When Mama gets the flu … {the kids are blessed}
Along with smallness and not-enough-ness, last week also included the flu.
Ugh. I can’t remember the last time I had the flu. But I won’t forget this time for quite awhile, that’s for sure. This was like nothing I’ve ever had before.
As long as I kept up the Advil I could get out of bed for little bits, make lunch, do a bit of school with the kids. But as soon as it began to wear I was flat on my back. Couldn’t move. This mama wasn’t going nowhere.
The first day, I did the obvious, and stupid: I told the kids to go play while I laid in my bed and … studied. Yes. Guilty as charged. I have a big conference coming up and was down to the wire on getting my note-taking sheets in, and this would be perfect.
Except it wasn’t perfect. The kids bickered. Little tiff here and little tiff there until finally I told them to come get on the bed with me. They weren’t allowed to leave my room. We would play and do our whole day right there. Right there. Together.
Wouldn’t you know it … it worked.
Like a charm.
We sat on my bed and read books. And books and books and books. They wanted every single word of every single giant DK Discovery book, every dinosaur description and every last detail about the Tropical Emperor Moth Caterpillar. And we read it all. More than once.
We pulled Candyland up on the bed. Weighted the board with shoes on the corners. Hopped along the sweet lane to King Kandy’s castle. They cheered and laughed and clapped. I even had fun.
On day two they dressed up. Pulled the dress-up chest into my room. After adorning themselves as a cowboy and princess they adorned me (yes!) as I lay on the bed. When Jeff came home I was wearing a sequined 20s Flapper hat, sparkly pink beads, elbow-length gloves and a gun-holster. I think I even fell asleep like that.
By the third day they were itchin’ to get outside. The sun came out, and Dutch’s latest love is baseball so he begged me to pitch him a few rounds. I dragged myself outside but quickly realized standing up wasn’t going to work. So I put a pillow down on the grass, wrapped myself in a fleece blanket, and laid right there in the front yard while they played.
And played and played and played.
2 1/2 hours later they were still going strong. We played frisbee (I throw it from lying down and they retrieve, like puppies, and bring it back). We played a version of Duck-Duck-Goose which involved then standing nearby and me saying duck-duck-duck-duck-duck-GOOSE! then they ran like wild animals to a nearby tree and back. They both “won” everytime. Beautiful. Then of course we played hide and seek. I hid in my blanket (surprise!) and Heidi thought it was the greatest delight to search all over the yard and “find” me once again.
Then they grew tired of me and were content to play on their own. I pulled the blankets over my head and ignored the neighbors driving by, they must have thought I was crazy.
When Jeff came home from work we were playing Red-Light-Green-Light, Me flat on my back giving red and green commands while they raced toward me, all ridiculous giggles. (Yes, he snapped a pic.)
A little sheepishly, I must admit: I think my kids like the flu. Although they were sad to see me in pain (Heidi kept saying, “In five minutes you feel better?”) they sure got a whole lot of my attention. No scurrying around, cleaning, playdates, meetings, errands.
A friend texted me earlier: “What’s God teaching you through this?” I had no idea.
Now I know.
{Thanks for reading.}
Trading Mommy Guilt for Mommy Grace
Thanks, reader Michelle, for your thoughts on this topic to which we can all relate a little too well!
—
In a society of parenting magazines and books galore, guilt rings loud from every corner: the food we buy or don’t, the time we spend or don’t, the activities we choose or don’t.
And that is how I found myself Googling up a storm:
- “how to play with a toddler”
- “what activities to do with a toddler”
- “how much time to play with a toddler”
I struggle with getting down on the floor to play. We spend plenty of time out for walks, washing dishes, reading stacks of books, eating together. But plop me on the floor with a pile of Duplos and stuffed animals? My attention span shrinks to that of a goldfish.
I love my little girl. I love her onomatopoeia- and food-centric vocabulary. I love the pride she takes in putting things in the trash all by herself. I love her giggles, her hugs…everything about this child. And so I find myself often worrying: if I love her, why don’t I play with her more? Doesn’t she need that from me?
