A Dose of Compassion
I’ve already carried on about the magical wonders of Riversong. The car is packed, and we’re leaving in 45 minutes. I’m beside myself with excitement to see my sweet husband. I’ve loved time away, of course, but home is where my man is, and no matter how soothing the sound of the rushing river is at night, I miss his warm self next to me. Besides, sharing a room with Heidi is no picnic, since she wakes at the slightest sound of me rolling over and moving my leg. And in my odd obsession with not overpacking, I’ve been wearing the same pair of pants all week and Heidi’s only had one sock since Wednesday. We’re all looking forward to home.
This week has been enormously encouraging in the area of parenting. Being around my parents all day, each day, provides excellent accountability. When I’m alone, I find myself much quicker to lose my patience, get frustrated, or ignore a misbehavior. And, because I”m usually going at it all alone, I just get so worn out sometimes I’m too tired to care. But here, with two extra pairs of arms, I have the rest and energy to be ultra-consistent.–not in a breathing-down-his-neck sort of way, but just in an always-there sort of way, ready to encourage, correct, praise, admonish. Also, while I’m here, I’m not distracted by dishes, laundry, email, and social and relational dramas. I’m just all here. I spend a lot of time just sitting and watching Dutch play. Yesterday we spent two hours just sitting down by the river throwing rocks. Today we spent the afternoon at Aunt Linda’s house, exploring the creek and eating fresh strawberries. And since my mom is a parenting and homeschooling guru, I find myself picking up books to read and then 2 hours later setting them down with a renewed passion to train my kids in the ways of the Lord. I picked up The Christian Homeschool, and am floored by it. Great stuff.
But the biggest thing I think I’m taking away from this week, from time with the kids, chats with the parents, and pages flipped in a number of books, is a dose of compassion for my little lambs God’s entrusted to my care. I admit, there are times I feel like Dutch’s beahvior is a ruthless personal attack on my sanity. I see him as something to conquer. I see the problems as reflections of my own failures and inadequacies (which has a bit of truth to it). But this week I just needed a big dose of this perspective: My kids are lost little sheep, who are desperately trying to figure out how to navigate this crazy, scary, sinful world. They are unregenerate, warped by sin even at their tender age. They are bent on self, they are uneqipped for life. They are frantically trying to understand boundaries, figure out behavior, and… let’s be honest, trying to figure out how to get their way at all cost. This afternoon I was having a talk with Dutch, and it was like I was giving him “secret advice” on life. And it was like, by some miracle, he really believed that if he just tried this secret advice, the situation would actually work out. He tried it. And it did.
I know it won’t always work out that easily, but I had to repent today of my selfishness with regard to child-rearing. I was looking for answers primarily so it wouldn’t be so hard for me. My primary interest, I really think, was still myself rather than my kids. This week I realized how selfish my motives have been. Deep down, my ugly motive was to “have good kids” rather than a motive of selfless love for them, wanting them to succeed, flourish, achieve. It was a subtley skewed perspective, but sinful nonetheless.
So thank you, Lord, for a dose of compassion for my kids. Bless them, they don’t have a clue. Thank you that you are compassionate toward us, as we don’t have a clue. Thank you that You love our children worlds more than we can ever imagine. Give us selfless love for them, a love that engulfs and destroys the garbage of our own egos, agendas, selfish priorities, pride. Help me help them, God. Thank you for making me their mommy. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
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* I apologize to all of you who had to read my headline typo! I could use “an dose” of editing!
What's so special about Riversong?
If you’ve followed this blog for long, you’ve probably heard me mention how much I love coming out to Riversong, my parents’ beautiful home along the River. If you’ve followed this blog for few years you’ll also remember, however, that I did not like living here. 🙂 In my daily life I appreciate things like cell phone service, being able to go for walks and runs (narrow, windy country roads aren’t conducive to this), a 30-second drive to Safeway for fresh milk, and a 1-minute drive to Starbucks if I’m having a rough day. I also love neighbors, and I especially love mine.
