Oh Boy! July 10-16

I've been going through and editing some old posts tonight and I discovered this one in the drafts pile.  Last July I thought it would be a good idea to write some blogs on the day-to-day happenings in our household.  I thought I would title the posts "Oh Boy!".  It seemed clever in that I was sure I was destined to be surrounded by boys all of my days.  Now that our little girl is on the way, I guess I'll have to come up with a new name.

July 13:  The highlight of today was root beer floats.  It seems Captain Silly Wiggles has decided that root beer is a necessity following baseball.  Accordingly, on our way home for practice he asked for root beer.  We stopped at the store and let Cap figure out which bottle was the root beer (Me: "What two letters together make the sound oo?" Cap: "O" Me:  "Can you find the root beer?" he grabbed it off the shelf, picked up some ice cream and we were off.  Initially he wasn't very fond of the idea of ice cream in his root beer.  He quickly decided it was ok.  Skidamarink on the other hand was very upset when the root beer was gone but the ice cream remained.  Cap brought a spoon and a crisis was averted.

Apparently Cap has observed that toads like to hide in the mud.  Tonight he was playing with a toad in the backyard.  When it was time to let the little guy go, Cap found a dirt clod and was chasing the toad around the yard trying to cover him up with the dirt clod.

July 14:  Generally we had a rough day today.  Captain Silly Wiggles woke up on the wrong side of the bed and was just grouchy all day long. (I need to find a copy of Alexander and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day!)  The one nice little segment of our day came when he sat down next to me and looked at the window.  He found some birds and watched them for awhile - telling me all about robins and how they are blue with orange bellies.  Then he said, "Mom,  I wish we had a bird feeder."  So we did some research together on homemade bird feeders, he picked out the one he liked best, and we headed to the store to buy some bird seed.  A few hours later and we have two bird feeders in the trees and Cap went back to being grumpy.  :P

I continue to be blown away by all of the spontaneous lessons.  After a long nap, Cap woke up in a much better mood.  He started talking about fires and I said, "What would you do if there was a fire?" He told me he would hide, so we spent some time talking about fire safety.  We designated a safe spot, started working on a fire escape plan and talked about staying low to the ground, testing handles, and calling 911.  We spent some time playing on www.firesafety.gov/kids.  It's amazing how motivated kids can be to learn.  So often, they just need some resourcing.

Scripture memorization

I was not a big fan of scripture memorization during the years I worked in children's ministry.  It wasn't that I had something against the idea of memorizing scripture.  I just didn't feel like it was a good use of time.  I had my kids for 1-3 hours per week.  There was lots I was concerned about teaching them in that very short amount of time.  The vast majority (with a few exceptions) of the kids in my program weren't receiving any Christian education at home.  Many of my kids came to church on their own - their parents weren't involved at all.  Some of the parents & guardians were verbally non-Christian.  Others came on Sunday mornings, but didn't take their faith any further.  Those who actively discipled their kids at home were certainly in the minority.  To me, that meant that my limited time with these kids was vital.  I wanted them thinking.  I wanted to devote the time to learning whole stories more than snippets.  I wanted them to have some time to play together and look for opportunities of living out and working through the values they were learning.  I didn't like the idea of memorization because I anticipated the rote learning of words and phrases that would not likely inspire deeper reflection in their day to day surroundings.  They would parrot the verse back to me and not likely think much of it again.  Most of them didn't have guides at home to help them realize the important of the words in their day to day experiences.  So we didn't memorize scripture.

I still work in a volunteer role in children's ministry and we still don't memorize scripture.  Yet, Cap has lots of scripture memorized.  He started on his own by learning God Rocks! songs.  Now the preschool curriculum we are using is centered around a weekly memory verse.  So, why am I ok with memorization now?  Because it doesn't stop at memorization.  He learns the verse and we talk about it.  Often.  He's learning to think critically about his environment through the lens of the Bible.  I bring up the verses he has learned in different scenarios.  He claims he can't do something and we talk about the implications of Philippians 4:13.  I don't just respond by saying, "Remember, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!"  We stop and really talk about what the verse means.  There are things he can't do.  He can't fly without a plane.  But, with faith we have the promise that Christ will empower us to do all that he calls us to do.  We pray about it.  When he's not sure of the right decision in a given situation, we discuss Matthew 5:16:  which choice is a way of letting his light shine?  In these discussions, I've got a newfound love for memorizing scripture.

Yet Another Option

I am continually surprised by the number of educational options that are available. I've learned over the past few weeks that a few school districts in our area will allow home-schooled students to participate in school sports and that a few schools (even one public school) will allow homeschool students to enroll part time.

The Greatest Gift

"Mom! Look! There's a present hanging on the tree!"

I hadn't really expected him to find it yet.  It was tucked in the branches and I thought we'd have to help them hunt.  I wrapped the gift the night before.  The box holds the baby Jesus from the kids' nativity.  On Christmas morning we'll look for that present first.  We'll unwrap it and hear the story and play with the nativity.