Then one day, my little one started a new game. She put a felt tomato in a pot and brought it from her play kitchen to the ottoman. After warning me it was hot, she set it down and folded her hands.
And she waited for me to pray for her felt tomato.
Stunned, I folded my own hands and bowed my head. “Father, thank You for this food and for this day, Amen.”
“Amen!” she squealed, completely delighted.
My prayer had not been long or pretty or even particularly inspiring. But that didn’t stop my little girl from asking for another one.
And so a new game began. Here, there, and anywhere in our day, my daughter would stop and want to pray. “Pway!” I would hear and watch her shiny grin as she folded her hands and waited for me to begin. We thanked Jesus for Papa, for the sunshine, for our snack, for the great deal on pasta sauce…whatever was at hand or on my mind.
We asked God to show us how to use our time, how to love others, how to minister to this or that person. We prayed for our church’s missionaries. We prayed for the boy we sponsor through Compassion.
And then I had one of those days. One of those husband working late, the laundry monster is hungry, not feeling well, and the little one’s teething kind of days. After spinning my wheels and getting nowhere, I looked down in my daughter’s eyes and knew I had to change courses.
I sat down beside her on the floor, next to the drying rack filled with damp shirts and diapers. “Mama’s having a bad day…can I pray?”
Like a little sage, she nodded and waited. My tears poured out with words of struggle and hurt and exhaustion. I don’t recall the words, but I still remember the peace I felt afterward as I hugged my baby girl near.
She doesn’t ask to pray as often anymore, but when she does, I tell her to do the talking. “Tankoo” kicks off a string of sweet baby babble that melts my heart, even though I don’t understand a word of it.
I still need to put forth the effort to play with my daughter, to love on her by playing dolls and blocks, but watching her bow her head at the dinner table or fold her hands in her crib while Papa prays before bed remind me that God can use even imperfect mommies like me to reach His children.
{I love how Michelle traded mama-guilt for mama-grace when she embraced the sacred mundane by simply praying with and for her girl. Everything is “play” to children if we do it with joy and grace. Thanks for reading.}
—
Michelle Jorgenson is mother to one dainty toddler girl and wife to a professor-in-training. She spends naptime spinning yarns and her first novel, Regardless, chronicles the life of a believer in the early church as he brushes shoulders with real people from the Bible.
Disciplining Daffodils.
It was March 13th and there was 6 inches of snow outside. For adults, snow in March doesn’t hold the same wonder as snow in December. But children know no seasons.
Snow is snow and my kids were crazy with excitement.
Not that “crazy” was a new way to characterize them. They were fabulous on our vacation, truly. It was delightful. But, consider — we were on a vacation in Hawaii. It’s not that hard to obey when it’s 84 degrees outside and you’re playing in the sand. 🙂
Back home it was a little harder. They weren’t necessarily disobeying or defiant, they were just wired. Crazy. They giggled and wiggled and spun like tops and fell out of chairs and I kept asking God for patience and consistency to help them get their minds and bodies back into the swing of reality.
Then it snowed.
Like gasoline to a flame is snow to a hyper child.
So after our chores I said yes, we could go outside to play. Socks, sweatshirts, gloves, hats, boots — they were finally ready and I sent them outside for two minutes by themselves so I could get my own boots and coat and join them. As soon I closed the door and turned around …
THUD.
Scream.
*Deep breath*
Open the door. Heidi is bawling, snow all over her face. Dutch’s eyes are wide, frantic, guilty.
“I didn’t mean to hit her!” (Didn’t mean to throw a snowball in her face?!)
I didn’t yell. (Thank you, Lord for grace.) I gathered Heidi up in my arms, brushed the snow off her face. Dutch started walking away to go play in the snow.
Not so fast, darlin’.
The snowball wasn’t malicious but it was foolish. I explained to Dutch that he was not showing self-control, and told him to go stay in his room, in bed, to practice self-control while Heidi and I played outside.
He. Was. Devastated.
Right or wrong method, that was my choice and I could tell it broke his heart. It broke mine too. He’d had his heart set on playing in the snow and Heidi didn’t even care that much about being outside. Snow is his favorite thing. He went to his room, crying, pleading to go outside. I stood still at the doorway, holding Heidi, listening to him cry from his room.
