Our 2013-2014 Homeschool Plan
It’s August and school is just around the corner! So the question I am hearing a lot these days is: “What are you doing this year for school?”
(For the record, I did not originally intend for this post to come right after my ranting and raving about consumerism. It just happened that way. Our choice to homeschool is not because we think all the evil is “out there.” The evil is in our own hearts as much as anywhere else! But we have a conviction that homeschooling is right for us. So, there you have it. And since I’ve been asked about it a lot recently, I thought it might be helpful to just share our whole nitty-gritty plan right here.)
My philosophy is, if we only get through the first 2 hours most days, that’s great. The rest is optional. I just talked to a woman who has 9 children and has been homeschooling for 18 years (and her older children have been National Merit Scholars) and she encouraged me again and again to take it slow at the start and not overwhelm young kids with too much. The 3 R’s (reading, writing and ‘rithmetic) plus character development (i.e. not punching people) are our big goals for the year. Also, we’ve been slowly implementing this schedule so it’s not a big shock come September 3rd. I’ve been introducing one new subject/element a week and will continue that through August. So, without further ado, our 2013-2014 homeschool plan (my kids are 6 & 4):
Monday through Friday begins like this:
8:00-8:30am — Bible reading, devotions, prayer. This is during breakfast, so that Jeff can lead this time with our kids. (We use a variety of Long Story Short: Ten-minute devotions to draw your family to God, Jesus Storybook Bible, Gospel Story Bible, Big Picture Story Bible, and Children of God Storybook Bible), scripture memorization (Letter lessons here), prayer, and just talking and relating to each other about God.
8:30-9:00am — Math (Saxon 1st grade curriculum) Dutch can do this at the kitchen counter while I’m cleaning up the kitchen and prepping food for the day. Heidi can count money, write numbers, or help me measure and work in the kitchen.
M-W-F we continue with this:
9:00-10:00am — Language (Writing, Spelling, Grammar, Reading). This includes writing (5 minutes–Handwriting without tears OR copy work, writing verses, writing to sponsor children, making thank you/birthday cards, etc.); Spelling (10 minutes–Spelling Workout Level A); Grammar (15 minutes–First Language Lessons for the Well-Trained Mind); Reading (Dutch 30 minutes reading, then we’ll write a narration together to recap what he read. Heidi & I are doing Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. After “100 lessons” Heidi and I will do BOB books.)
10-10:15 — Snack/break (run around, duel with lightsabers, etc.)
10:15-11:15am — History (The Story of the World curriculum, which uses Kingfisher Illustrated History of the World, Kingfisher History Encyclopedia, Usborne Book of World History, and the Usborne Internet-Linked Encyclopedia of World History.)
11:15am-12:15pm — Science (Various science encyclopedias, books from the library, some *Classical Conversations memory work, and experiments from VanCleave’s)
FREE to play and explore and continue learning!
2pm — Heidi naps, Dutch has 30 minutes – hour of quiet reading while Mommy writes this blog! 🙂
Tuesdays we continue with this:
9:00am – 12:15pm Bible Study, or play date, or field trip, AND library.
2pm Heidi naps and Dutch has quiet reading while I write.
Thursdays we continue with this:
Drive to Papa & Oma’s house
10:00am-11:00am PE with Papa (My dad was a PE teacher and Athletic Director for 30+ years, so he’ll teach them games and time them on certain physical activities to see how they progress through the year.)
11:00a-12:00pm Art with Oma (Often the history curriculum and/or Classical Conversations has an art component, so we do that OR use Ed Emberley drawing books OR use the Felt, Button, Bead book for craft/sewing activities, Heidi’s favorite. I’d also love to incorporate some cooking lessons, like Jamie does here. Since this is right before lunch we can incorporate lunch-prep into this time.)
2pm — Heidi naps and Dutch reads while I write
*Also, we’re incorporating some Classical Conversations memory work into each subject (We are not part of a CC group, we just use the curriculum.)