But living in the hustle bustle of busy suburbia does seem to press in on the margin of my life, until I begin longing for white space and teetering on the verge of a pang of resentment that all the squares on my calendar have words scribbled on them. It’s then that I know it’s time for Riversong.
This time, I actually wasn’t feeling over-busy or resentful, but Jeff is out of town for the week, so rather than sulk at home wishing I were also attending Catalyst West, we tossed Dutch’s muck boots and my latest parenting book in the car and ventured to our wilderness home away from home.
So what’s so special about this place?
First off, there’s something about a place with a name. I’m instantly transported to a Rosamunde Pilcher novel. When I turn off the main road, down the steep gravel drive, then right between the old crumbling concrete pillars and by the wooden Riversong sign, I feel my shoulders begin to relax. This time, all the apple blossoms are exquisite white bursts against the cold, bare, wintery branches. The river is still dark and rushing. The first spots of green poke through the dark, moist dirt in the garden.
Secondly, you can’t see another house. The horses next door, an occasional deer, and the osprey nesting across the river are the only visitors, unless Tony the neighbor down the road decides to drop off some of his fresh Mahi Mahi he’s caught on one of his Mexico fishing expeditions. No complaints there!
Third, it’s a good thing I don’t stay here for long, because you can count on my parents to have the pantry stocked. This trip it’s the doublestuff Oreos, fresh strawberry shortcake, and baked mac ‘n cheese.
Afternoons throwing rocks in the river, evenings in the hot tub, sipping tea in the light of early morning, watching the river outside the front room window, sitting at the dining room table talking to Mom, unaware of hours slipping by.
And I think that’s really it. Riversong is magical because of who my parents are. They make Riversong a place of restoration, healing, calm, beauty. They take you as you are, fuss over nothing, revel in the joy of being able to serve others with the home God has given them. I guess that’s what makes it so special out here–the spirit of joy and calm and rest. Whatever it is, I’m thankful I’m here for now.
The Waters of Sanctification
God knocked me on my backside tonight.
I never cease to be amazed at how God’s Word is just that, God’s word, and how it is living and active, how it pierces our hearts, speaks to the moment, convicts and encourages and teaches and guides. And sometimes, it catches me off guard and about knocks me off my feet.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been a bit discouraged with parenting. Specifically, with my three-year-old’s behavior in Sunday School at church. We’ve done sticker charts, we’ve done rewards, we’ve done treats, we’ve done corporal punishment, we’ve done time-outs, we’ve done praise and applause and jumping up and down. We’ve talked about it, cried about it, prayed about it. And something still just isn’t working right, and quite frankly it has me discouraged and a bit weary. Though I love worshipping with God’s people, I find myself dreading every trip to church, dreading the check-in time when inevitably Dutch will morph into “dangerous shark terror”, dreading the pick-up time when I hear that Dutch took off his shoe and threw it at someone (yes, that was yesterday), dreading the look on the teachers’ faces when they see Dutch arrive. I feel like going to a therapy meeting and saying, “Hi, I’m Kari, and yes, my son is ‘that kid’.”
So today I hit a low point and caught myself in the comparison trap, and not only the comparison trap, but an even uglier version–the prideful comparison trap.
“Why this, Lord? I’m busting my tail at parenting. I read all the books, try all the methods, pray pray pray. I study the Word, I teach him Bible verses, I don’t work so I can spend all day with him. This is humiliating and I feel like everyone’s an expert on this except me. Why am I apparently the only one failing in this area? I don’t want to be the mom of the bad kid! How on earth can I be a women’s ministry leader and Bible teacher if my son clocks people in the head with his shoe?!!”
Then I remembered something a friend (who can very much identify with my situation), said the other day: “It’s very humbling to have ‘that kid’, isn’t it?” Oh boy is it ever.