Outside in the snow were Daffodils.
Daffodils, blooming brilliant yellow on this March day, were buried in six inches of snow. You could barely see their bright faces bowed down low, weighted with snow. Suddenly it was silent and I heard a verse I didn’t know by heart:
“Discipline him while there is hope, do not set your heart on putting him to death.” Proverbs 19:18
Disciplining daffodils.
I had to do it or they would die.
I quickly set Heidi on her feet, looked into her confused face: “Trust Mama.” She did. I went inside and grabbed scissors. Returned. Took her hand in mine and led her out into the snow. We took each weighted daffodil, snipped the stem down low, gathered them in our hands and carried them inside.
The warmth of the kitchen enveloped us. I breathed gently on the flowers, melting the snow, arranged them in a glass vase by the kitchen sink. They still drooped sadly, and I thought it might be too late, the ice had made a few petals translucent, like frozen lettuce. I’d just have to wait and see.
By now Dutch’s room was quiet.
There is still hope; I will not set my heart on his death. I took Heidi back out in the snow.
As we played, he thawed.
Left alone, our children are buried low under the weight of sin.
Though painful, we must cut those stems and save them. While there is still hope. If we ignore it, we set our hearts on putting them to death.
I had to save the daffodils. I have to save my son.
After awhile, I went inside. Peaked my head in his door. His tear-stained face beamed bright in a smile, “Mommy, I have self-control!!” With a tear-filled laugh I gathered him up, smothered him with kisses and told him it was time to go play.
And play we did.
Today, the daffodils are tall and bright. The snow is gone. They were saved.
{Thank you for reading.
Thanks, hon, for taking the picture so I can remember…}
Rx: FUN
{I’m on an airplane today, savoring these sweet words from my lifelong friend and mommy of three, Janae. Enjoy …}
—
Yesterday was day 3 with a feverish & fussy baby. Her molars are on the move & it has been brutal.
I googled “1 year molars” and clicked on the first link that looked promising. It suggested all of the typical solutions—chew toys, pain medicine, extra cuddles, etc. But there was one tip that stood out: do something fun to take their mind off the pain they feel.
And so today fun was my #1 goal.
It just so happened that my husband went out of town early this morning & my two oldest kids didn’t want him to leave without saying goodbye. They were up almost 2 hours earlier than normal. So I was too. Not my idea of fun—especially after the sleepless night the baby & I had. But, I greeted my kids with enthusiasm and was grateful for the chance to see my husband before he left.
While the baby slept, my two oldest and I made Chocolate Chip Waffles. It was a first for all of us. OH MY. Delicious.
To burn off the sugar high, I determined we needed to get out in the fresh air. We went to all of our favorite places—the donut store (what the kids call the grocery store—the donuts are superb), choo-choo store (a pharmacy with a train table so the kids can play while I shop), the bank, park & post office.
My oldest two each pushed a little toy stroller & my baby rode happily in the wagon from place to place.
While we journeyed we played red-light green-light; we examined the ground to determine if we were seeing teeny tiny sticks or worms; we jumped, skipped, galloped and ran. It was a blast.
We were pulled from our own little world of discovery and fascination by a couple of sweet ladies. They were smitten with my little trio of blondes. After asking all of their ages (4, 2 & 1) and discovering my daughters are not twins (they suspected they were), one of them looked at me and said, “You bring back such special memories. Cherish these days.” Then she looked at me, deep in my eyes, and she saw what I try so hard to hide, “Even if you are tired—cherish it.”
I thanked her for her reminder, told her I agreed whole-heartedly, and wished both of them a good day. As we walked toward home I started to pray because I felt an unsettling in my heart. The urgency behind her words & the obviousness of my exhaustion threw me.
Days like today are easy to cherish. The house was clean, the fridge was full, the laundry was mostly caught up, the housework was minimal and my only task for the day was to have fun.
The kids were ecstatic every step of the way.
But, today wasn’t a representation of my reality. The truth is there are days when everyone is sick or when I fight for their naps or when the house is a complete and utter disaster. There are seasons that I feel lonely in parenting because my husband works endless hours. There are moments that I have absolutely no idea what I am doing & feel trapped in my own insecurity. There are times that I am consumed by worry, guilt and regret.
