s so pretty.”
I wanted to go in there and explain to these girls that, yes, Giada appears perfect in every way, but she also has a make-up person, a hair person, a stylist to pick out her clothes, and a prep staff to do all her chopping. But I said nothing. I gotta admit it: it stung just a bit.
This is not the first time I have been compared to another and fallen short.
But through all the seeming discontent, I remember the truth: They love me. They trust me. We have our own quirky routines and secret handshakes. And in the middle of a stomach-bugged night, who do you think they want holding their hair back and making sure the Cinderella trash can remains steady? Certainly not the everyday Italian. They want their everyday, sweatshirt-wearing, makeup-on-by-noon-if-you’re-lucky mom. That’s me. I know where I stand.
Later I got out some pots and pans and some odds and ends from the frig. Molly and Caroline like to pretend like they have their own cooking show. They even talk to the camera like Giada– it’s adorable.
So, maybe Giada does have a better wardrobe than me…and maybe her spaghetti sauce has that certain something that mine doesn’t, but I have something she doesn’t have, and that is Caroline and Molly. They are all mine (and Michael’s!)
Oh! Giada! If you’re reading this…no offense, ok?!!
Bless ya!
The Simple Life
Simplicity: Freedom from difficulty, complexity, or intricacy
Let’s face it…life is complicated. Since last spring I have been taking slow steps to rid my life of some complexity. One obvious place to begin was within my 4 walls. I’ve just been going room by room trying to take a good hard look at my “stuff”. Is it necessary? Do I use it? Does it just take up space? Do I have to clean around it?
I managed to rid my linen closet of 2 bags of stuff, from towels to sheets, right down to one of the vacuum cleaners. The kids’ possessions have been pared down as well (actually, just the girls so far…I’ve yet to muster the courage to enter the boys’ room).
In my bathroom, I’ve made some changes as well. No more moisturizers or products of any kind until the ones I have are gone. How did I end up with 6 bottles of lotion??
The most recent area to receive the treatment was my own closet. Yesterday evening I made the switch from summer clothes to fall/winter. I know that may sound odd to my central Illinois friends, but here in LA (lower Alabama) summer lasts at least until Halloween. It was almost 80 yesterday.
I went through every article of clothing. If it needed mending, out it went. Dry clean only? Buh-bye! (This may seem a bit extreme, but I just don’t live a lifestyle where I need much of anything fancy or high-maintenance. So, except for a couple things, I cleared that detail from my life.) The mountain of clothes in the “out” pile was bigger than the “keep” pile. I think I am the thrift store’s best friend. Was it scary? A bit. What if I need THAT black skirt? Forget the fact that there is another, lower-maintenance black skirt right there; what if I need THAT one?
The economic crises is affecting everyone, but I don’t really have many “assets” to fret over. And as the excess baggage is being purged from my life (and it's more than just clothes and bottles of lotion...other areas of life are having to be minimalized as well), it really is freeing me up to think about other things.
Now, I’m not going to go overboard or anything. The French Press will remain on my kitchen counter, and I’m not getting rid of ANY books – mine or the kids.
I guess my goal, ultimately, is to change forever the way my to-do list looks. Instead of it being filled with frantic attempts to maintain things that aren’t important in the whole scheme of life (organize linen closet, sort through bathroom cabinets), I’d like it to be more filled with things that are sweet to my soul (work on Mason’s scrapbook, take a picnic to the park, have coffee with _______ , write a note to_______ ). I’ve got to figure that if I have less “stuff” to organize or sort…there will be more of me to give to people I love.
What do YOU think?
Bless ya!
Let’s face it…life is complicated. Since last spring I have been taking slow steps to rid my life of some complexity. One obvious place to begin was within my 4 walls. I’ve just been going room by room trying to take a good hard look at my “stuff”. Is it necessary? Do I use it? Does it just take up space? Do I have to clean around it?
I managed to rid my linen closet of 2 bags of stuff, from towels to sheets, right down to one of the vacuum cleaners. The kids’ possessions have been pared down as well (actually, just the girls so far…I’ve yet to muster the courage to enter the boys’ room).
In my bathroom, I’ve made some changes as well. No more moisturizers or products of any kind until the ones I have are gone. How did I end up with 6 bottles of lotion??
The most recent area to receive the treatment was my own closet. Yesterday evening I made the switch from summer clothes to fall/winter. I know that may sound odd to my central Illinois friends, but here in LA (lower Alabama) summer lasts at least until Halloween. It was almost 80 yesterday.
I went through every article of clothing. If it needed mending, out it went. Dry clean only? Buh-bye! (This may seem a bit extreme, but I just don’t live a lifestyle where I need much of anything fancy or high-maintenance. So, except for a couple things, I cleared that detail from my life.) The mountain of clothes in the “out” pile was bigger than the “keep” pile. I think I am the thrift store’s best friend. Was it scary? A bit. What if I need THAT black skirt? Forget the fact that there is another, lower-maintenance black skirt right there; what if I need THAT one?
The economic crises is affecting everyone, but I don’t really have many “assets” to fret over. And as the excess baggage is being purged from my life (and it's more than just clothes and bottles of lotion...other areas of life are having to be minimalized as well), it really is freeing me up to think about other things.
Now, I’m not going to go overboard or anything. The French Press will remain on my kitchen counter, and I’m not getting rid of ANY books – mine or the kids.
I guess my goal, ultimately, is to change forever the way my to-do list looks. Instead of it being filled with frantic attempts to maintain things that aren’t important in the whole scheme of life (organize linen closet, sort through bathroom cabinets), I’d like it to be more filled with things that are sweet to my soul (work on Mason’s scrapbook, take a picnic to the park, have coffee with _______ , write a note to_______ ). I’ve got to figure that if I have less “stuff” to organize or sort…there will be more of me to give to people I love.
What do YOU think?
Bless ya!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Painted Lattice
I was in charge of organizing the Women’s Retreat at our church. The retreat itself was this past weekend…our speaker was great, the retreat went according to schedule, etc. All was well.
Let me go ahead and say it right now: my husband is wonderful. He is a great dad and when he is home with the kids while I am out of pocket (as I was this past Friday and Saturday), I know the kids are going to have fun, and lots of it. Sure, the kitchen may be a little dirty when I get home, and the girls’ outfits may not exactly “match” (think purple pants and red shirt), but I am 100% sure they have been loved and cared for in my absence.