So after my little hissy fit, tonight we were doing our little family devotional time with Dutch. We were all snuggled in bed and Jeff was reading from the Jesus Storybook Bible. The story, which I’d read to him a dozen times before, was of Naaman, the very important commander of the Syrian army, who was sick with leprosy, and sought the healing prayer of Elisa the prophet. But instead of Elisha coming out to greet him, bowing down to Naaman in honor, Elisha doesn’t even come out of his house, but instead sends out his servant who tells Naaman to simply wash in the stinky, smelly Jordan river seven times. Now Naaman was ticked, saying,
“I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the LORD his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?” (2 Kings 5:11-12)
So then he turns in a rage and storms off.
Do you hear the pride? Naaman wanted God to heal Him using Naaman’s methods, methods that reinforced his own pride and met his expectations of what miraculous healing should look like.
Who finally speaks some reason into this prideful heart? Interestingly, Naaman’s servants:
“But [Naaman’s] servants came near and said to him, “My father, it is a great word the prophet has spoken to you; will you not do it?”
In other words, “God has given you a clear directive for your healing and restoration. Are you really telling me you’re too proud to do it?”
Am I too proud to do it?
How many times have I prayed, “God heal me of my pride. God sanctify me. God grant me humility. God grant me a teachable spirit. God help me connect with the real needs of women around me. God help me grow in maturity and wisdom. God reveal areas that are sinful that need Your touch. God heal me of my selfishness, heal me of my insecurity, heal me of myself.”
Go wash in the Jordan.
Go wash in the murky, stinky waters of a toddler’s rebellion and embarrassing misbehavior. Go wash in the murky water of trial and error, of charting unknown waters, of trying new things that oftentimes don’t work. Go wash in the waters of humility, in the waters of asking others for help, in the waters of exhausting repetition and consistency. Go wash in the waters of faith and not of sight.
“But Lord! I’d rather wash in the crystal clean waters of Bible Study. I’d like to grow in my sanctification by…hmm…how about blogging? That’s a fun way to grow! Or perhaps by really successful speaking engagements, that’s fun too. Or by really encouraging, deep, meaningful times in the Word each and every morning. That would be fabulous. Or perhaps I could even just read a few good books, underline a lot, and then have the whole thing down pat. That’d be great. But these waters? The waters of the Jordan? These are stinky and smelly and humiliating.”
But these are the waters of life. Finally, Naaman saw the error of his ways, and in verse 14 we read,
“So he went down and dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God, and his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.”
Ok, Lord. I’ll go. I’ll wash–seven times. I’ll keep praying for this boy, keep persevering with consistency, keep listening to the advice that comes way, keep praying for creativity and wisdom. And even if you’ve called me to have “that kid”, I humbly receive your directives and pray you’ve give me the grace to submit to these waters of sanctification. They may be smelly, but I believe I will emerge, at some point, restored, renewed, and healed of myself.
Letter Lessons
This may interest next to none of you, but I’m posting it for my own accountability!
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I didn’t think I”d have to make the homeschool-or-not decision until much farther down the road, but it seems that nowadays the second a kid turns three they head to preschool. I certainly won’t make any decisions about what’s right for other kids, but at this point we’re not sending Dutch to preschool, mostly because I need all the time I can to shape that crazy wicked heart of his.
So I recently red this Revolutionary Parenting book, and Jeff and I spent time in Texas talking through our plan for this next year, for Dutch. If he’s not in preschool I figured I better figure out what he’s supposed to be learning! And it seems fairly unanimous, among Christian educators (and my mom who owns the subject), that the way to go is teaching character primarily, with other skills as secondary. Basically, use character lessons in order to teach math, reading, science, etc. That makes sense to me, since it doesn’t matter if Dutch can do algebra by age 5, if he’s lazy, dishonest, and rude he’ll still be sunk.