And that is when I need to let go, give it all to God & pour myself into those I love.
Yes, just like my baby, I needed a day of fun to forget what I feel.
Tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll do the dishes I neglected tonight, tidy up the toys that are scattered throughout the house & do a load or two of laundry. I’ll do it with joy, because my heart has been recharged and renewed.
And tonight as I drift into sweet slumber, I will give thanks—for this life He has given me and for these children I get to raise and my husband I get to love. And what better way to cherish this wonderful, challenging & exhausting stage of life than to give thanks?
{Amen and well said. Thanks for reading…}
#51 Get Help {52 Bites}
Today I’m flying down to Southern Oregon to speak at a retreat, entrusting the sweet babes to Jeff and his mom. No better time than today to celebrate help!
~
All of us have choices about what we will do. Whether it’s raising four kids or working full-time or growing your own food or writing a book or regularly serving in your church, we all have things we do and we all have the responsibility to manage the homes, habits, and hearts that God has entrusted to us. And sometimes, in order to do this well, we need to get help.
We talked about this about a month ago when we asked the question, “How do you do it all?” Two quick thoughts from that and then let’s talk about getting help.
1. Maintain constant conversation with God.
This has been the huge lesson for me the past few months. My friend and discipler, Elisa, always reminds me that she gives God her schedule. Every day. No principles can ever replace the Person of the Holy Spirit who is able to direct our very steps throughout the day. All our well-intentioned time-management solutions will fall short if we haven’t simply asked God what His will is for our day.
2. Be just as purposeful about what you don’t do as what you do.
I think this was the big lesson of our discussion a few months ago. We talked about what we don’t do and how we can relax about it. Again, back to #1 — we need to seek God daily to ask Him which things we need to let go.
3. Get help.
Now onto today’s topic. This portion of Tsh’s book is straight from her excellent post here. Meagan Francis also has a great post on the same topic.
For me, help comes in the form of family and friends. Jeff is great about making Fridays Daddy Day so I can write. He’s also just a really low-maintenance guy, so just the fact that he’ll eat anything I make helps me a lot. My parents also help, now that my mom is back on her feet. They’re aiming to come on Mondays so I can write then as well. Huge blessing.
And then, of course, where would I be without friends? Most often it is my friend Danielle who can take the kids for an hour, bring me soup when I’m sick, grab that 10 lb. bag of carrots from Costco. I truly think that simply living in community is the greatest source of help.
Here’s my point: Chances are there is someone in your life who wants to help. Be it a grandparent, friend, sister, aunt, spouse, usually there is someone who would be happy to step up if there were a clear way that he or she could serve.
When Heidi was born things were nuts. Dutch was just 2, I was in seminary full time, Jeff was in seminary, our house sold 6 days after she was born, and we had nowhere to move. I made a big list entitled: “Ways people can help.” So whenever someone called or stopped by and asked that question, I always had an answer. (And yes, people I’d just met scrubbed my toilets and packed all the dishes in my kitchen!)
So, do you need help? If so, where will you go to find it? First, pray (then pray some more) and then:
1. Make a list of people who might like to help.
2. Make a list of ways people could help.
3. Ask.
Then, receive the help graciously.
And now my application: I’d actually love to ask for some help from you.
1. If you enjoy writing, love Jesus, and have a blog, I’d love for you to guest post. If you’re interested I can send you more information and guidelines, just contact me here.
2. We’ve had some technical issues with this site, so we’re in the process of redoing a number of things. One of these is the subscribers. If you’d like to receive posts slipped into your feedreader or email each day, please click the icon above-right to do so. (Email is the one that looks like an envelope.) If you have already done that in the past, could you please re-subscribe so that we can have everyone together in one place? Thank you for your help!
{Also, would you help by your gracious prayers for me this weekend? Thank you Jeff, M&D, Nana for all your generous help! And thank you, all, for your grace and kindness, and for reading.}
Of all the mommies in the whole wide world …
I tuck his quilt up around his chin, kiss his forehead, lean in and rest my cheek against his, inhale that puppy breath. He smiles, sleepy eyes dancing as he asks,
“Mommy will you do the thing where you pick me?”