During this particular absence, however, things went a little more…awry…than usual.
For one thing, Michael decided to paint. The house. The rest of the house, I should say. The painting of the house is kind of a joke around here. See, it was a project that began mid-July. Yes, your calculations are correct: it has been 4 months in-process. We started with a bang, and we really did get the majority of the house covered in paint, but we fizzled out when we faced the lattice work around our deck. Michael was going to borrow a sprayer from a friend, messages were left. Then, we moved into Lovebug season. Imagine millions of little mating bugs floating around, landing on everything – especially everything white (the color we were using!). Painting was put off again.
The Saturday morning of retreat weekend seemed, to Michael, as good a time as any, so with no thought to my being absent from home (he is such a renaissance man!), the painting began. Imagine my happiness when I pulled into my driveway and saw a gleaming white, Lovebug-free lattice!
I was pleased as the proverbial punch. My husband – painter of lattice! I saw Ethan running to me as I got out of the car. Wait…is he covered in paint? Are those the new Oshkosh sweatpants? Ummmm…yep. And Caroline…are those the black GYMBOREE LEGGINGS that I bought to go with virtually everything this winter? Uh-huh (Alex…gasp with me!! Feel my pain!). Molly…did any white paint get anywhere other than your clothes?
OK – don’t panic. Don’t worry! It’s just clothing! They have more! It’s really no big deal.
Wait…are those white footprints? On the carport floor? In the VAN? ON THE COMFORTER IN THE GUESTROOM??? Yes, not only were the kids clothes (and hair!) coated in paint, so were the van floor and my guestroom comforter.
I tease Michael (because these kinds of things have happened before…also with paint) that he should just go into the kids’ closets, pull out their nicest stuff and pick a dirty project. I didn’t think he took me seriously.
I balled up the clothes and threw them out. The paint on the floor of the van will eventually blend in with all the other funk in there. The guestroom comforter? Well, that’s a little different…but I think that thing may be reversible. The important thing is that everyone is still alive, and the lattice is white. Michael is still wonderful, the kids had a wonderful time with their dad, and I got another lesson on what is (and is NOT) important.
One funny thing: the white paint on the comforter actually came from the bottoms of Molly’s shoes. See, Michael gave her some “discipline” for walking through spilled paint, and then purposely walking around in the van making footprints. Seems like if he was giving her discipline for making paint footprints, he’d have checked the bottoms of her shoes before taking her inside to administer said discipline. I’m just sayin’.
Bless ya!
Let me go ahead and say it right now: my husband is wonderful. He is a great dad and when he is home with the kids while I am out of pocket (as I was this past Friday and Saturday), I know the kids are going to have fun, and lots of it. Sure, the kitchen may be a little dirty when I get home, and the girls’ outfits may not exactly “match” (think purple pants and red shirt), but I am 100% sure they have been loved and cared for in my absence.
During this particular absence, however, things went a little more…awry…than usual.
For one thing, Michael decided to paint. The house. The rest of the house, I should say. The painting of the house is kind of a joke around here. See, it was a project that began mid-July. Yes, your calculations are correct: it has been 4 months in-process. We started with a bang, and we really did get the majority of the house covered in paint, but we fizzled out when we faced the lattice work around our deck. Michael was going to borrow a sprayer from a friend, messages were left. Then, we moved into Lovebug season. Imagine millions of little mating bugs floating around, landing on everything – especially everything white (the color we were using!). Painting was put off again.
The Saturday morning of retreat weekend seemed, to Michael, as good a time as any, so with no thought to my being absent from home (he is such a renaissance man!), the painting began. Imagine my happiness when I pulled into my driveway and saw a gleaming white, Lovebug-free lattice!
I was pleased as the proverbial punch. My husband – painter of lattice! I saw Ethan running to me as I got out of the car. Wait…is he covered in paint? Are those the new Oshkosh sweatpants? Ummmm…yep. And Caroline…are those the black GYMBOREE LEGGINGS that I bought to go with virtually everything this winter? Uh-huh (Alex…gasp with me!! Feel my pain!). Molly…did any white paint get anywhere other than your clothes?
OK – don’t panic. Don’t worry! It’s just clothing! They have more! It’s really no big deal.
Wait…are those white footprints? On the carport floor? In the VAN? ON THE COMFORTER IN THE GUESTROOM??? Yes, not only were the kids clothes (and hair!) coated in paint, so were the van floor and my guestroom comforter.
I tease Michael (because these kinds of things have happened before…also with paint) that he should just go into the kids’ closets, pull out their nicest stuff and pick a dirty project. I didn’t think he took me seriously.
I balled up the clothes and threw them out. The paint on the floor of the van will eventually blend in with all the other funk in there. The guestroom comforter? Well, that’s a little different…but I think that thing may be reversible. The important thing is that everyone is still alive, and the lattice is white. Michael is still wonderful, the kids had a wonderful time with their dad, and I got another lesson on what is (and is NOT) important.
One funny thing: the white paint on the comforter actually came from the bottoms of Molly’s shoes. See, Michael gave her some “discipline” for walking through spilled paint, and then purposely walking around in the van making footprints. Seems like if he was giving her discipline for making paint footprints, he’d have checked the bottoms of her shoes before taking her inside to administer said discipline. I’m just sayin’.
Bless ya!
Friday, October 31, 2008
A Clean Shave
Molly, who's six, has just recently begun to take some "bigger girl" steps. One of those being graduating from the bath to the shower. I remember when that transition occured in my own life, somewhere around her age. Molly is always wanting to do things like me: wear make up, fix her hair, feed babies, walk around in fancy shoes (ok, so that one is really NOT like me...but you get the picture).
A couple nights ago Molly came in to see me when she was done in the shower. She was holding a hanky up to the spot just underneath her nose.
"What's wrong?" I inquired.
"I'm bleeding," Molly replied.
"How did you cut yourself?" I asked.
"Well Mommy, I don't want to lie so I'm just going to tell you the truth. I decided I wanted to shave just like you do, so I used your razor in the shower and cut my lip."
Priceless.
Bless ya!
A couple nights ago Molly came in to see me when she was done in the shower. She was holding a hanky up to the spot just underneath her nose.