So, bear with me, this is kinda scary and vulnerable to share my idea. I’m one of those people who does best (perhaps it’s pride), teaching something that I developed myself. I have to own it to teach it. So I decided that to teach Dutch the alphabet, we would learn one letter each week, through a focus on a character trait. Jeff’s goal is to do a little mini Dinner Devotional–basically a 5 minute Bible story that relates to the character trait we’re learning. Then we’d reinforce manifestations of that character trait, reinforce the letters through things he’s interested in (they have Thomas the train engines for almost every letter of the alphabet), read verses about that trait, you get the idea.
So, our 26 character traits, specifically picked out because of Dutch’s unique–ahem–needs.
Attentive
Brave
Compassion
Discipline
Enthusiasm (not sure that he needs this one)
Forgiveness
Gentleness
Honesty
Integrity
Joyfulness
Kindness
Love
Meekness
Neatness
Obedience
Patience
Quick to respond
Respect
Servanthood
Thankfulness
Understanding
Valuing others
Wisdom
eXercise
Yielding
Zealous
So this week we’ve been doing Attentive, and it’s been kind of fun. He can now recognize the letter a, so that’s cool, and we’ve looked up online and found Thomas engines named Arrie, Alfie, Annie & Arthur. He knows that Attentive means, “See, listen, and respond.” Now, if we can only get him to do it! Jeff taught him the story of the little boy Samuel, who heard God’s voice and responded, “Speak for your servant listens.” He still dumped the bin of Legos on Heidi’s head this morning, however, so we have a ways to go. 🙂
I’d love to hear others/your ideas on teaching preschoolers character traits, as well as reading and math/counting skills. This is so new to me it feels like writing with my left hand, but I figure we have to start somewhere! And I figured if I posted this I’d be less likely to quit. So I’m off to be Attentive!
My little boy's prayers
Sometimes the high points of life with toddlers can be few and far between, but this was a kiss from God for my little boy and me.
Last week, when we’d visited OMSI with a friend, we had run into another girl who was the friend of my friend. We introduced ourselves and I met her little boy Brock, 6 months older than Heidi, and hit it off and had a great time just talking. Well last night, we got a horrified phone call from my friend, saying this girl had accidentally hit or run over her son with her car (every mom’s most horrible nightmare). He was in critical condition at OHSU, and could we please pray like crazy for them. Of course Jeff and I did, as we drove home from our Community Group last night.
So last night as I tucked Dutch into bed, I said it was time to pray, and I started it out for him just like I always do, “Dada God, thank you for…” but he said, “No, let’s pray for Brock.” My eyes widened, “Yes, Dutch. Let’s!”
“Dada God, help Brock get better.” Of course my heart melted.
So today, we were thrilled to receive news that he has been stable, with a concussion and broken ribs, but on the road to full recovery. Hooray! I told Dutch the good news and he got this big smile and said, “Brock is all better!” Of course he got embarrassed when I told him it was because he prayed to God for him, but what an encouragement to my little boy’s heart, and to mine.
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*Please continue to pray for mom Charmin & baby Brock as he continues to recover.
A Big Answer to Prayer!
*For those of you who are SICK of hearing potty-training stories, feel free to skip this one. But it’s such a cool reminder that God cares! This is mostly just for my sake of remembering!
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It just continues to floor me that God is intimately involved in the most mundane details of our lives. I am amazed that He is so creative He can use potty-training — POOP, of all things!– to bring us nearer to Him and show us His love.
So ya’ll know I was pretty discouraged after our initial round of potty training. Saturday was no better. He just was not getting it, and the straw that broke the camel’s back was as I was late to church, having held him over the toilet for ages waiting for him to go, only to finally be done, get him dressed, walk out to car and find that he’d peed his pants again.
So last night I stayed up late again, but this time just praying that God would please just show me what to do–drop it, keep it up, etc. Two things came to mind–one was a great article about why letting kids be naked from the waist down really helps them potty-train–because when they have underwear they get confused because it feels like they have a pull-up on. So they suggested going totally naked. Well since we would be spending 4.5 hours at church today I could hardly pull that one off, but I figured when we were at home I’d give it a try.