I smile.
My friend Heather had taught me this last year…
“Oh Dutch, if I took all the little boys in the whole wide world, and I packed them all into a giant football stadium; and if I went through one-by-one and looked at every single little boy in the whole wide world. I’d look at each one and say Nope, not this one; Nope not this one; Nope not this one. Then I’d say, That’s the one! That’s the one I want! Do you know who I would pick?”
He can’t contain himself he’s smiling down to his toes, giggles erupt.
“Me! Me! You’d pick me!”
“That’s right babyboy, I’d pick you.”
He grins, content. “Will you do the girl one?”
I share the same story about all the little girls, then narrow it down to one. “Do you know who I would pick?” Again he’s giddy: “Heidi!”
“That’s right. I’d pick Heidi.”
Heidi perks up her ears from across the room. “Mommy will you do the thing where you pick me?”
I go over and repeat the story for her. No matter how many times they hear this they still just bubble over, they love it so much.
When I finish I hear Dutch say it softly from across the room.
“If I took all the little mommies … uh … big mommies in the whole wide world and I went through every one. I’d say Nope not that one, nope not that one, nope not that one. Do you know who I’d pick?” His grin stretches to his ears, you’d think he held the biggest secret in the world.
“You Mommy! I’d pick you!” I shake my head, laughing.
These kids heap love when they are loved.
Heidi wants to join the fun and pipes up in her bird-chirp voice:
“If I took a’ the li’l mommies in the whole world, I would look and say No not that one. No not that one.” and of a’ the li’l mommies in the whole wide world I would pick …
Daddy!”
We all erupt. Heidi’s won the day.
—-
{Where can you heap love today? Who needs to know that you’d choose them every time? Thanks for reading.}
On Mothering: A Beautiful Waste
I tiptoe in the dark, kneel down by Heidi’s bed, gather her up into my arms, then ease into the rocking chair. Her coughing eases into sleep as I remember these words …
—-
Mary tiptoed into the room, quietly knelt, and broke her alabaster flask, anointing Jesus’ feet.
The cost of that flask was almost a year’s wages–equivalent to 40-50 Thousand, dollars–all contained in her flask. It was probably her dowry, her worth as a marriageable woman.
All she owned.
Broken, poured out, wasted on Jesus’ feet of all things. The disciples, very logically and wisely, insisted there would certainly be a better use of those resources than dumping $50,000 on Jesus’ feet!
I would have thought the same thing.
Or, wouldn’t it have been so much smarter, to pour the oil into three containers, use 1/3 of the money for the poor, 1/3 of the money for her dowry, and a 1/3 of the oil use to offer to Jesus? That seems wise. Or, she could have worshiped him with words, she could have hugged Him, kissed Him, praised Him. Come on, I mean, really?! You have to waste all that good money by dumping it on the floor?
But Jesus thought it was a beautiful waste. He commends her, and then amazingly chooses to record it in Scripture, so that this woman’s story would be told around the world for the rest of history to know.
He thought her waste was beautiful.
Before she died at 95 my dear Aunt Lois shared these timeless words of truth:
But the important qualification for that truth is that nothing’s wasted that is given to God. Lots is wasted. People waste their lives all the time. The woman in the story could have dumped her alabaster flask into the trash and it would have truly been wasted. Utterly wasted.
But “wasted” on the feet of Jesus meant that not a drop was wasted, it was invested with the highest return–the glory of God, the worship of Jesus, the love and praise of the Savior.
That is beautiful waste.
And the beauty of the anointing wasn’t in the value of the flask’s contents–it was in the value of the sacrifice. We know throughout Scripture, from Abraham to David to the widow with the two mites to Mary and her flask, that the value of our offering is not in what we give, but in what we give up. Yes, there is a double meaning there. What we give up is what we sacrifice, which is the true measure of our worship. And, what we give up is given upwards to God, with His glory as the intended aim.
The value of our worship is what we give up, what we waste for His sake in response to His extravagant love for us.
