Big, fat, teardrops are landing on my arms as I type. Minutes ago I was simply planning my day for tomorrow. Drop Parker off at preschool, go to the bank, go to the gym, have some special time with Maddie while Jack naps, call some schools...
Call some schools, as in call schools to find out about kindergarten programs. The big K. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I can't stop crying.
I've had friends whose kids have gone to kindergarten. At the time I simply didn't get it. What was the big deal? These kids had gone to preschool, right? So now they'd be gone a little longer. So what?
Well for those of you with the same questions, let me tell you what...
He's my baby. Yes, he's leggy, but he's still my baby. I still swoop him into my arms and kiss his soft cheeks. He still lets me snuggle in bed and sing him to sleep. His preschool is less than one mile from our home. On nice days we walk there. Any school I choose for him will now require a vehicle. A big, yellow vehicle. Filled with kids who don't know...
They don't that he is precious. They don't know that his feelings are easily hurt, though he tries to appear tough when the bigger kids don't let him play their games. They don't know that he's trusting to a fault. For the most part, he hasn't encountered any malicious or ugly behavior. He believes everyone is good.
Questions plague my heart. Have I done enough to instill in him the importance of being kind to everyone? Does he know he is loved and will always have Mommy and Daddy in his corner no matter what? Does he know he is a person of value even when the world tells him he is not?
It is such a blessing that I can't follow him into school and hover over him (because I am sure that is just what I'd do). My Parker is an extrovert. He'll make friends, no problem. It's just that I know that he'll encounter bad stuff, too. How I want to protect him! How thankful I am that my God is big enough to do it for me!
Psalm 121:1-8 I lift up my eyes to the hills- where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you - the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.
Even as I write, I am feeling better. Reading God's Word just does that to me. It changes you from the inside out. I titled this post "210" because that is exactly how many days I have until Parker enters kindergarten. I had been racking my brain, trying to think of how best to fill those days to make sure he had fun but was still learning, that he felt carefree but continued to be responsible, that he felt loved but not smothered. It was an exhausting mental exercise.
I just need to breathe and take a step back. It's time to fix my gaze where it belongs (and it's not on Parker). My friend, Serina, recently told me that a speaker at her moms' group said, "It's not your job to be a good mom...Your job is to glorify God."
Think about it. When you focus on making sure every action you take brings glory to God, everything else falls into place. You won't be snippy with your kids. You won't be catty when you chat with the girls. You won't be rude to your spouse. You won't be preoccupied with future fears.
*relieved sigh* I'm looking forward to the next 210 days.
1/17/12
1/13/12
First vs. Third
I love to compare myself as a mother of three to myself as a mother of one. My, how things change!
First Child: He shall have absolutely no refined sugar until he licks the icing on his first birthday cake.
Third Child: No hard candy before 6 months. (Just kidding! But if the grandparents want him to teethe on a cookie, I'm not going to pitch a fit. Don't bite the hand that gives you free babysitting!)
First Child: He shall not watch any television until he is at least two years of age, at which time he will be allowed 30 minutes maximum per day.
Third child: I'll turn his Bubmo seat away from the television while I hop in the shower and his older brother and sister watch a show, but if he turns around, c'est la vie!
First Child: He shall consume only organically grown well-balanced meals. [Note: This lasts for less than one year.]
Third child: I wonder how old he has to be before he can eat a french fry??
First Child: I will give him whatever sippy cup he wants if he will just stop screaming while I drive.
Third Child: Cups/drinks of any kind are banned from the van which still emits a funky odor from milk (or who knows what drink) spilled eons ago. Let the wailing begin!
First Child: He is toted to the bathroom with me on every trip, often placed in a bouncy seat so I can monitor him at all times.
Third Child: He is placed in the care of his older siblings [read: baby is in a swing and siblings are told to get me if he stops breathing] while I enjoy a closed-door bathroom break.
First Child: Older children are directed to be gentle, gentle, GENTLE! Don't squish [actually, don't even touch] the baby!!!
Third Child: Kids, please don't press on his skull that hard.
First Child: He is dressed to the nines to visit the library, grocery, doctor, etc. Matching socks, shoes, bibs, hats and outerwear.
Third Child: I know he had on bottoms when we left the house...