The second was that we couldn’t find anything that would really motivate Dutch. I’d thought of spanking, but I just felt like that wasn’t a right move right now–it would motivate him to be sure, but I felt like it wasn’t the right kind of motivation because this wasn’t outright defiance, it was more of stubbornness (sort of defiance) mixed with fear mixed with trying to learn a new skill. But there was just nothing positive I could find to motivate him. He got embarrassed when we cheered for him, he didn’t care about treats or candy, matchbox cars are old news. The one and only thing he is totally crazy obsessed with is Thomas the Train. His friend Cody has the complete set, with tracks on a train table, and for the Rose Bowl we were at their house and no joke, Dutch played upstairs, all by himself, on that train table with Thomas the Train, for FIVE hours straight. He didn’t even eat. He’s totally obsessed with those trains. But those little guys are spendy. I’d gone to Target to get him one and they’re $15-20 each! Yikes! And a train table is at least $100 too. Anyway, pray pray pray, well last night I finally have this ephiphany–Craigslist! But usually the downside of Craigslist is that you find exactly what you want… in Battleground, WA or Forest Grove or somewhere else you don’t want to drive. So I found a bunch of trains in remote locations, but they were still spendy–$100 for a collection of them. I found a set with a train table–for $350. Gulp. Then, just when I’m about to quit, I see two listings–with Thomas collections: for $15 each! Location: West Linn. No way. I email. Close the laptop, pray, go to sleep.
Then this morning, I go to church and somehow (because God is amazing and we have a pastor who preaches His Word!), God totally speaks to me through a message in Nehemiah of all places! I’m pretty sure Nehemiah was not thinking about potty training when he was speaking to the king about restoring the walls of Jerusalem, but it was a kick-your-teeth-in message about perseverance and waiting on the Lord. He spoke at length about persevering through the battles–how just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s not God’s will, in fact that usually means it IS God’s will! He spoke about what to do when we don’t know what to do. Joel said: When you know the What, but you don’t know the How, that’s when you go to the Lord in prayer and ask Him for the how and wait on Him to show you. He also gave an illustration about how we pound and pound a kick at locked doors, striving and stressing and crying and whining, instead of praying and waiting for God to miraculously do his *click*–unlock the door and open it right before us. It applied on so many levels, but I knew that had been me–angry, frustrated, pounding at that stupid potty training door, about to knock it down I was so mad. Then He shared about how God took the worst day in history (Good Friday), and turned it into the best day in history (Easter). In a matter of days, God turned the worst worst into the best best. It can all change in a day. Hmm…ok I know this is WAY ridiculous to compare potty-training to the crucifixion of the Son of God, but I admit I did have the thought–ok, Friday was by far the worst day of parenting I’ve had to date…I wonder if today could be resurrection Sunday?!
So we came home, I took off every stitch of clothes Dutch had on, and we played and talked about Thomas the Train. I even showed him pictures of the collection on Craigslist, and sure enough–he could name every one and was so excited he could hardly stand it. Then, the lady emailed me back to my amazement she lived less than a mile from us! So after another meeting we had at church, I swung by her house, happily paid the $30 and toted my brown paper bag worth its weight in gold, back to the car. (BTW, when I paid the woman she said she’d been reading my blog! How fun is that?!) When I got back home I told Dutch what was in the bag and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. We kept him naked all day, and sure enough–he peed (and pooped!), all by himself, on his own initiative, all day long. We had one accidents, but he earned 7 new trains (and we still have many more to give!). You would have thought Dutch won the lottery the way he go so excited for his trains.
Then, after we put Dutch to bed, my parents called and said they found a train table for $25 on Craigslist… in West Linn! They said they’d buy it for Dutch (to get after a week of successful potty-training), if we picked it up. We called–the woman lived walking distance from our house. It was comical. Jeff and I were just shaking our heads. And she had advertised that it wasn’t in great shape and I have no idea what she was talking about because it is brand new–absolutely brand new, beautiful, even with drawers underneath to stow things.