What is my sacrifice? What is your sacrifice? What is our alabaster flask, what it is we can waste on his feet?
I had asked this. Waited. Asked God to show me.
The one thing He mentioned made tears slip silently down my cheek.
Giving up my time, my ambitions, my dreams, my preferences, to lay down my life for my kids, to giving every ounce of my being to investing in them to be Christ followers, Kingdom advancers, lovers of God. That seems so natural, but for me it’s not. Often it’s hard. Giving time and energy to writing and teaching God’s Word is not a sacrifice for me. It’s fun. Thrilling. Rewarding. Studying, reading, learning, teaching—all of those things are good and I’ll keep doing them, but they are not really a sacrifice.
Mommying.
A silent tear slipped down my cheek as I realized that was my alabaster flask. How appropriate that as I prayed those words I was holding my sick daughter upright to keep her from coughing, bouncing her softly and letting her pat my face with her soft, doughy hands, kissing her feverish, sweaty head.
Right there in my arms was the answer to my question.
Where is yours?
What is yours?
I’m praying for God to show me how to live this beautiful waste, how to fight the gnawing hunger for productivity, turn the clock to the wall, and wastefully invest in the two precious souls He’s entrusted to my care. One of them is coughing, so I must go. Let my life be a beautiful waste, O God.
{Soaking up these words from a few years ago … true today just as they were then. Thanks for reading.}
Happy Birthday, Heidi.
She looks down, shy, but I can see her smiling. I’ve just asked her a question:
“What would you like to do for your birthday?”
It crept up on us. With all the sickness a few other commitments, the day came upon me and I’d hardly had time to consider her special day. Thankfully I’d already snagged the Dora paper plates back in December when I bought the pirate ones for Dutch. I don’t shop much.
She says it quiet in her little bird-chip voice: That she’d like a Dora party, a pink cake, and chicken. Well-planned, I tell her. And as I name friends off she says no to them all.
“Only Nana, Papa & Oma?” She nods. Only them. And I don’t even have to ask what she will wear–either baggy khaki pants and a white t-shirt (in the picture, above) or her “ball clothes”– a Seattle Seahawk sweatsuit.
My little girl has taught me oh-so-much.
~
I remember reading a prayer my mom wrote in my babybook the day I was born. She prayed that God would give her the grace to raise me in the way I should go. Not to mold me into a mini-version of her, but to cultivate me and let me be the girl God made me to be.
What a gift to have a mom like that!
And God answered that prayer. Bless her, my mom must have torn out her hair at times. I’m not much like her (but wish I were!). She chose her battles, let me wear the mis-matched clothes and let my hair go wild. As a teen, when I showed no interest in bread-baking, knitting, or sewing, she smiled and bought me the Air Jordan basketball shoes.
Oh the gift of a mom who let me be me.
And now as I can hardly breathe praying those same words — it’s terrifying to hold a little girl in your arms. To her a little girls’ life. Dutch will kick the world down and be just fine. Will I empower her to fly or will I squash her wings trying to make her what I want her to be? Or worse, trying to make her just like me.
Heidi Elizabeth Patterson, the babygirl God has given me, becomes a little girl today. A 3-year-old girl today with the biggest blue eyes and bunny-rabbit teeth and spiral curls that make me melt.
The girl who often says, “I don’t wan’ be pretty.” The girl who chooses sweatpants and scorns bows and tights. The girl who loves Legos and Startroopers. The girl were wants her hair wild and loves sweatpants … but wants those sweatpants to be pink.
I am learning, every day, who Heidi is. And oh for grace to raise her into the woman God created her to be. To help her find the song God intended her to sing. I don’t know exactly what it will be but I’m so excited to see.
And Heidi, let it be known–I’m crazy-in-love with the girl that you are. I admire you already. I love your go-after-it attitude and your positive outlook on the world. I believe you will bring JOY to the world through your life.
You’ve already brought it to mine.
Happy birthday, my sweet girl. Mama loves you.