First Child: He shall only be left in the care of medically trained (or at least infant CPR certified) adults for very brief periods of time (during which I will call several times to ask how things are going, and by that of course I mean how closely is the caregiver following my three page schedule, notes, and contact information).
Third Child: Anyone over the age of 12 who lacks a criminal record, has a pulse, and can dial a phone is a potential babysitting candidate.
First Child: His bedtime routine is of the utmost importance and shall not be altered: feeding, leisurely bath, pajamas, books, prayers, and lights out at 7:45.
Third Child: It's 9:30. I think he ate about an hour ago. Diaper change, kiss him on the head, whispered I-love-yous, andchuck him gently lay him in the crib.
The list goes on and on. I remember when Parker was my only child and I heard mothers of multiple children chuckling about how their own standards and routines had changed. Where was the structure? Where was the order? How were they surviving?
I never imagined I'd be one of them. My plans were ironclad. Ha!
What I came to realize is that, for me anyway, multiple children and the demands they impose absolutely necessitated a change in my standards. I had to re-evaluate. I had to give myself a little grace. I held on to what I felt was essential and released my white-knuckled grip on complete control.
So Maddie refuses to brush her hair and wants to wear her elastic headband Chuck Norris style. I can live with that. Parker chooses his own outfits; blue and brown striped sweater with gray and navy striped sweatpants...okay.
Jack sometimes has to wear princess pull-ups that were left over at Grammy's from Maddie's potty-training days because I forgot the diaper bag again. No worries.
This is life now, and I'm still loving it!
First Child: He shall have absolutely no refined sugar until he licks the icing on his first birthday cake.
Third Child: No hard candy before 6 months. (Just kidding! But if the grandparents want him to teethe on a cookie, I'm not going to pitch a fit. Don't bite the hand that gives you free babysitting!)
First Child: He shall not watch any television until he is at least two years of age, at which time he will be allowed 30 minutes maximum per day.
Third child: I'll turn his Bubmo seat away from the television while I hop in the shower and his older brother and sister watch a show, but if he turns around, c'est la vie!
First Child: He shall consume only organically grown well-balanced meals. [Note: This lasts for less than one year.]
Third child: I wonder how old he has to be before he can eat a french fry??
First Child: I will give him whatever sippy cup he wants if he will just stop screaming while I drive.
Third Child: Cups/drinks of any kind are banned from the van which still emits a funky odor from milk (or who knows what drink) spilled eons ago. Let the wailing begin!
First Child: He is toted to the bathroom with me on every trip, often placed in a bouncy seat so I can monitor him at all times.
Third Child: He is placed in the care of his older siblings [read: baby is in a swing and siblings are told to get me if he stops breathing] while I enjoy a closed-door bathroom break.
First Child: Older children are directed to be gentle, gentle, GENTLE! Don't squish [actually, don't even touch] the baby!!!
Third Child: Kids, please don't press on his skull that hard.
First Child: He is dressed to the nines to visit the library, grocery, doctor, etc. Matching socks, shoes, bibs, hats and outerwear.
Third Child: I know he had on bottoms when we left the house...
First Child: He shall only be left in the care of medically trained (or at least infant CPR certified) adults for very brief periods of time (during which I will call several times to ask how things are going, and by that of course I mean how closely is the caregiver following my three page schedule, notes, and contact information).
Third Child: Anyone over the age of 12 who lacks a criminal record, has a pulse, and can dial a phone is a potential babysitting candidate.
First Child: His bedtime routine is of the utmost importance and shall not be altered: feeding, leisurely bath, pajamas, books, prayers, and lights out at 7:45.
Third Child: It's 9:30. I think he ate about an hour ago. Diaper change, kiss him on the head, whispered I-love-yous, and
The list goes on and on. I remember when Parker was my only child and I heard mothers of multiple children chuckling about how their own standards and routines had changed. Where was the structure? Where was the order? How were they surviving?
I never imagined I'd be one of them. My plans were ironclad. Ha!
What I came to realize is that, for me anyway, multiple children and the demands they impose absolutely necessitated a change in my standards. I had to re-evaluate. I had to give myself a little grace. I held on to what I felt was essential and released my white-knuckled grip on complete control.
So Maddie refuses to brush her hair and wants to wear her elastic headband Chuck Norris style. I can live with that. Parker chooses his own outfits; blue and brown striped sweater with gray and navy striped sweatpants...okay.