ANYWAY, obviously this isn’t the end of potty training. And yes, eventually we will run out of trains, so we’ll see what happens then. But this is a huge answer to prayer. And what amazes me is how God weaves all of it together. He knew I’d be frustrated, discouraged. He knew I’d need to run to Him. He knew I’d hear this sermon. He loves my son so much He provided a dream-come-true train collection for him. And He loves me so much He was and is willing to take me through the process to show me more of His love, His character, His tender care for me.
Thanks for ya’ll listening to me along this journey. I know it’s “only” potty-training, but our good God numbers the hairs on our head and even cares about the little bottom of my three-year-old boy. Glory to God.
The Myth of the Perfect Parent
Christianity Today’s January cover article is worth a read:
The Myth of the Perfect Parent
Thoughts?
An Entirely Different Letter to Dutch
Dear Dutch,
I put you to bed early tonight because otherwise I would have thrown you out the window.
I’ve been getting my domestic groove on and have been researching all week this tried-and-true sworn-by method I keep hearing about–potty training in a day. My mom did it with both your uncle Kris and me and she swears by it. I stayed up until midnight last night researching, reading about it, preparing. The expert mom said her kids usually mastered it in 4 hours, all under the age of 3. So I learned how to throw a Potty Party. I baked cupcakes. I wrapped up a “potty bear”, with gift wrap and tissue paper, complete with sweatpants, Lightning McQueen underwear, and a nasal aspirator full of water to make him “pee” in the toilet. I went to the store (with coupons!) and bought plenty of salty snacks and apple juice. I prayed. I educated Jeff about our process–an entire day in the bathroom, graduating from the toilet seat to a chair next to it, then slowly adding articles of clothing as you mastered taking the initiative to go potty yourself. And then your daddy and I sat, on the floor, in the bathroom, reading books to you for NINE HOURS.
And you’re still peeing on the floor.
And I’m sorry to say I was just about as frustrated as I’ve ever been after I’d showed you about two-hundred times how to put on your underwear, and it just wasn’t clicking. I was terrified realizing I could become the mom who yells at their kid when he can’t tie his shoes.
But tonight, when I came back into your room and snuggled in your bed, just to make sure you knew I wasn’t mad, you made the whole ridiculous day worthwhile:
“I love you, Dutch.”
“I love you too, Mommy!”
“I’m so proud of you, Dutch.”
“I’m so proud of you too, Mommy!” and then you covered my face with a dozen of your best wet kisses. That was the first time today that anything wet was a positive thing.
I love you to pieces, you remember that. Even if you wear diapers for the rest of your life I’ll love you. But, babe–you gotta help me out here. You, me, that toilet. We’re gonna get this, alright? We’re doing round two tomorrow. And I’ve resolved not to cry. One of us has to be the grown-up. Deal?
See you in the morning,
mom
New Year's Resolution: The 1950s Housewife
In our marriage, and probably in every marriage, it seems that we cruise a while, then need a course-correction, cruise a while, then course-correction. The course-correction (aka conflict), usually occurs when we’re tired, in transition, stressed, etc. But usually it has a great outcome–it brings issues to a head and causes us to talk through, pray, brainstorm, and be more intentional in our relationship.
Jeff and I have recently had a course correction, and so we’ve related it to our New Year’s Resolutions. Actually, my resolutions aren’t things he’s asked me to do, just this sort of idea that’s been brewing in my brain for a while now.
New Year’s Resolution: I think this is the year I am finally going to acknowledge that I am a wife and stay-at-home mom. Wow, aren’t you impressed by my ambition? Last year my new year’s resolution was to write a book. This year? Acknowledge I’m a wife and stay-at-home mom. So what do I mean by this?