"What's wrong?" I inquired.
"I'm bleeding," Molly replied.
"How did you cut yourself?" I asked.
"Well Mommy, I don't want to lie so I'm just going to tell you the truth. I decided I wanted to shave just like you do, so I used your razor in the shower and cut my lip."
Priceless.
Bless ya!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Longing for the Lion King
There are 6 years separating my oldest and youngest children. When Mason (my oldest) was younger, I did let him watch TV, but I guarded it very heavily and was very choosy (and still am). Veggie Tales were good, Sesame Street was good, and Barnie (I’m ashamed to say) was indeed, good. Mason’s favorite thing to watch was “The Grapes of Wrath” – a Veggie Tales story about forgiveness. He watched it at least once a day. Even now, I can still quote the thing from memory…but I’ll save that for another blog entry.When Mason was 14 months old, along came Caroline. As he grew I began to let him widen his horizons, so to speak, and along came Disney. Lion King was all he wanted to watch (I can quote it as well. Again…another blog entry)! With Caroline tagging along, of course. Caroline enjoyed the Grapes of Wrath, too, but she wanted to watch what her brother was watching.
Then along came Molly, and more of the same…they are watching bigger kid stuff at younger ages because there is another, older kid watching too.
Ethan, my youngest, is now 2. There is a bigger gap between he and the older children, so I have been able to introduce him to Sesame Street while siblings are at school, and he really likes it.
Which, let me go ahead and say how much I love it myself. I’m even going to go so far as to admit – here on cyberspace – that I enjoyed the show well into my sixth grade year and stopped watching it only because I knew that if any of my friends ever found out, they would laugh at me. But come on! 1, 2, 3…4, 5, 6…7, 8, 9…10, 11, 12…and they all played games…at the ladybug picnic! Classic.
A couple days ago Ethan came to me and said, “Ma…me watch ‘Be Te Ay For’”
“What?”
“Be Te Ay For!”
Then it hit me: Ben Ten Alien Force. Good grief!
Bless ya!
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Wanting to be Minty Fresh
Let me tell you about my Saturday morning...
It started out almost as perfect as perfect can get, in that I was able to sleep until 9:00am. No, that's NOT a typo. My 4 high maintenance kids let me sleep in. The other miraculous thing about that is the fact that Michael wasn't even home. he left before 6am to go on a many-mile bike ride, and I didn't expect him home until about 11am or so. The kids let me sleep in and took care of themselves until 9am. Wow.
I walked blurry-eyed into the kitchen after profusely thanking my children for the extra hour or two of REM sleep. As I was adding beans to the grinder, the phone rang. A very excited Michael was on the other end. He had finished his ride and wanted me to go pick up all the "stuff" he was bringing home and couldn't carry himself on his bike. I told him I was fresh out of the bed, but assured him I would just "throw on some clothes" and be there in a jiffy.
I stuck the kids in the car, Ethan still in the diaper from the night before and me with sleep creases on my face, hair disheveled, and a good case of dragon breath. It was not pretty.
When I arrived at the square and saw Michael, I quickly realized that there was some form of miscommunication. My idea of "picking up" and his idea were not one and the same. Michael wanted us to actually EXIT the car, mill around with other riders, mingle and be a part of the post-ride scene. I was having none of it! I tried to explain to Michael about the dragon breath, but his retort was "Well, I don't have great breath either!"
Michael got the kids out of the car. Ethan, in jammies, heavy, down-to-the-knees diaper, and no shoes, Molly dressed like Nanook in long sleeves, jeans and a fleece (it was already at least 80 degrees), Mason and Caroline all took off running. I sat in the car. I had the engine running so I could benefit from the air conditioner, but looked down to see that I was already past the little red line. I had 30 minutes to wait until Michael's lunch arrived from a local BBQ place, and I new I would run out of gas.
So, I called Michael over, explained the situation, told him I was going home to brush my teeth and change Ethan's diaper and that I would be back in a flash.
On the way home I fumed. Why can't Michael understand how I feel? Why would Michael tell me to come get his stuff when all the stuff isn't there yet (the lunch wasn't there)? Doesn't Michael understand that I was fresh out of the bed and might need a few minutes - not to PRIMP - but to look presentable!? Me! Me! Me!
After taking 5 minutes to do the necessaries, I was back on the road.
When I got back up to the square, I saw that Molly was pasty looking. She was also crying. I took off her fleece and told her to go sit on the courthouse steps. We stood around, Molly's wails filling up the background. Lunch had arrived (finally!), and Michael was picking his up when I heard it...
"MAMA!!!!"
I turned and ran over to Molly just in time to help her lean over the side rail and lose her breakfast. I don't think I'll ever feel the same way about pumpkin bread again.
After wiping Molly off with the only thing I had - her fleece, we headed home...
Here's where I'll insert the pithy little tidbit about what God taught me.
Michael wanted me to come up to the courthouse to revel with him in his finishing his first big bike ride. Fresh breath and a baby that doesn't smell like tee-tee were higher priorities for me. If I could do it all over and understand his motive, I hope that I would be a more loving and less selfish wife. Unfortunately, I don't get another chance to relive those moments (and let's face it...in some ways I'm mighty thankful), but because God is a God of grace, and because my husband loves me, I'll have many more chances to try. Some of those chances will result in my successfully loving others well. Some of them, unfortunately, will result in my failure...but through it all, God is committed to completing the work he began. That IS comforting!
I'm thankful I never get tossed.
Bless ya!
It started out almost as perfect as perfect can get, in that I was able to sleep until 9:00am. No, that's NOT a typo. My 4 high maintenance kids let me sleep in. The other miraculous thing about that is the fact that Michael wasn't even home. he left before 6am to go on a many-mile bike ride, and I didn't expect him home until about 11am or so. The kids let me sleep in and took care of themselves until 9am. Wow.
I walked blurry-eyed into the kitchen after profusely thanking my children for the extra hour or two of REM sleep. As I was adding beans to the grinder, the phone rang. A very excited Michael was on the other end. He had finished his ride and wanted me to go pick up all the "stuff" he was bringing home and couldn't carry himself on his bike. I told him I was fresh out of the bed, but assured him I would just "throw on some clothes" and be there in a jiffy.