That’s it! I’m basically following the Well-Trained Mind (LOVE this book!) plan for a classical education at home. I lean more toward unschooling in my approach however, which simply means within the structure of the classical curriculum, I see great freedom for us to explore, change directions, and dig deeper into what my children are fascinated by. I also love Educating the Whole-Hearted Child.
I am SO not a homeschooling expert, but if you have any questions or thoughts I’d love to hear them! It’s fun to share ideas and work together to raise, nurture, instruct, and educate our Littles! And even if you don’t homeschool, any or all of these resources may be helpful along the way. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
The greatest danger our children face…
They say that 90% of child abuse victims know their perpetrator.
Although we always warn our children against talking to strangers, it’s the people your child knows who pose the greatest threat. (Perhaps we should name them “familiars” and write children’s books teaching kids how to stay safe among those they know.)
Familiars are the most dangerous because we don’t see them as threats. We aren’t on guard against that which is commonplace in our lives.
~
It was a sunny afternoon when Dutch curled up on my lap. I told him I’d read to him, and to pick any book he wanted, so LEGO Star Wars was the choice. We read–series and set numbers and scenes until his little mind was filled with galactic thrills. He looked up, eyes bright with idea:
“Mommy, could we make a birthday wish list for me?”
I thought for a moment. His seventh birthday isn’t until December, but it seemed innocent enough to look around on Amazon and see what piqued his interest. I won’t set foot in a mall or a Toys R’ Us, but the laptop at the kitchen counter seemed easy enough.
“Ok, sure. Let’s look.”
Since he’d seen sets from the books, these were on the forefront of his mind. I began to type in the names: Anakin’s Jedi Interceptor. Click. The set popped up:
$240.00
Excuse me?!
We tried another one. $275.00 We tried a third. $180.00.
By now I was feeling sick. I explained to Dutch that all of these were way too expensive.
“Oh but we won’t buy them! Someone else will buy one for me, for my birthday.”
I looked into his innocent, bright, eager face. So, so much to explain. Where to begin?
I looked back at the computer and the answer was right in front of me. The tab right next to Amazon, still open from earlier in the morning:
World Vision Gift Catalog.
I clicked over.
Immediately the LEGOs and leggings and light-up toys were no longer. Back-to-school “must haves” were replaced by actual “must-haves”: Food, water, shelter. We looked into the face of a little boy, beaming, his arms around a goat. I watched Dutch’s face, thoughtful. He’s seen the site before, but this time I could see his eyes looking at the dollar signs attached to each item. We perused through the gift list, finding items equivalent in price to the LEGO sets. Without guilt, lecturing, or wagging my finger, we made some simple comparisons.
Someone could buy one LEGO set for Dutch, or a little boy could have a donkey, providing transportation and the ability to farm and make a living for his family. One LEGO set, or clothes for dozens of children. One LEGO set, or 20 bed nets so that little children his age would not die of malaria.
Did he love this little lesson? No. Of couse not. But he understood. He looked in my eyes,
“Ok, mommy. Let’s wait on the LEGO sets. Let’s not put them on my wish list.”
Am I a mean mommy? Maybe. Denying my children their basic American rights? Life, liberty and the pursuit of LEGOs? Perhaps. But I’d just read a bone-rattling chapter from Pursuing Justice and became convinced that the greatest danger, to my children, is not the danger of human trafficking, drugs, sex, or rock ‘n roll.
The greatest danger is the most familiar. Like the well-known perpetrator, the greatest threat to our children is the danger we allow them to embrace every day.
Consumerism.
Jesus said we cannot serve God and money. The thirst for money drives the marketing schemes which target our children and whet their little appetites for more … and more and more and more.
Christianity and consumerism cannot coincide. They are mutually exclusive. Oil and water. True Christianity breeds contentment. The American Dream mentality never stops striving for more.
Even our littlest children can understand the way of the cross. That life lost is life found. That it’s better to give than to receive. Why wait to teach these truths?
The sooner they know the secret of absolute surrender, the sweeter their lives will be.
Is this easy? No way. But we moms know nothing about parenting is easy. And besides, what they may lack in LEGOs, we will make up for in love.