Jack sometimes has to wear princess pull-ups that were left over at Grammy's from Maddie's potty-training days because I forgot the diaper bag again. No worries.
This is life now, and I'm still loving it!
1/1/12
Baby Mine
Dear Jack,
Though you are only five months old, it feels like you've been a part of our family forever. You love to watch your brother and sister chase each other and eagerly kick your feet as if you'd like to join in the fun. You are extremely ticklish and love it when I nibble your little toes. You have started eating baby oatmeal. We tried the rice cereal, but you broke out all over, and when daddy accidentally got some peanut butter on your little foot, it was immediately covered in blisters. Looks like you have your sister's allergies. No worries, little guy. We know what to do this time around.
You are such a joy! Everything I do with you is enjoyable. Diaper changes become giggle-fests. Often when I'm feeding you, milk spills from your little mouth because you can't stop smiling. You play contentedly in the Exersaucer while I clean the kitchen and roll around on your back while I fold laundry. Most times you don't even cry when I lay you down to sleep. If I happen to peek over the side of the crib, there you are, smiling up at me.
Your brother and sister love you so much! We often have to remind them to hug you gently, as they would literally love you to pieces if they could. Maddie loves to give you a bath and zip up your pajamas. Parker loves to make you giggle with his silly faces and is willing to share even his most treasured possessions (transformers).
Your dad and I shake our heads at how wonderful you are. I love your chunky little thighs, your fuzzy hair, your toothless grin. I love how you quickly open and close your chubby fingers around my arm, grasping tightly. I love the way you open your mouth wide when I come in for a kiss, as if you would eat my face right off if you could. I love how you ride quietly in the van, even with all the chaos surrounding you.
I just love you.
Though you are only five months old, it feels like you've been a part of our family forever. You love to watch your brother and sister chase each other and eagerly kick your feet as if you'd like to join in the fun. You are extremely ticklish and love it when I nibble your little toes. You have started eating baby oatmeal. We tried the rice cereal, but you broke out all over, and when daddy accidentally got some peanut butter on your little foot, it was immediately covered in blisters. Looks like you have your sister's allergies. No worries, little guy. We know what to do this time around.
You are such a joy! Everything I do with you is enjoyable. Diaper changes become giggle-fests. Often when I'm feeding you, milk spills from your little mouth because you can't stop smiling. You play contentedly in the Exersaucer while I clean the kitchen and roll around on your back while I fold laundry. Most times you don't even cry when I lay you down to sleep. If I happen to peek over the side of the crib, there you are, smiling up at me.
Your brother and sister love you so much! We often have to remind them to hug you gently, as they would literally love you to pieces if they could. Maddie loves to give you a bath and zip up your pajamas. Parker loves to make you giggle with his silly faces and is willing to share even his most treasured possessions (transformers).
Your dad and I shake our heads at how wonderful you are. I love your chunky little thighs, your fuzzy hair, your toothless grin. I love how you quickly open and close your chubby fingers around my arm, grasping tightly. I love the way you open your mouth wide when I come in for a kiss, as if you would eat my face right off if you could. I love how you ride quietly in the van, even with all the chaos surrounding you.
I just love you.
12/20/11
My Sweetie
My Maddie girl just captures my heart...
All Better
I have been pre-training for my marathon training. I am wayyy out of shape. Even when I'm in shape, I have a very high heart rate when I run. It's usually around 180. I have a healthy glow long after I've stepped off the treadmill [read: I look like I'm about to die for a good half hour]. The other day, I finished my run and rushed home from the gym so Aaron could leave for an appointment. I had no time during which to cool down. When I arrived, the kids looked up, alarmed. "Mommy! What's wrong?" Maddie demanded, concern furrowing her little brow. I smiled and huff and puffed, "Mommy's okay. I just went for a run. I just need to cool down." As I sat to stretch on the floor, Maddie walked over and took my face in her tiny hands. With eyes halfway shut, she gently kissed my cheek, forehead, other cheek and lips. "All better?" she asked. More than better. Perfect!
Forever and Good
The kids love absolutes. I think it helps them make sense of the world. No, the ladybug will not come back to life; she is dead forever. Permanent marker on clothes will be there for good. Daddy will always come home from work.