I stuck the kids in the car, Ethan still in the diaper from the night before and me with sleep creases on my face, hair disheveled, and a good case of dragon breath. It was not pretty.
When I arrived at the square and saw Michael, I quickly realized that there was some form of miscommunication. My idea of "picking up" and his idea were not one and the same. Michael wanted us to actually EXIT the car, mill around with other riders, mingle and be a part of the post-ride scene. I was having none of it! I tried to explain to Michael about the dragon breath, but his retort was "Well, I don't have great breath either!"
Michael got the kids out of the car. Ethan, in jammies, heavy, down-to-the-knees diaper, and no shoes, Molly dressed like Nanook in long sleeves, jeans and a fleece (it was already at least 80 degrees), Mason and Caroline all took off running. I sat in the car. I had the engine running so I could benefit from the air conditioner, but looked down to see that I was already past the little red line. I had 30 minutes to wait until Michael's lunch arrived from a local BBQ place, and I new I would run out of gas.
So, I called Michael over, explained the situation, told him I was going home to brush my teeth and change Ethan's diaper and that I would be back in a flash.
On the way home I fumed. Why can't Michael understand how I feel? Why would Michael tell me to come get his stuff when all the stuff isn't there yet (the lunch wasn't there)? Doesn't Michael understand that I was fresh out of the bed and might need a few minutes - not to PRIMP - but to look presentable!? Me! Me! Me!
After taking 5 minutes to do the necessaries, I was back on the road.
When I got back up to the square, I saw that Molly was pasty looking. She was also crying. I took off her fleece and told her to go sit on the courthouse steps. We stood around, Molly's wails filling up the background. Lunch had arrived (finally!), and Michael was picking his up when I heard it...
"MAMA!!!!"
I turned and ran over to Molly just in time to help her lean over the side rail and lose her breakfast. I don't think I'll ever feel the same way about pumpkin bread again.
After wiping Molly off with the only thing I had - her fleece, we headed home...
Here's where I'll insert the pithy little tidbit about what God taught me.
Michael wanted me to come up to the courthouse to revel with him in his finishing his first big bike ride. Fresh breath and a baby that doesn't smell like tee-tee were higher priorities for me. If I could do it all over and understand his motive, I hope that I would be a more loving and less selfish wife. Unfortunately, I don't get another chance to relive those moments (and let's face it...in some ways I'm mighty thankful), but because God is a God of grace, and because my husband loves me, I'll have many more chances to try. Some of those chances will result in my successfully loving others well. Some of them, unfortunately, will result in my failure...but through it all, God is committed to completing the work he began. That IS comforting!
I'm thankful I never get tossed.
Bless ya!
Thursday, October 02, 2008
One Simple Thing
“Hey, Lady! Move it!”
The words pelted me like pebbles. No, I wasn’t in anyone’s way…the words were coming from…you guessed it, my two-year-old.
We were together – Ethan and I - in the bathroom while I put on my face. I was distracted by my own thoughts, so I didn’t quite see what was happening until the words took form and kicked me out of my stupor. Ethan had 2 matchbox cars, one behind the other.
“Move it, Lady! Move out my way!”
Then it hit me…he’s imitating ME!
Fourth kid…you’d think I would have a couple of things figured out by now.
Another instance: This morning I went shopping. Before dropping Mason off at Michael’s study (so he could do his school work), Mason gave me his wallet with very explicit instructions. I was to buy a “Lego Indiana Jones” game for Nintendo DS, but ONLY if it cost less than $30. If it cost MORE than $30, I was to buy “Lego Batman” instead. (This is all Mason’s money, by the way)
When I returned home, Michael and Mason were doing history work. Mason interrupted to ask, “Mom, did you get my game?”
I teased him. I said, “No, Mason, I forgot to get your game! I am so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot!”
“Mom!” Mason said in reply, “I told you 5 times and I gave you my wallet…and YOU COULDN’T DO ONE SIMPLE THING FOR ME?”
Oh my goodness…my words exactly. I’m sure of it!
The flip side is just as startling. Yesterday Michael’s mom had to have a heart catheterization because of some chest pain she was having. I explained this to the kids and then last night as I was putting the kids to bed, Molly was very teary and sad.
“I want Nana!” she cried. “I’m afraid something bad is going to happen to Nana!”
I tried to comfort her, to do what I could do to ease her anxiety, but it was Caroline who stepped up to the plate: “Molly, God loves Nana and he is taking care of her. Would you feel better if we prayed for her?”
These little people watch everything I do! They listen to what I say and then, at times, say it themselves. What a responsibility! What a daunting task! How humbling…and ultimately, sanctifying.
I love moments like this. Can I be honest? I feel like almost nightly I go to bed thinking “I did a bad job today,” but the Father is so sweet to show me that he is using me in their lives despite my many failures and mess ups…in fact…and this blows my mind…he is sanctifying THEM through me as much as he is sanctifying me through them.
Bless ya!
The words pelted me like pebbles. No, I wasn’t in anyone’s way…the words were coming from…you guessed it, my two-year-old.
We were together – Ethan and I - in the bathroom while I put on my face. I was distracted by my own thoughts, so I didn’t quite see what was happening until the words took form and kicked me out of my stupor. Ethan had 2 matchbox cars, one behind the other.
“Move it, Lady! Move out my way!”
Then it hit me…he’s imitating ME!
Fourth kid…you’d think I would have a couple of things figured out by now.
Another instance: This morning I went shopping. Before dropping Mason off at Michael’s study (so he could do his school work), Mason gave me his wallet with very explicit instructions. I was to buy a “Lego Indiana Jones” game for Nintendo DS, but ONLY if it cost less than $30. If it cost MORE than $30, I was to buy “Lego Batman” instead. (This is all Mason’s money, by the way)
When I returned home, Michael and Mason were doing history work. Mason interrupted to ask, “Mom, did you get my game?”
I teased him. I said, “No, Mason, I forgot to get your game! I am so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot!”
“Mom!” Mason said in reply, “I told you 5 times and I gave you my wallet…and YOU COULDN’T DO ONE SIMPLE THING FOR ME?”
Oh my goodness…my words exactly. I’m sure of it!