I tell him, "That's a very special present.  It's the greatest gift you can ever imagine."

His eyes grow wide with excitement and the knowledge of something I'm not sure I grasp to this day. "Mom, God must be in that box!"

I gave him a big smile and a big hug and we talked about how Jesus really is the best gift.

Later as I retold that story to his father, the tears filled my eyes.  What wisdom from such a little one.  This child has big hopes of toys and special blankets and flashlights.  He knows what he wants and he is all eager anticipation to find out what's under that tree.  Not a morning goes by that he doesn't check his stocking to see if it's been filled. 

And yet, with all of the stuff he wants, he knows.  He knows without blinking an eye that the greatest gift imaginable isn't that Batman cave he really wants or a Transformer.  He doesn't pause for even a second before proclaiming that the greatest gift he can imagine is God himself - Emmanuel.

God, grant that I may gain that insight and that he will keep that knowledge close to his heart as he grows.

Grocery Store Encounters

He spotted us the second we walked in the door and commented on my Skidamarink's white-blonde hair. He had hair that color when he was a boy. Now it's grey. The man approached us from his spot by the oranges, asking Skid, "What's wrong with your ear? Did you know there's something behind your ear?" He pulls a quarter out from behind my boy's head. Skidamarink smiles and says thank you as the man hands him the quarter. The man chats about how when he was a boy he would ride the bus into town and watch a movie and eat "a bag of corn" and ride the bus home for a quarter. "Not much you can do with a quarter these days." He smiles and chats for a few minutes more about white-blonde hair and quarters. Then he hits us with his news: "I have to go to a funeral today. My daughter's funeral. Paren't aren't supposed to live longer than their children." And before I can say a word to him, he turns and walks away. All I can do is pray for him, so I do.

When Cap asks me in desperation, "Mom, why am I staying 4 forever?!?" I understand why he is frustrated. He's in a hurry to grow up. He says he wants to marry his friend from school and have a baby of his own and have whiskers just like daddy. And I know it's frustrating to wait so long to grow - to feel like you can't do anything important. But, when I think of the man with the quarter in the grocery store I know how important 4 and 2 and all of those young years are to the world.

The man didn't do much more than glance at me. He didn't ask my name and didn't offer his. I wasn't the one he needed to talk to. There are some gifts that can only come from children. I know that on that particular day - likely the worst of his entire life - he recieved a blessing from my boy. Skidamarink brought a smile to that man's face. He gave him a gift of joy and a memory of happy days. I couldn't have done that. But my sweet little 2-year-old did. God's loving embrace through the smile of a little blonde-haired boy.

Packing Up Memories

Just over two weeks and we'll be moving away from our home of the last 8 1/2 years.  Not far, just across town.  We'll send the boys to the same preschool, use the same doctors, frequent the same places.  But still, we're moving and it breaks my heart.

I couldn't be more excited about our new place - a little old house out in the country with plenty of space for our 4+1 family to roam.  We call it "the farm" to denote our dreams of all the adventures we'll have there.  Still, I'm heart-broken.  I don't want to leave.

I hear the words of what I think was John Wesley's story of his encounter with a Native American.  The man asked, "If you Christians believe in eternal life, why do you build houses like you will live forever?"  Those words keep floating through my mind and I'm horribly ashamed of myself.  Why am I clinging to what I have now when the promise of what is to come is so much better?

I know why.  It's the memories.  I've called this place home longer than any other and as I look around at these walls, I see a store-house of memories. 

This was the place we bought just before we were married.  The place Jeff moved into with all of my stuff.  The place I dreamed about coming home as a bride.  This was the home we came to fresh from our honeymoon.  Where we learned to be man and wife, crammed into one tiny room while the rest of the house was a chaos of reconstruction.  This was the place where we worked to make everything perfect only to find soggy walls and leaky pipes.  My grandpa helped Jeff to hang every board of drywall and every piece of wood in the living room floor months before the stroke that made him unable to work with wood again.  It was here that I learned that Grandma was cancer-free and later that the cancer was back.  It was here I returned in the early morning hours after her struggle was finally over.  In this place I found comfort in sorrow - grief over loved ones lost and deep betrayal and shattered dreams.  During the most painful days of my life, this place was my sanctuary.

And, oh!  The joy!  In the confines of these walls I found out I was going to be a mother.  We planned and dreamed of our little love - making a space perfect for him.  I paced the floors in giddy anticipation and numbing fear as I labored.  And a few days later, we brought our little bundle home.

I remember a house awake in the middle of the night.  Bouncing up and down stairs to soothe a cranky baby.  This house saw all his firsts:  first roll-over, first smile, first teeth, first steps, first owies.  Now his firsts are bigger - learning to ride a bike, reading words all by himself, pouring his own glass of milk.  How he has grown under this roof!

Two years later, this house saw all those baby firsts over again.  A second time we learned we would be parents.  A second time we planned and dreamed, now making our house perfect for two little boys.  We brought our second little love home and again the house was awake at night.  Again it witnessed baby cries and giggles.  Here he has learned to roll and crawl and walk and talk.  He has grown from an infant to an independent little man, sharing in our conversations and eager to learn to do it all himself. 