{Thanks for reading.}
Today. {All the joys that make every job take longer.}
Today when I did the laundry you were my helper. Someone’s underwear wound up on your head as you laughed yourself silly and it took me twice as long to finish as you insisted you do it “by self” …
Today when I put clean sheets on the bed you both “hid” under the bottom sheet while I made the bed on top of you. Then I “searched” for you and pretended to take a nap on top of you. You laughed yourselves exhausted. “Do it again, Mommy!” I did and so got a late start on dinner …
Today when we made cookies I let you stir it all by yourself. When I turned to answer the phone you stirred the oats out all over the floor. I let you form the balls all by yourself, you were so proud. Your sleeves covered in flour and dough. It meant re-cleaning the floor and more laundry in the hamper …
Today when I was doing my Bible Study I stopped and re-read the detailed Lego Specifications for at least twenty-five Star Wars sets (including series numbers and release-years). You leaned in close, studying the page, taking it all in. I’ve read them all before at least a dozen times. I guess I’ll finish my Bible study later …
Today I climbed in the bathtub with you both. It was lukewarm, not hot, and a rubber starfish and blue whale were lodged behind my back. You both laughed and splashed and when I finally got out you asked me to stay just a little bit longer …
Today I snuggled you both under your covers. The dryer buzzed but I let you “keep me” just a few minutes longer. You asked me to tell you a story about when I was little. So I did. And when you prayed I closed my eyes and thought about all the extra time it took to do my chores today. And how silly you are and how loud you sing and how long you laugh and how sorry I would be to miss any of this just so I could get the chores done.
And then, I thanked God for all of the joys that make every job take longer.
{Praying your day is full of joys as well. Thanks for reading.}{
Children's Chores Made EasIER
(EDIT at 11am on Monday morning: Seeing that I had to spend 2 extra hours this morning working on a little boy’s poor attitude regarding chores, I propose the title changing to Children’s Chores Made EasIER. Nothing’s easy about children and chores but this does truly help! 🙂
I think that the Letter Lessons post was the last time I wrote something on what works for us in parenting.
That was more than 2 years ago. Hmmm.
(I guess the Picture Plan was tossed in there this year too.)
At any rate, ya’ll know that in our world it’s lots of trial and also a lot of error, and occasionally we strike it rich and find something that works. Really works.
Sound the alarm, we found one more thing.
Chore Cards.
I know, nothing revolutionary. Perhaps ya’ll already do this. But for me this has proven a phenomenal way to tie together homeschooling, chores, and a daily, predictable, regular routine that keeps us all moving forward (and keeps Mama sane!).
Here was the dilemma: A just-turned-5-year-old-boy who wants to play Legos all day long and not lift a finger to do school or chores if I let him have this way. (Heidi on the other hand would like to do ALL our chores for us if we let her. That little girl’s a worker!) Every day it was a battle all afresh to read and write and make our beds.
Enter chore cards. We began more than a month ago and I love it. The new simple guideline is that we don’t play until the stack of cards is complete. Each morning they simply sit at his place at the breakfast table, and as each one’s complete he puts them away.
His responsibility.
Yes, most of them are things I need to help him with, but it still puts the burden of responsibility on him, not me. For us, we chose 12 simple things we do each day, and I wrote them in simple words that he can read. It usually takes from 8-10am to do all 12 (sometimes shorter) and then he has the rest of the day free. DONE.
Dutch’s Cards:
- Dish in sink. (this one’s a freebie since he always takes his breakfast dish in automatically anyway.)
- Get dressed.
- Make bed.
- Brush and floss.
- Trash down. (Taking trash down to the carport.)
- Verses. (Recites his Bible memory verses)
- Bob Books (Reads 3-4 of his most recent books.)
- Write. (Does whatever writing assignment I give him.)
- Math. (Usually this is something around the house–counting doorknobs, subtracting one room’s # of something from another room’s … “life math”)
- Bible. (I read from the Gospel Story Bible and we do the discussion questions and pray about what we learned.)
- Mom Read. (I read from the DK Book of Knowledge, it covers all kinds of science and history topics. I skip the stupid parts that refer to evolution. 🙂
- “Is there anything else?” (This is my wild-card for any other occasional-chores that need to be done: Laundry put away, Legos picked up, wood brought up from downstairs, etc.)