The flip side is just as startling. Yesterday Michael’s mom had to have a heart catheterization because of some chest pain she was having. I explained this to the kids and then last night as I was putting the kids to bed, Molly was very teary and sad.
“I want Nana!” she cried. “I’m afraid something bad is going to happen to Nana!”
I tried to comfort her, to do what I could do to ease her anxiety, but it was Caroline who stepped up to the plate: “Molly, God loves Nana and he is taking care of her. Would you feel better if we prayed for her?”
These little people watch everything I do! They listen to what I say and then, at times, say it themselves. What a responsibility! What a daunting task! How humbling…and ultimately, sanctifying.
I love moments like this. Can I be honest? I feel like almost nightly I go to bed thinking “I did a bad job today,” but the Father is so sweet to show me that he is using me in their lives despite my many failures and mess ups…in fact…and this blows my mind…he is sanctifying THEM through me as much as he is sanctifying me through them.
Bless ya!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Bad, Bad Words
“Shu up, Mama!”
I am changing Ethan’s dirty diaper, singing “What is Friend” by Cookie Monster (lyrics below), so I’m only half listening, I admit it.
“Shu up, Mama!”
Did he just say what I think he said? Did my 2 year old just tell me to shut up? Where did he learn that expression? How does he know how to use it correctly? In our house we have talked about ALL the bad words: stupid, dumb, “duh”, jerk, “I hate you” and SHUT UP!
An aside: I realize this list is not exhaustive. But for now, if my 6 year old thinks that stupid is the worst bad word, I’m good.
It seems like with each child, the “bad words” get learned just a little bit earlier. I remember one afternoon when Molly was just 4. I walked into the room only to see and hear two of Mason’s friends teaching Molly bad words. It was a lovely, lovely moment. I went into a short homily about how they, as young men, are called to love and protect little sisters (and even the little sisters of friends!!). They ran away pretty fast.
My favorite part of To Kill a Mockingbird is when Scout sits at the table and asks if someone will pass the damn ham. It makes me laugh, out loud, every single time I read it. Last night, Mason (9 years) sat down at the table, and in his recount of his day, out pops a word that in a million years I would have never have been prepared for. No, I’m not going to tell you the word, but let’s just say it was offensive to me, and it was not used…”correctly.” I didn’t laugh.
I don’t know where he heard it (well, I have an idea, but no proof for sure!!), and really, it doesn’t matter. The whole scenario with Ethan saying “shu up, Mama” was another reminder of how tough parenting is; how utterly exhausting. I was talking with a friend the other day on the phone, talking about some fears I have for my children, not wanting them to experience certain things that hurt, or whatever, and my friend lovingly said, “Amy, don’t worry about screwing up your kids…you’re gonna.” It actually was quite freeing. I’m not a believer in “kids have to experience the world to be able to function in it”, nor am I a believer in “shelter your kids from everything harmful”. Frankly, I’m somewhere in the middle.
Ethan was lying there waiting for me to finish his diaper. I was sitting with my shod feet on the bed while I talked him through why we don’t say “shu up” to Mom. It’s not loving, it’s not respectful, etc., etc. Ethan looked at me with those big blue eyes and said…
“No shoes on the bed, Mama!”
At least he’s listening to me.
Bless ya!
What Is Friend?
sung by Cookie Monster (Frank Oz)
Sometime me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something very special.
A friend somebody to share your toys,
To stay with and to play with and to make a lot of noise,
To spin around until friend get dizzy,
And jump up and down until stomach get queasy,
And to sometimes tell stories to.
A friend somebody like you.
Sometimes me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something better than chocolate ice cream!
A friend somebody to take to park,
A buddy to get muddy with 'til it start getting dark
To laugh and joke and hippity-hop it,
Or tickle and poke 'til friend tell you to stop it,
And me no think of any more.
Well maybe friend somebody
You give up last cookie for.
What Is Friend?
sung by Cookie Monster (Frank Oz)
Sometime me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something very special.
A friend somebody to share your toys,
To stay with and to play with and to make a lot of noise,
To spin around until friend get dizzy,
And jump up and down until stomach get queasy,
And to sometimes tell stories to.
A friend somebody like you.
Sometimes me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something better than chocolate ice cream!
A friend somebody to take to park,
A buddy to get muddy with 'til it start getting dark
To laugh and joke and hippity-hop it,
Or tickle and poke 'til friend tell you to stop it,
And me no think of any more.
Well maybe friend somebody
You give up last cookie for.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
To Do...and Hair Do
Why am I such a slave to my to-do list? What is it about crossing things off of it that just fills my heart with unadulterated joy?
One of the things on my list for today was "blog."
So, there ya go. Mission accomplished.
Ok, so my friend Julie over at "A Fond Affection" found this great website www.yearbookyourself.com and I had to go do it. You upload your picture onto the site and you can see yourself at different "decades" in a yearbook photo. My favorite one is the afro. Give it a try. You won't be disappointed...that is, unless you have dial-up, like me.
Bless ya!
One of the things on my list for today was "blog."
So, there ya go. Mission accomplished.
Ok, so my friend Julie over at "A Fond Affection" found this great website www.yearbookyourself.com and I had to go do it. You upload your picture onto the site and you can see yourself at different "decades" in a yearbook photo. My favorite one is the afro. Give it a try. You won't be disappointed...that is, unless you have dial-up, like me.
Bless ya!
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Fun in the Dark
Several nights ago our entire family had been out for the evening. In fact, If I'm not mistaken, we had been at the aforementioned PTO meeting. Regardless, when we returned home our power was out.
Know this: if I go outside and blow really hard on our power lines, the power goes out. Also, our house is the only one in our neighborhood that is tied to a power system from another city. So, when our power goes out, everyone else in the neighborhood around us still has power. It's crazy. I have put Alabama Power on speed dial, though, since I call them at least twice a month. I know the recorded message so well that I can just punch in the numbers without even listening to the prompts.
Having the power off really irritates me. I will walk around and turn switches on, just to make sure it's really off. I also forget it's off and turn switches on expecting light to come on, or microwave to start nuking...but, no. It makes me feel foolish, really.
After returning to our darkened house, I quickly lit some candles and our oil lamp so I could do the dishes and get ready for tomorrow. I was busy in the kitchen and I heard everyone else talking from the rear of the house. Michael had all the kids on our bed, battery operated radio on, and they were all talking..."Dad, tell us stories from when you were little!".