What they lack in toys, we will make up for in time.
{Mamas unite! We CAN raise children who grow to follow Jesus and not every passing shiny thing that hits the market. I pray strength for you today as you run the marathon of parenting those littles. Thanks for reading.}
PS Just a friendly FYI that the amount of pesticides now doused on our children’s food has DOUBLED as of this week. Hold the soy! Read the labels! Thanks. 🙂
5 ways to cultivate creativity, for a life fully lived…
“All children are artists, and it is an indictment of our culture that so many of them lose their creativity, their unfettered imaginations, as they grow older.”
—Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water
~
We were neck-deep in The Story of the World history curriculum. The Kingfisher and Usborne encyclopedias were stacked high on my lap, the kids leaning in close, interrupting every other sentence with, “What’s that?” “Why did they do that?” “What does that word mean?” (Every lesson takes twice as long when the kids are actually learning something.) I glanced at the clock; I was way behind schedule for the morning. We had finished the lesson on archeology, when both kids jumped up off the couch, a surge of creativity lighting their eyes:
“I know! Mommy, can we do an archeology dig right now? Can we dig for clues about what people used to live like? And can we put all the clues together and make a book about it?!!”
I glanced down at the list of “school” left for the day and knew what the right answer was:
“Absolutely! Let’s go!”
Within two minutes they were dressed for adventure—bandanas, notebooks, magnifying glass. The rest of the afternoon was spent outside, digging in the dirt. Sticks were dinosaur bones, rocks were bits of weaponry, some old weed-barrier cloth was surely primitive clothing.
Someday their cursive may be sorely lacking, but their creativity will never be.
See, the cultivation of creativity is one of our homeschooling goals. Why? … {Read the rest here, even if you don’t homeschool! Hope this can be an encouragement to you. Thanks for reading!}
Because you don't need to hide
Where was Heidi?
One afternoon before Christmas the kids were playing when I realized Heidi wasn’t in the room. I peeked in the kitchen, not there, then pushed open our bedroom door. I heard a slight rustle so I silently tiptoed along the side of the bed and peered over the footboard.
She was peeking at a particular pink gift tucked into a gift-bag.
Startled, she looked up at me, eyes-wide, and her face froze. I knew what would happen. I was her 29 years ago. Her lower lip began to quiver and for several moments her face slowly contorted as she tried to hold it in — but it gushed out.
Wail. Sob. Hysterical crying. Caught guilty she melted in a heap of tears. I can remember exactly the same feeling.
I held out my arms to Heidi and she ran into them. Tears streaming down her face, burying her face in my neck, refusing to look up. Jeff, who had followed me in and seen the whole thing, began to talk to her. She hid her face deep in my neck, wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at him.
She sobbed, took a breath, “I wan’ go to bed.”
“It’s not bedtime — you want to go to bed now?”
“Yes! Pease I need go to bed!”
“Do you want to go to bed because you know you did naughty?”
She just broke down again, dug her face deeper in my neck, wouldn’t answer. Oh sweet girl I understand.
“Heidi, I know you want to go to bed and hide because you did naughty, but Mommy is not mad. I just want you to tell mommy you’re sorry for looking at things you shouldn’t, and ask mommy to forgive you.”
I thought it would take coaxing but it came quick. I remember that feeling too — tormented by guilt is a terrible place to be.
“Mommy, I suhwey for looking at thing I shouldn’t. You please ‘uhgive me?”
I smiled wide, nuzzled her nose, make sure she sees my smile all the way through my eyes.
“Yes, baby-girl. I forgive you. Thank you for telling me. Mommy loves you.” Then she asks if we can get a blanket and snuggle together. Of course I find the softest one — the one from the foot of our bed — and we snuggle up together. Inhale each other’s breath.
“Mommy, I wan’ keep you forever.”
“I wan’ keep you forever too babygirl.”
–
Oh sweet girl, I remember being you. I remember sneaking into mom’s closet one December day 28 years ago. Seeing the brown stuffed teddybear with the homemade sweater mom had knit for it. I saw it, then was plagued with guilt. Overwhelmed. It ruined all the joy.