Not to beat a dead horse, but again–our life has been transition up until this point. Truthfully (and this is probably because of pride), I always identified with the seminary/ministry stuff of our life a lot more than the wife/mother stuff of our life. Because of that–often my husband, children, and even house…can get leftovers. I think in fact I probably was even prideful about the fact that I was too busy in seminary & ministry things to spend much time in domestic matters. I’m sure I’ve looked down my nose at moms who busy themselves with reading parenting magazines, clipping coupons (I’ve eaten my words there!), obsessing over cloth or disposable diapers. The result: We rarely sit down as a family and eat dinner together, my son often goes to bed without brushing his teeth, the house is usually a mess when Jeff gets home from work, I haven’t read the parenting books I’ve always said I would, and I haven’t been intentional about teaching Dutch the scriptures or a whole host of other things. Oh, and I hardly ever make the bed. Now, I’m not talking about mommy-guilt or trying to be the perfect wife, blah blah blah. I’m just talking about finally embracing that this season is primarily about being a wife and a mom. And, I’ve been finding the last few days of embracing this that I am WAY happier when things at home are first taken care of. Ya’ll are laughing right now because you’ve known this truth for years.
So what does this have to do with a 1950s housewife? Well I remember this hilarious article Jeff found a few years ago, that was actually published in 1955, called The Good Wife’s Guide. Of course some of it was horrific, including advice to never question if your husband returns home late or stays out all night (!). Some obvious issues there. However, I think maybe there’s something in there, under the ridiculousness of offering to take off his shoes, that’s just right for me. Right now. If I want my husband to be a prince, maybe I ought to treat him like one. If I want him to be the spiritual leader maybe I ought to let him be. If I want our home to be a beautiful haven, maybe I ought to take care of it like it is. If I want my children to grow up to be strong trees, maybe I ought to water them. Just an idea. So this last week “50s housewife” has been my secret motto, just as a reminder that little things like keeping up the house, praying together in the morning, and sitting down to dinner actually do make me a WAY happier lady.
So some of the recent changes (& Resolutions):
1. Taking my kids grocery shopping with me. Now I won’t do this all the time, but I realized I was doing them a disservice by not training them to behave in the grocery store. I can’t just not take them into public and then get all bent out of shape when I finally do and they misbehave. They need some practice. What better place than a grocery store–everyone expects kids to misbehave there. So, today we did it–in fact I was Domestic Diva, because we did Coupon Extravaganza at Safeway ($127 of food for $51), which had some near-disasters but we survived, then a trip to Rite-Aid where I had to leave the store temporarily to discipline Dutch and the security man followed me out to my car and accused me of shoplifting! Ha! Yeah, that was a highlight, I’ve never been accused of that before (I had tucked my coupon into my pocket and so he was suspicious–that’s fair. He was nice about it.) Anyway, we did it!
2. Eating dinner together. Jeff can be squirrely when it comes to his arrival time, so sometimes this is tricky. But he’s making an effort too! Two nights in a row so far and I’m loving it. Dutch even set the table tonight on his own and Heidi contributed by throwing Cheerios all over the floor.
3. Making the bed. Ok how pathetic is it that this is a New Year’s Resolution? Laugh if you want.
4. Have the house straightened up and looking nice when Jeff gets home. Greet him at the door with a hug and kiss (instead of a grunt and a glance at the clock) :).
5. Praying together every morning. This is what we always used to do and I miss it so much. We’re finally back at it, after giving Jeff strict instructions that even if I whimpered and begged to sleep five more minutes, to pull back the covers, slide his arms under me, and carry me down the stairs if that’s what it took (and it did). I’m floored at the difference.
6. Have a plan every day. Not that every day has to be an amazing field trip, but I want to have a plan for something fun or educational or just an experience, each and every day. Monday was the library, then watching excavators. Tuesday was a visiting to my grandma. Today was groceries. Tomorrow, a long walk and “fishing”. My goal is just have one thing on the docket–even if it’s just coloring a picture or baking cookies or learning a new song. One thing for us to “do” each day.