I left the dishes and joined the fun. We rehashed the Twinkie story (of course), the story of when Michael broke his arm, about how I beat up Lee Harrety when he was mean to my little brother. They've heard these stories over and over, but they still ask for them. We laid there in a pile - arms over legs, and legs over middles until well past 9pm.
I think it was the first time I was ever sad to see the lights come back on.
Bless ya!
Know this: if I go outside and blow really hard on our power lines, the power goes out. Also, our house is the only one in our neighborhood that is tied to a power system from another city. So, when our power goes out, everyone else in the neighborhood around us still has power. It's crazy. I have put Alabama Power on speed dial, though, since I call them at least twice a month. I know the recorded message so well that I can just punch in the numbers without even listening to the prompts.
Having the power off really irritates me. I will walk around and turn switches on, just to make sure it's really off. I also forget it's off and turn switches on expecting light to come on, or microwave to start nuking...but, no. It makes me feel foolish, really.
After returning to our darkened house, I quickly lit some candles and our oil lamp so I could do the dishes and get ready for tomorrow. I was busy in the kitchen and I heard everyone else talking from the rear of the house. Michael had all the kids on our bed, battery operated radio on, and they were all talking..."Dad, tell us stories from when you were little!".
I left the dishes and joined the fun. We rehashed the Twinkie story (of course), the story of when Michael broke his arm, about how I beat up Lee Harrety when he was mean to my little brother. They've heard these stories over and over, but they still ask for them. We laid there in a pile - arms over legs, and legs over middles until well past 9pm.
I think it was the first time I was ever sad to see the lights come back on.
Bless ya!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Chaos at the PTO Meeting
I am, thankfully, a member of the PTO of our local elementary school. I love our elementary school and am so glad to be a part of helping something so good become even better. At our first meeting this past week, I helped with collecting money for t-shirts and PTO dues. Parents and teachers were still filling seats as the meeting started, so I kept my seat at the table towards the side of the room, while Michael…and all 4 children…found a seat in the lunchroom.
The meeting began. There were plenty of children there, so a sort of child-like “hum” of noise could be heard throughout the room. I didn’t think much about it, until I saw little Ethan running up to me.
“Hi, Ma!” (He’s started calling me ‘Ma”. It may be the effect of too much Little House on the Prairie?)
He took off as quick as he came. Down between the rows of lunchroom tables he flew. Then I saw him again…and again…and again. Up and down, up and down, round and round he went. At first I got some of those glances from parents that said, “Oh, isn’t he precious!?” You know the kind I mean. But then something happened. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.
From across the room I watched helplessly as Molly tried to reign her brother in – to no avail. If this power struggled had taken place in the middle of a lunchroom row, or in the back of the room, I could have stomached it oh, so much better. It didn’t. Molly and Ethan were literally WRESTLING each other at the feet of our beloved principal, who happened to be speaking, microphone in hand, at that very moment.
I watched the tussle from my spot at the money table, virtually glued to my chair with something between fear and utter shame. The two of them were a ball of hair and limbs. Ethan would get an arm out, only to have Molly pull it back in.
“Psst!!” Was the best I could muster. Weak, I know.
There was nothing I could do but wait until it was over. I did say a short prayer, “Lord, please don’t let them knock her down,” which God, thankfully, answered with a “yes”. Ethan broke free and ran to me. Right in front of the principal – all eyes watching him.
You know what? This was good for me. I remarked to Michael later – who saw NONE of it, by the way – that I wondered what I would have thought about the whole scene if it had been another mom’s children. I think I might have thought “Why doesn’t that mom get her children before they knock down the principal?!” In fact, I’m almost positive I would have had those thoughts. As helpless as I felt watching the whole thing go down – for to get into the thick of it would have meant standing up, walking up to the front of the room in front of all the parents and teachers as the principal was speaking, and breaking apart a Tom-and-Jerry-like scene – I realized that had it been another mom, I might not have been as understanding or as gracious with her. A good reminder the next time I am quick to pass judgment on someone because of something I see her kids doing. It seems like the Father has been giving me this reminder over and over again lately: I don’t know the whole story about anyone. I wouldn’t want someone to judge me because of something she happens to see at one event, or because of a decision I make without him/her knowing all the thought and prayer that went into it…you see what I’m saying.
So, this is a picture of God’s mercy to me. I’m thankful for these pictures…and I’m thankful for my sweet and sometimes crazy children, who time and time again are the conduits of God’s grace to me.
Bless ya!
The meeting began. There were plenty of children there, so a sort of child-like “hum” of noise could be heard throughout the room. I didn’t think much about it, until I saw little Ethan running up to me.
“Hi, Ma!” (He’s started calling me ‘Ma”. It may be the effect of too much Little House on the Prairie?)
He took off as quick as he came. Down between the rows of lunchroom tables he flew. Then I saw him again…and again…and again. Up and down, up and down, round and round he went. At first I got some of those glances from parents that said, “Oh, isn’t he precious!?” You know the kind I mean. But then something happened. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.
From across the room I watched helplessly as Molly tried to reign her brother in – to no avail. If this power struggled had taken place in the middle of a lunchroom row, or in the back of the room, I could have stomached it oh, so much better. It didn’t. Molly and Ethan were literally WRESTLING each other at the feet of our beloved principal, who happened to be speaking, microphone in hand, at that very moment.
I watched the tussle from my spot at the money table, virtually glued to my chair with something between fear and utter shame. The two of them were a ball of hair and limbs. Ethan would get an arm out, only to have Molly pull it back in.
“Psst!!” Was the best I could muster. Weak, I know.
There was nothing I could do but wait until it was over. I did say a short prayer, “Lord, please don’t let them knock her down,” which God, thankfully, answered with a “yes”. Ethan broke free and ran to me. Right in front of the principal – all eyes watching him.