It made me want to hide.
Because that’s what sin does. Every time. From humanity’s first sin we’ve done it. What did Adam and Eve do right after eating the fruit? They hid from God.
Humanity’s been hiding ever since. From God and from each other.
But once again I will sing this same song: There is freedom in repentance. As my son says it, “When we say sorry, Jesus forgives.” He does, when we confess our sin He is faithful and just to forgive us our sin and cleanse us of all unrighteousness. He pulls us close, looks us in the eyes, smiles a smile that warms our souls and heals all that’s broken.
Remembering this from a few years back. Is there anything that’s making you hide, dear friend? That shame and guilt need not be yours! Hide no more. Go quick to confession — He’s waiting to hold you near. Thanks for reading.
In case you have any twinkly tongues tomorrow
As you give your family The Gift of Whatever tomorrow, remember that it’s usually the things we don’t plan that make the most special memories. Or, most often, the mishaps. I’m sure we all have our own holiday-mishap stories, but this one takes the cake (and renders it inedible):
I found a recipe for “Dutch Cake”, which I was so excited to make for Dutch’s 4th birthday, right before Christmas. I whipped up the recipe only to realize there was no way on earth that kids would actually eat it–it was hard and dry and only sweetened with molasses. I could just see the kids at Dutch’s birthday party staring down at the hard little rock cupcake and wondering what they’d done wrong to deserve that. No, I would not be the dud mommy, so at the last minute I used the Funfetti cake mix, forced myself not to think about the hydrogenated soybean oil contained therein, and whipped up a batch of cupcakes and homemade frosting.
So far so good. It would be a hit.
But then I thought it’d be fun to make something special for the family party we were having in the evening. I knew Dutch’s little cousins loved Cake Pops, so I found the directions and went for it. Mush cake and frosting, form into balls, easy. But then you’re supposed to dip them in melting chocolate, of which I had none, so I thought it’d be super fun to instead dip them in powdered sugar and serve them as “snowballs”–perfect for a December birthday!
Yes, snowballs! Perfect.
Now, did I have powdered sugar? Hm…wasn’t sure. I dug around and found a clear Winco baggie (I buy everything in bulk), squeezed it with my fingers (it squeaks and has a distinct feel if it is cornstarch), and it didn’t squeak so I knew immediately that it was indeed powdered sugar. I happily powdered up my special snowballs and we were all set.
After dinner the kids gathered around excitedly for their treats. I served the kids then got busy cutting cheesecake for the adults. I overheard my neice exclaim, “This doesn’t taste good!” but was quickly chided by her mom for being rude, so she hushed up and picked at the rest of her snowball. I was vaguely aware that the other kids just sort of picked at theirs as well, but I was busy doing other things. Soon they were off playing again and I thought nothing of it.
Later, doing dishes, apparently my sister-in-law nibbled on one and knew immediately what I had done. My brother came into the dining room, grinning:
“So you coat your snowballs in baking soda, huh?”
My jaw dropped. Of course! I had just for the first time bought baking soda at Winco in the bulk section and forgotten about it.
“No wonder,” My mom said laughing, “Dutch kept saying, ‘This snowball makes my tongue all twinkly.’”
Yes, twinkly tongues for sure! Poor kids, they were awful and made your mouth fizz something terrible.
Thankfully we had no reactions, and no fizzy bubbles came out their noses. It makes for a fun memory. So just in case you have any memorable mishaps tomorrow, I pray you can laugh and remember twinkly tongues. Thanks for reading. And thank You, God, got for the sprinkles of humor you give us each day!
*Plenty:31 sips of joy for moms everywhere is still available for $.99 today and tomorrow! If you haven’t gotten your copy yet, head here and check it out. (Even if you don’t have an e-reader of any sort, you can just download it on your computer to read.) You can also borrow it for FREE on your kindle with Amazon Prime membership. Thanks!