What a funny contrast to my previous year’s resolutions. Of course I’ll keep reading through the Word each year, keep up with Bible study and teaching, do women’s ministry, keep writing, read books that make me think. But, this year, 2010 is the year of the 50s housewife. I like it. Maybe I’ll even wear an apron over my skinny jeans. I could get into this.
My Boy is Three
December 21, 2009
Dear Dutch,
You are three years old today. I know that you’ve had a crazy-fun 48 hours. A music party with special guest Luke Simpson (!) and friends Tay-Tay, Carter, Taylor, and Brendan, and even a special visit from Nae-nae & Elisabeth. Then, a truck party today with Papa & Oma. I know you’re delirious with joy over your new Cars racetrack, your orange Mack truck, your Murdoch train, and your Cat roadwork machines. And, I know you’re super excited about your new Thomas Chart where you’re (hopefully!) going to learn to go potty on the toilet and get a new Thomas train. I’m really pulling for you buddy! I know you don’t like to talk about birthdays, and I know you get all embarrassed, so I thought I’d just write you this little letter, and keep it on my blog so I don’t lose it. And maybe someday you’ll understand. Or at least it will help me remember this special day.
I love you. I have never been so infuriated, agitated, frustrated, and absolutely head-over-heels intoxicated with love all at once. I stare at your blue eyes and marvel at how God created you with such genius and wonder. I love the smell of your face, and was in heaven today when we played puppies and I got to breath in your precious puppy breath and press my face up against your cold, slobber-covered cheek. I love how you protest so maturely now–since you know you can’t say “no” to mommy–, how you have now turned to reasoning, but with absolutely nonsensical logic: “But mommy, it’s just different!” I have no idea what’s different that makes it so you shouldn’t go to bed, but it’s just different. I love your thoughts: “Why do trains go backwards?” and your imitations of me: “There has to be a better way!” I love your re-naming of us all (Thomas, Gordon, Lizzie, Spud, Farmer Pickles, Bob, Speed), and am honored above all honors to be Wendy, Miss Sally, and your best friend Percy. I love your enthusiasm, how you about had a heart-attack yesterday when you opened your orange Mack truck. I don’t think I will ever have to coach you to express gratitude for the gifts you receive.
I love your prayers. I have no problem with you asking God for pizza, or thanking Him for the radiator on your matchbox car. In fact, I’m trying to make my prayer-life a little more like yours. I love your compassion–how you run and grab a toy for Heidi whenever she is crying. I love your imagination, how you can take a kitchen utensil and make it into a racecar, a hammer, a fence, a ladder, a bulldozer, and a barricade in a matter of 15 minutes.
I love your frightening resemblance to me. Not so much in outward appearance but in your ridiculous home-body-ness. I love that you are happy as a clam to stay at home all day long, and play with toys, read books, and make cookies, without ever seeing a soul. I love that you think songs with hand-motions are weird. I love that you love to read. I love that you constantly want to eat old-fashioned oatmeal and call whole-grain banana muffins “cake”. Ok, and I love that the two of us can eat a whole pizza and think nothing of it. Of course, I have to eat all the “puppyroni”.
Dutch, what’s so cool about you turning three is that I”m finding myself surprised and in awe of just how much I like you. Of course I’ve always loved you, from the moment you practically birthed yourself in three quick pushes. But now, now you’re a boy, and you’re mine. You’re my son first, but also my friend. You’re a person. And I love the little person that I’m discovering God created you to be.
I really need grace right now, babe. Sometimes you’re so naughty all I can do is cry and pray God will help me win the battle. Sometimes I get so tired I snap at you or yell or don’t respond the way I should. I’m sorry for the ways that I don’t show you how God wants us to be. But by His grace I’m going to keep trying, praying, trying, praying, to teach you, guide you, shepherd you, lead you, to be a boy–to be a man–who follows hard after God. I pray your little heart would be fertile soil, and that God would graciously draw you to Himself. Do your best to respond, ok???
Goodnight, Dutch. Thanks for an awesome day, and a breath-taking three years. I pray God would give us many more together.
I love you,
Mommy.