You know what? This was good for me. I remarked to Michael later – who saw NONE of it, by the way – that I wondered what I would have thought about the whole scene if it had been another mom’s children. I think I might have thought “Why doesn’t that mom get her children before they knock down the principal?!” In fact, I’m almost positive I would have had those thoughts. As helpless as I felt watching the whole thing go down – for to get into the thick of it would have meant standing up, walking up to the front of the room in front of all the parents and teachers as the principal was speaking, and breaking apart a Tom-and-Jerry-like scene – I realized that had it been another mom, I might not have been as understanding or as gracious with her. A good reminder the next time I am quick to pass judgment on someone because of something I see her kids doing. It seems like the Father has been giving me this reminder over and over again lately: I don’t know the whole story about anyone. I wouldn’t want someone to judge me because of something she happens to see at one event, or because of a decision I make without him/her knowing all the thought and prayer that went into it…you see what I’m saying.
So, this is a picture of God’s mercy to me. I’m thankful for these pictures…and I’m thankful for my sweet and sometimes crazy children, who time and time again are the conduits of God’s grace to me.
Bless ya!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A Blanket Analogy
Self-righteousness – A “right-ness” that comes from self – our own definitions, ideas and resources.
When Mason was born he was given a white, hand-crocheted baby blanket. It was so delicate, so soft, and I knew it was a labor of love.
However, Mason didn’t care much for the blanket. I mean, it was just another blanket to him. Because I thought it was a bit “feminine”, I decided to pack it away and hold on to it in case we ever had a girl.
14 months later, along came that girl. I remembered the blanket and pulled it out for Caroline to use. She loved that blanket – even as a baby. As a toddler, she carried it around with her. It went on car trips with us, to church, to the mall. We went no where without “blankie”.
After several years of “lovin’”, you can imagine how unkempt the blanket came to be. So much so that I decided that if the blanket were going to be preserved in any way, I was going to have to put it away and tempt Caroline with another blanket in its place. It took some coaxing, but I managed to replace old, white blanket with a new, fuzzy, pink one bearing a rabbit. Mission accomplished. I put white blanket into the “safekeeping” box for, well…safekeeping.
Sadly, not a year later, pink blanket was inexplicably and forever lost somewhere. This fact was not brought to my attention until bedtime. Caroline was not to be consoled! After many tears (some of them mine), I retrieved white blanket from safekeeping and presented it to Caroline with a change in my own heart: So what if she loves it to “death”? It’s her blanket.
Caroline is now 8 years old. We know where white blanket is at all times. She doesn’t sleep with it every SINGLE night, but she loves it. Truth be told, white blanket is no longer white, actually. I’d say more of a light gray. In fact, the term “blanket” is also a misnomer. I’d say “clump of string” is more apt. Washing this blanket is out of the question. It would completely disintegrate.
Looking at Caroline with her blanket sort of got me thinking…white blanket is an awful lot like self-righteousness.
Think about it…Caroline has a blanket that she loves. She doesn’t see its flaws. She doesn’t see the gaping holes, the dingy color. She has no idea how ugly the blanket really is. But I do! I look at that thing and see drool stains and holes. I see brown smudges from who knows where. Come to think of it, the thing doesn’t smell very fresh either.
It’s that way with our own self-righteousness. Sometimes we can become “smug” in our views, look down on people because of something they do, or don’t do, set ourselves up as judge of all that’s right or wrong, or consider ourselves always right. The thing is – we may never even overtly know this, but other people do. Our self-righteousness is so crystal clear to others. Others see the holes, the ugliness, the smelliness that we so blindly feel good about.
Since our hearts are “deceitful above all things” self-righteousness is something to which we are all prone. Christians and non-Christians alike.
Here is where the blanket/self-righteousness analogy breaks down a little bit. I love that Caroline loves her blanket. I don’t want her to give it up. Heck – I don’t even really want it to be cleaner necessarily. But as Caroline ages and develops more into a young woman with ideas about how the world and the people in it operate, I pray that she would have a heart of compassion, godly discernment, and an ability to love other people “where they are” rather than judging from a heart that’s self-righteous. That is, after all, the kind of heart Jesus had.
After all, self righteousness is much, much more ugly than the tattered old blanket of her childhood.
When Mason was born he was given a white, hand-crocheted baby blanket. It was so delicate, so soft, and I knew it was a labor of love.
However, Mason didn’t care much for the blanket. I mean, it was just another blanket to him. Because I thought it was a bit “feminine”, I decided to pack it away and hold on to it in case we ever had a girl.
14 months later, along came that girl. I remembered the blanket and pulled it out for Caroline to use. She loved that blanket – even as a baby. As a toddler, she carried it around with her. It went on car trips with us, to church, to the mall. We went no where without “blankie”.
After several years of “lovin’”, you can imagine how unkempt the blanket came to be. So much so that I decided that if the blanket were going to be preserved in any way, I was going to have to put it away and tempt Caroline with another blanket in its place. It took some coaxing, but I managed to replace old, white blanket with a new, fuzzy, pink one bearing a rabbit. Mission accomplished. I put white blanket into the “safekeeping” box for, well…safekeeping.
Sadly, not a year later, pink blanket was inexplicably and forever lost somewhere. This fact was not brought to my attention until bedtime. Caroline was not to be consoled! After many tears (some of them mine), I retrieved white blanket from safekeeping and presented it to Caroline with a change in my own heart: So what if she loves it to “death”? It’s her blanket.
Caroline is now 8 years old. We know where white blanket is at all times. She doesn’t sleep with it every SINGLE night, but she loves it. Truth be told, white blanket is no longer white, actually. I’d say more of a light gray. In fact, the term “blanket” is also a misnomer. I’d say “clump of string” is more apt. Washing this blanket is out of the question. It would completely disintegrate.
Looking at Caroline with her blanket sort of got me thinking…white blanket is an awful lot like self-righteousness.
Think about it…Caroline has a blanket that she loves. She doesn’t see its flaws. She doesn’t see the gaping holes, the dingy color. She has no idea how ugly the blanket really is. But I do! I look at that thing and see drool stains and holes. I see brown smudges from who knows where. Come to think of it, the thing doesn’t smell very fresh either.
It’s that way with our own self-righteousness. Sometimes we can become “smug” in our views, look down on people because of something they do, or don’t do, set ourselves up as judge of all that’s right or wrong, or consider ourselves always right. The thing is – we may never even overtly know this, but other people do. Our self-righteousness is so crystal clear to others. Others see the holes, the ugliness, the smelliness that we so blindly feel good about.