How to keep from yelling at Ann Voskamp
{Disclaimer: I wrote this last week, in a particularly weak moment, and was going to delete it but felt that perhaps, just perhaps, it might encourage someone today. The TRUTH did get my eyes back on Jesus and put me back on the right course. And, interestingly enough, a little e-book was birthed from all this… Enjoy!}
~
Some days I want to yell at Ann Voskamp. (And I know that’s not appropriate.)
“I’m sorry, How DO you write books and homeschool 6 kids and run a farm and clean your house and speak to thousands of people and blog every day AND take pictures of it all and STAY SANE???”
I really didn’t mean to raise my voice.
But some days I can’t breathe. Between parenting, moving, church-planting, pastoring, speaking, writing, blogging, homeschooling … Oh and then there’s cooking, cleaning, organizing.
And I’m supposed to answer my phone too? And check my email?
And my feedreader is full of blog posts from Mamas doing Christmas crafts with their kids.
I’m sorry, Christmas crafts?
My son’s birthday tomorrow will consist of a cheese pizza and Legos dumped on the dining room table. I dare say I probably won’t be posting pictures on Pinterest.
And every Publisher’s feedback has been the same: You need to build more of a platform. Get your name out there. Guest post. Tweet. Do giveaways.
Giveaways?
The only thing I want to giveaway right now is my to-do list. Does that count?
I was so encouraged a few weeks ago when I read one popular blogger say that she was taking a month-long break from writing in order to re-focus her heart and spend time with her kids. But I just clicked there again today and found 5 new posts since then, a completely new blog design, and a brand new book of hers released.
Really?
Does anyone rest?
*sigh* Oh friends, I hope you never feel like this but just in case you do, let’s remind ourselves of the truth, shall we?
Truth: God has given us exactly the right amount of seconds in our day to accomplish exactly the things He wants us to accomplish.
Truth: We all have different sized milkshakes, different capacities for getting things done. Comparison kills.
Truth: Haste makes waste. (Thank you, Ann!) Jesus never ran and was never in a hurry. He walked this earth with measured steps and calm intentionality.
Truth: Pride pushes and pulls us, driving us on, the cruelest task-master. But gentle grace leads the humble, the life of God the steady source of fuel.
Truth: We have plenty. Though I always feel like I fall short, God has given each one of us plenty for today. I must believe that.
The truth is, I love Ann and all the other phenomenally gifted women out there who are inspiring us with their photos, words, and crafts. And most days I’m happily inspired. But sometimes I must just admit how overwhelmed I feel and take a step back, a deep breath, and maybe a couple ibuprofen, and remind myself of the truth that sets me free.
Nothing is as important as your heart. So when it starts to turn bitter, sour, God must work His truth in there and fix your heart’s gaze back on Him. And while I’m sorry I vented those thoughts on you, sometimes we have to identify what the “yuck” is in order to let God wash it clean, amen?
Because I really don’t want to yell at Ann Voskamp. Or my husband, or my kids. None of us do, right? We want the life of God to fill us with His peace and give us grace for whatever’s on our plate.
One day–one breath–at a time, we must believe there’s plenty.
I pray this can encourage you as you finish your week. Thanks for reading.
P.S., It’s kind of funny timing … TOMORROW we’re doing a special giveaway (ha!) for my FIRST e-book! After all my whining, the timing just so happened that God would birth a book entitled, Plenty, and that it would come out the day after this post. Sometimes you just have to laugh. Stay tuned for:
The Perfect Gift For Your Family This Christmas
I had gotten up early. Everything was ready. The baby Jesus doll was hidden. Gifts were wrapped. Cinnamon rolls were formed, rising, ready to bake.
My barely 4-year-old son was the first to rise. He shuffled downstairs, carrying his new Lightning McQueen car he’d received for his birthday just four days prior.
I bound over, excited. “Good morning, sweetie! Do you know what today is?”
He rubs his eyes, scrunches up his face. “Can I play with my toys?”
I continue: “It’s Christmas! Isn’t that exciting?! And now you get to look for baby Jesus!”