This place has been full of the joy of two little boys - best friends who can't stand the thought of being apart.  The stairs have been mountains to climb, the floors have been seas and jungles and deserts and fields.  Vents have been bumpy roads and deep dark dungeons.  The whole place has been alive with the laughter of tickle fights and chases.  The bathroom has been saturated with splashes.  Tears have been shed here of lessons hard-learned and squeals of delight have resounded at the first I-did-it's.

And there are countless other memories:  chats with friends, birthday parties, bubble blowing, kiddie pools, cookie baking, cupcake stealing, and backyard fires. 

Looking at the yard I see the careful arrangements of all our favorite plants:  the Clematis that we inherited, the surprise lilies, grape vines, rhubarb and a vegetable garden, ivy and herbs, daisies and mums, the lilac bush my mom planted for my 21st birthday, the cosmos that Cap grew from seed this year, the blueberries, the apple tree and the plum tree and the river birch and the butterfly bush. Eight-and-a-half years of growth.  My kids have picked flowers for me from those plants.  They have run hard, barefoot in the grass.  This place is full of memories.

But, they are my memories.  Surely they stand apart from this place - this place which is really just a shell:  wood and nails and various building materials fit together to provide a structure.

I think the thing that makes it hard to leave is that it is a reference point.  I look at the garden out front and remember Jeff, Grandpa and I laying cloth, spreading rock and planting on our first wedding anniversary.  I look at the corner of the living room and see my little man standing there shoulders slumped, learning a new lesson or remembering an old one.  I look at the wall upstairs and picture Jeff painting I <3 you in green over white-primed walls.  I see Christmas trees and Easter eggs.  I hear the sounds of yesterday.  And I wonder, without this place will I remember all of these little moments?  Mostly insignificant, everyday occurrences filled with abundant joy.  When we break ties with this place, will we lose a little of our tie to those memories?

As we pack up the contents of this house, those memories will be carefully packed as well.  In this place they sat out on the shelves in plain sight - times past, but still connected to our surroundings.  There I suspect they will stay boxed in the attic - something to rifle through on lazy days of storytelling with our children and each other.  But they won't be sitting on the shelves and hanging on the walls.  That place will have it's own stories, it's own adventures to display.

I can't wait to uncover the joys "the farm" will have to offer us.  It too will know lots of firsts - even those wonderful baby firsts.  But, in the meantime I have something to savor and a deep loss to face.  I will grieve the surrender of this place.  More than wood and shingles, it is the cover of my storybook - my fairytale.  It will be difficult to close the first volume, even if it is to jump into the second. 

I will treasure my last few days here:  romp with the boys in the yard, race down the sidewalk to school, cross the street to Grandma and Grandpa's, meander down the road to the library.  I'll drink in the nighttime rituals and the morning breakfasts and all the daily happenings.  And then, with some tears and trepidation and excitement, I'll leave this wonderful place behind for something else wonderful.  Trusting God to guide me through it all with the knowledge that it doesn't really matter where I am, because he will be with me.

Overwhelming Generosity

Driving across town this morning, I passed a lot of rummage sales.  Thinking about all of that stuff spread across all of those lawns led me down the path of thinking about our own stuff.  As I mentally sifted through our possessions I noticed a common theme - generosity.

Just about everything we have was given to us.  In fact, It doesn't take long at all to count the material possessions we have that we have actually purchased ourselves.  Take the furniture for example.  We bought a discount sofa set,  a set of storage shelves, a small end table,  a potty chair, 2 booster seats and an art desk (a Christmas present for Cap).  Every single other piece of furniture was given to us.  In our 27 (yikes) combined years of driving, we have purchased 1 vehicle.  We have had 5 vehicles given to us.  I think Jeff bought the computer he took with him to college.  If he did that's the only time either of us has ever purchased one.  And yet we've always had a computer at home.  The trend continues to very nearly everything we own, with the only exceptions being the food in our pantry and my children's book obsession.  Our cabinets are full of wedding presents and hand-me-downs.  While we've bought some of our own clothing, many of them have come in the form of Christmas and birthday gifts.

It's incredibly overwhelming.  It was all I could do to hold back the tears as I considered how incredibly blessed we've been.  What's more, except for gifts we've received from wedding and baby registries I'm pretty sure we haven't asked for any of it.  There have been times we have expressed a need and been knocked off our feet by the generosity of a family member or a friend who responded with a gift we never imagined.  But most of the gifts we completely spontaneous, "Hey, do you want this ____?" kind of things.

Looking around our house, things are pretty eclectic.  We've got oak and walnut and pine and particle board and I don't even know what else. Some of our furniture is very nice and other pieces are very well worn (mostly the stuff we bought).  And yet, it makes our home beautiful.  Not so much because of the aesthetic properties as the incredible testimony to the generosity of people and the blessings of God.