Since our hearts are “deceitful above all things” self-righteousness is something to which we are all prone. Christians and non-Christians alike.
Here is where the blanket/self-righteousness analogy breaks down a little bit. I love that Caroline loves her blanket. I don’t want her to give it up. Heck – I don’t even really want it to be cleaner necessarily. But as Caroline ages and develops more into a young woman with ideas about how the world and the people in it operate, I pray that she would have a heart of compassion, godly discernment, and an ability to love other people “where they are” rather than judging from a heart that’s self-righteous. That is, after all, the kind of heart Jesus had.
After all, self righteousness is much, much more ugly than the tattered old blanket of her childhood.
Worthless Things
With 3 weeks of homeschooling under our belts, I feel like I can return to my computer. Over the last 3 weeks I’ve gone days without even turning it on, let alone checking e-mail. I can already tell, though, that I like homeschooling. It makes the day a bit “busier” and I don’t always get done what I aim to get done (then again, I didn’t reach those goals very often BEFORE the homeschooling, either), but I have a sense of satisfaction that I can’t really describe. Plus I’ve spent some good time with Mason, and he’s pretty cool.
I feel like I’ve been on a large learning curve with all this, and God seems to be taking me to places in my heart that I really don’t want to see. I’ll be honest – it’s ugly. The Father has been sweetly teaching me to trust him through my own discontentment. I don’t really want to get into all the particulars of the struggle, but suffice it to say that this is probably a place we’ve all been at one time or another…discontentment with what we have or don’t have, be it stuff/money, relationships, respect, children/family, etc. Discontentment is like a festering sore which just gets worse until it is addressed.
A wise woman (Cathy Tanner) once told me that true contentment is believing that where God has you, or what you are experiencing is His best for you. I believe that to be true. It’s not that I’m thinking to myself, “Why does she have ________ while I only have _______?” No, it’s more along the lines of thinking deep, deep in my heart, “Certainly this can’t be IT?? This can’t be the BEST, can it?” I know that sort of flies in the face of what I just said I believed to be true a couple lines above here. Oh, well. I didn’t say it made sense. Discontentment rarely does.
SO, this is my prayer…turn my eyes away from worthless things, Lord. Things that make me forget your goodness to me over and over and over again. Besides, those things that have the most worth…I’ve already got those.
Bless ya!
I feel like I’ve been on a large learning curve with all this, and God seems to be taking me to places in my heart that I really don’t want to see. I’ll be honest – it’s ugly. The Father has been sweetly teaching me to trust him through my own discontentment. I don’t really want to get into all the particulars of the struggle, but suffice it to say that this is probably a place we’ve all been at one time or another…discontentment with what we have or don’t have, be it stuff/money, relationships, respect, children/family, etc. Discontentment is like a festering sore which just gets worse until it is addressed.
A wise woman (Cathy Tanner) once told me that true contentment is believing that where God has you, or what you are experiencing is His best for you. I believe that to be true. It’s not that I’m thinking to myself, “Why does she have ________ while I only have _______?” No, it’s more along the lines of thinking deep, deep in my heart, “Certainly this can’t be IT?? This can’t be the BEST, can it?” I know that sort of flies in the face of what I just said I believed to be true a couple lines above here. Oh, well. I didn’t say it made sense. Discontentment rarely does.
SO, this is my prayer…turn my eyes away from worthless things, Lord. Things that make me forget your goodness to me over and over and over again. Besides, those things that have the most worth…I’ve already got those.
Bless ya!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Are You There, God? It's Me, Ethan.
Ethan has a little plastic ipod he carries around as if it were a cell phone.
If he's awake, the device is almost glued to his ear. On it, he talks to all sorts of people:
Hi Nanna...Hey Uncle Chris...Hi Paw Paw...you get the picture.
The other day I caught him - sippy cup in one hand, plastic ipod in the other - just talking away.
"Ethan, are you talking to Daddy?"
"No ma'am."
"Are you talking to Nanna?"
"No, Mom."
"Well, who are you talking to?"
"God."
Bless ya!
If he's awake, the device is almost glued to his ear. On it, he talks to all sorts of people:
Hi Nanna...Hey Uncle Chris...Hi Paw Paw...you get the picture.
The other day I caught him - sippy cup in one hand, plastic ipod in the other - just talking away.
"Ethan, are you talking to Daddy?"
"No ma'am."
"Are you talking to Nanna?"
"No, Mom."
"Well, who are you talking to?"
"God."
Bless ya!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Do You REALLY Love Me?
These are the sounds I heard from the kitchen this morning. Molly and Ethan were having a very deep theological discussion:
“Ethan, do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you REALLY love me?”
“Yes.”
“You do?! Yeah! Do you love Caroline?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Do you love Mason?”
“Yes."
“Do love you Mommy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes, you love Mommy. Ethan, do you love Satan?”
“Yes.”
“Oh! Ethan, say "no"! Say "no"! You’re not supposed to love Satan…say “no” to Satan, Ethan! Say "no" to him and say “yes” to Jesus.”
You know what I think? I think it would be nice to have Molly follow me around all day asking me about the different things I so clearly love more than Jesus at times.
“Do you really love holding grudges, Mommy?”
“Do you really love serving yourself over everyone else?”
“Say “no”, Mommy! And say “yes” to Jesus!”
It’s cute…the way they hold up the mirror. My children are always reminding me (whether they know it or not) how much I need the Lord.
Bless ya!
“Ethan, do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you REALLY love me?”
“Yes.”
“You do?! Yeah! Do you love Caroline?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Do you love Mason?”
“Yes."
“Do love you Mommy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes, you love Mommy. Ethan, do you love Satan?”
“Yes.”
“Oh! Ethan, say "no"! Say "no"! You’re not supposed to love Satan…say “no” to Satan, Ethan! Say "no" to him and say “yes” to Jesus.”
You know what I think? I think it would be nice to have Molly follow me around all day asking me about the different things I so clearly love more than Jesus at times.
“Do you really love holding grudges, Mommy?”
“Do you really love serving yourself over everyone else?”
“Say “no”, Mommy! And say “yes” to Jesus!”
It’s cute…the way they hold up the mirror. My children are always reminding me (whether they know it or not) how much I need the Lord.
Bless ya!
PS - Here are the kids in the woods on our recent trip to Tennessee..
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