He runs over to the couch, hides his face in a pillow. “I don’t want to look! I want to play!”
“But … after we find baby Jesus we can open your presents!” My mind races. We’re supposed to be at my parents’ house at 10am. We still have to do baby Jesus, open gifts, and deliver hot cinnamon rolls to a family down the road.
My son starts to cry. “I don’t want to open presents! I just want to play with my toys.”
This is unbelievable. I shake my head. What child doesn’t want to open presents? Why is my family always the one where nothing goes right?
I promise him there are more toys to be had, and we finally get him to the tree. He opens a box, a gift sent from a relative. It’s a package of socks. His face falls. Now I’m irate. Really? Come on people, I’m trying to get my kid excited about Christmas and you gave him socks for crying out loud!
“Mommy, I don’t want socks I just want to play with my toys!” Now he’s crying and I’m on the verge.
Eventually we make it out the door. My dear husband, wanting to cheer me up, suggests we stop at Starbucks. He runs in while I stay in the car. It takes him another fifteen minutes because the line is so long. Seriously, people, it’s Christmas! Go home and be with your families for crying out loud! By now we’re an hour late and it shows on my face. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I’m on the verge of tears. Why am I so irrational? It’s Christmas!
Eventually, we make it to the family’s house to deliver the cinnamon rolls. We’ve been doing theTwelve Days of Christmas and it’s our day to reveal ourselves. Their whole family comes out on the porch, all hugs and laughter and genuine joy. I notice they’re all still in jammies. I ask about their day, what their plans are, still struck by how happy they all are.
The mom smiles and responds, “Oh we just relax, stay in our jammies all day. We play games or do something fun. You know, whatever.”
Whatever.
That’s what I’m missing.
The gift of whatever. When we give our family our expectations, everybody loses. We wrap up our ideals, our dreams of the “perfect” day, and then expect them to perform according to our plan. When they don’t, we’re frustrated. All in the name of the most wonderful time of the year.
What if, instead of giving expectations, we gave the gift of whatever. If we decided that whatever happened on a holiday, we’d be happy and thankful. That the only expectations we had were for ourselves, expecting ourselves to be kind. Expecting ourselves to be gracious. Expecting ourselves to be willing to go with whatever.
The gift of whatever is the perfect gift to give your family this Christmas.
A fun, flexible holiday where the only thing that’s set in stone is the certainty of joy.
{Remind myself of this again this year. Bless you, friends and thanks for reading…}
When you're mad at your kids and don't know why…
Last weekend, as we lay in bed, Jeff asked me how I felt. I replied, “I feel like a rubber band that’s stretched out so tight it’s just about to snap.” He knew enough to put his arm around me and just stay quiet after that. (love that man.)
Someone please tell me they’ve felt like that too?
My confession is this: I’ve been mad. Not all the time, but more often than I like to admit, I’ve been struggling with just getting so angry with my Littles. Sure, there’s a time to be mad, to get angry at sin and to be stern in discipline. But this was more of a subtle brewing beneath the surface that’s just a slight incident away from boiling over. The kind of mad.
Ironically enough, it was the morning of Mother’s Day that I felt most angry. And it was the afternoon of Mother’s Day that I realized why.
Thanks to a glass of strawberry lemonade.
We don’t usually have juice in the house, but I knew it’d be almost 90 degrees that day, so I bought some lemonade. Jeff’s mom brought strawberries so I made a special pitcher of strawberry lemonade for the day. Yum!
In the afternoon, I went outside with the kids to play. I held in my hand a small, cold glass of icy strawberry lemonade. Of course as soon as they saw it, their eyes lit up and they asked to have some. It was the last glass, but they had asked politely and of course I wanted them to enjoy it too. So I lowered down and gave Dutch a drink. But of course his drink enthusiastically turned to gulp and when I tipped back the glass it was half gone. I turned to give Heidi a drink and she slurped away. When I held the glass back up for myself there was all of an inch left at the bottom. And then I realized…
That’s why I’m mad.
What? I’m mad because my kids drank my strawberry lemonade? No.
I’m mad because I let them.
All the time … in so many ways.
It’s not about lemonade, obviously. See, here’s the thing. Love does not seek its own. I get that. And as moms, we’re celebrated for our selflessness (which is good!), and we’re to expected to lay down our lives for our children (which is good!), we’re supposed to say “yes!” as often as we can (which is good). But I also know that on Mother’s Day it is perfectly acceptable for a mom to have a glass of strawberry lemonade without giving the entire thing to her children. It’s good for them to learn that Mommy is honored and sometimes gets special things of her own. It’s good for Mommy to respect herself, and carry herself with dignity. Part of loving them is training them to not walk all over their mother. See, we not only need clear boundaries in obedience and discipline, but also just in respecting Mommy as a person.
Do you see what I mean?
It’s beautiful for mommy to selflessly lay down her life for her kids. But that doesn’t mean she
… prepares snacks and meals at all hours of the day.
… isn’t allowed to eat a meal sitting down.
… can’t take a shower by herself.
… must give up her quiet time in the Word.
You remember the instructions we’re always given when flying with children, right? Secure your own oxygen mask before your child’s. In other words:
It won’t help your child if you’re passed out on the floor.
I might just write that last sentence on a poster and tape it to my wall.
Sister-friend, I don’t know where you are today. But could it be that a little dose of soul-care might be in order? By all means, keep loving those children sacrificially, but perhaps Mama needs a bath by herself? Or an hour away for a quiet cup of coffee? Or perhaps just …
…an icy glass of strawberry lemonade all to herself.
With love, thanks for reading,
Kari
*Looking for more help/wisdom in this area? Check out Taking Care of the Me in Mommy, by Lisa Whelchel. A great, fun, practical guide. I’m going to slip mine off the shelf to read again while I’m sipping that lemonade…
How to have the best Mother's Day…
“The only mothers it is safe to forget on Mother’s Day are the good ones.”
~
Ha! Isn’t that the truth? Jeff and I are so blessed to both have “good ones” in the mom department, but isn’t it true in all areas that there are those in your life who are “safe” to forget and those who are not? For those who are not, there is an understood expectation in that relationship that you better do xyz on such-and-such day or so-and-so will be sorely disappointed. And then how do you wind up feeling?
Exhausted.
Oh my. I always want to be a person who is “safe to forget”!
Last night I sat in the old cream rocking chair in the kids’ room. Both kids had asked to be rocked, and yes! was my answer to both. So they filled up my lap, spilling over, arms wrapped around each other and faces nuzzled into my neck. I rocked, kissing the tops of their heads, unable to speak, not wanting to move, knowing this moment would last only moments. I closed my eyes and knew:
These are my Mother’s Day gifts.
The term “mother’s day gift” is redundant. Who needs a gift when one is a mother?
The gifts are already given.
They have pulses and eyelashes and puppy-dog breath. They are exhilarating and exhausting and infuriating and intoxicating. They are gifts. It’s wonderful if one of them gives you a gift tomorrow, but the gift has already been given.
That’s what makes us “safe to forget.”
Some of us, myself at times, forget that a zillion beautiful gifts have already been given. When we forget, we expect everyone else to give them to us. We might not expect a gift wrapped in paper or bow, but we expect a creative day or a special surprise or just the right words or someone to read our minds and give us what we want and do not say. And then at the end of the day you know how we feel?
Exhausted. (And so does everyone else.)
What if, instead, we realized each day that the gifts are already given. On mother’s day we have the gifts we hold upon our laps (or used to!). On a birthday we have the gift of LIFE, of breath, of being born and still being alive. On an anniversary we have a marriage–aglorious picture of divine love–no matter how imperfect it is. On Christmas we have God with us!! Who needs anything else? On Valentine’s Day we have the Lover of our Souls. On Easter we have a risen Lord.
Every holiday celebrates a gift that is already given.
And if we spent our precious time celebrating these already-gifts, I wonder what the result might be …
We might become safe to forget.
We might even forget about ourselves.
Oh blessed state, there is no joy like that.
{Happy Mother’s Day. Thanks for reading.}
What to give your mother-in-law for Mother's Day
Mother’s Day is this weekend. Looking for the perfect gift? A few years ago my mom modeled for me a beautiful gift for her MIL:
My grandma is an interesting lady. She’s my dad’s mom which explains a lot. She is a million years old (or 95-or-something), and stubborn as a mule. She was orphaned as a young child, and sent on a train to cross the country when she was 5-years-old, with nothing but a sign tied around her neck indicating where she was supposed to end up, asking fellow passengers to help her along her way. She’s had a hard life.
She raised two boys, my dad obviously being one of them (which is part of the hard life I referred to above), and was a no-nonsense, hard-headed woman. She helped my dad do crazy things like paint cars using a shop-vac and build additions onto their house. She married her high school basketball coach, devoted her life to caring for him and her two boys. Then, a year before my brother was born, my grandpa died and she was widowed.
My grandpa was her life, and shortly after his death, she was so overcome with grief she told my dad she wanted to crawl into the grave next to him. She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly live without him. And yet, that’s exactly what she’s been doing for more than 37 years.
She’s traveled the world, accumulated significant wealth, and could probably fill the Rose Garden with all the crocheted dolls she’s made for underprivileged children. The crocheted curtains, wall-hangings and Christmas ornaments we have all came from her arthritic hands. She’s done a lot.
But her heart is so hard. I don’t know what all has happened to her, but somehow her heart has become hard.
We’ve never heard her say, “I love you.”
Never. She’s never said it. Not to her grandkids. Not to her kids. Not to her great-grandkids. We say it to her every time we see her, and now she’ll nod and say, “Uh huh.” But that’s as close as we get. She doesn’t say thank you, and she doesn’t smile much or give many compliments.
I’ve never seen her cry.
My dad has often talked to her about Christ. I’ve talked to her. We’ve given her sermons to listen to. Books to read. We’ve loved her, prayed for her. And honestly, I don’t know where she stands. She seems like an impenetrable wall: hard and impossible to read.
But leave it to my mom to break through, with a simple gift of thanks.
This year, my mom couldn’t think of anything else to give her. She has a 10′x10′ room. That’s it. Her dresser is already covered with framed pictures and she already has a robe and slippers. What else is there?
So she gave her the gift of thanks. My mom went through their house and wrote down every single thing that they had, that my grandma had crocheted or made. Then she sat down and wrote my grandma a letter, thanking her for the way that she’d filled their house, naming the items, thanking her for the years and years she’d spent curving her painfully arthritic fingers around those crochet hooks, to bless my parents with beautiful things for their home. Not knowing how grandma would respond, she dropped the letter in the mail.
Today we arrived and my grandma immediately pulled herself onto her walker, without a word, and shuffled to her room, where she retrieved an envelope with “Karen” scribbled in my grandma’s shaky handwriting. Inside was a hand-written letter. It began like this:
Dear Karen, thank you for your note. You made me cry.
Please allow me to write my own list: …
Her writing has deteriorated and it was hard to read, but she went on to write out, in detail, things my mom had done for her in years passed. Giving up her bed and closet when grandma had cancer and had to stay with them. Administering medicine… the list went on. Things from years past. Things my mom had never even realized had touched her so. Her hand obviously tired and the note ended abruptly, of course without any flowery words or tender closing. But she made sure it found its way in mom’s hands.
I believe my mom was profoundly used by God in her simple gift of thanks. My grandma is such a hard woman I’m embarrassed to admit I sometimes forget she has a heart. But my mom’s gift of thanks trickled right through the unseen cracks in my grandma’s brittle front and touched the place I think we often miss.
I’m so thankful for my mom, who teaches me immeasurably through her quiet, humble, ways. I have so much to learn from her, and her gentle gifts of thanks.
{I am so grateful to have a wonderful relationship with my mother-in-law, but no matter what yours is like, a gift of thanks might be perfect for the occasion this weekend. Be specific and lavish. And have a Happy Mother’s Day … thanks for reading.}