The kids like to combine phrases at times, and when they want to emphasize the finality of something, they will often say "forever and good." For example, today Maddie told Parker he could have her Barbie doll "forever and good." Parker declined. Then Maddie extended the ultimate olive branch: "I want to watch whatever Buddy wants to watch for my show [cartoon]." What a sweetie!
Awesome Christmas
We made iced sugar cookies today. I allowed the kids to choose their own and decorate them. What masterpieces they created! Icing, sprinkles, chocolate chips, mini marshmallows, sprees, you name it. As Maddie sat, happily licking her fingers, she sighed contentedly, "This is a great Cwismas, is it Buddy?" Parker responded, "It's awesome."
"Yeah, this is an awthum Cwismas."
All Better
I have been pre-training for my marathon training. I am wayyy out of shape. Even when I'm in shape, I have a very high heart rate when I run. It's usually around 180. I have a healthy glow long after I've stepped off the treadmill [read: I look like I'm about to die for a good half hour]. The other day, I finished my run and rushed home from the gym so Aaron could leave for an appointment. I had no time during which to cool down. When I arrived, the kids looked up, alarmed. "Mommy! What's wrong?" Maddie demanded, concern furrowing her little brow. I smiled and huff and puffed, "Mommy's okay. I just went for a run. I just need to cool down." As I sat to stretch on the floor, Maddie walked over and took my face in her tiny hands. With eyes halfway shut, she gently kissed my cheek, forehead, other cheek and lips. "All better?" she asked. More than better. Perfect!
Forever and Good
The kids love absolutes. I think it helps them make sense of the world. No, the ladybug will not come back to life; she is dead forever. Permanent marker on clothes will be there for good. Daddy will always come home from work.
The kids like to combine phrases at times, and when they want to emphasize the finality of something, they will often say "forever and good." For example, today Maddie told Parker he could have her Barbie doll "forever and good." Parker declined. Then Maddie extended the ultimate olive branch: "I want to watch whatever Buddy wants to watch for my show [cartoon]." What a sweetie!
Awesome Christmas
We made iced sugar cookies today. I allowed the kids to choose their own and decorate them. What masterpieces they created! Icing, sprinkles, chocolate chips, mini marshmallows, sprees, you name it. As Maddie sat, happily licking her fingers, she sighed contentedly, "This is a great Cwismas, is it Buddy?" Parker responded, "It's awesome."
"Yeah, this is an awthum Cwismas."
12/4/11
All for me
I totally had an epiphany tonight! I was driving in the rain and listening to the radio when a beautiful song came on. It's called How Many Kings by Downhere. I've heard it many times before and been moved by the beauty of the singing and the lyrics. I was singing along and came to the part where they sing about how Christ died "all for me [and] all for you."
I caught myself thinking, 'Wouldn't it be nice if that that were true.' I have always struggled with the concept that Christ died for me. I've always been more comfortable with the idea that he died for us [the whole world]. I mean, why on earth would he be willing to endure such torture and ultimately sacrifice Himself if it were simply to save little old me? Sure, I've read the parable of the lost sheep. I have the head knowledge that he'd leave the other 99 to come save me, but in my heart, I've always doubted. It just didn't make sense to me.
As the song played on, a story I'd seen on TV popped into my head. It was about a mother who used her body to shield her two children when a tornado ripped through their home. The ceiling was literally falling on her and breaking her back (leading to permanent paralysis in her legs) as she selflessly covered her children. I am sure the thought ran through her head that she might die. I mentally put myself in her shoes and knew in an instant I would not have hesitated to shield my children, even if it meant I had to bear excruciating pain and possible death.
Then my thoughts drifted a bit further. What if I only had one child to shield? Would I make the same sacrifice? What a no-brainer! Of course I would. Each of my children is equally precious to me. I would die for one or all, it wouldn't matter.
I finally got it! Christ died just for me...and just for you. I am so excited that it finally makes sense to both my head and my heart! I love how the gift of parenthood keeps on giving and giving. I'm not sure I would have grasped this concept without it (though many Christians obviously can and do).
I am especially excited because now I can explain it to my kids with confidence. It is my sincere hope that one day they, too, will understand this truth and positively revel in Christ's amazing love!
P.S. Here is a link to the show about the mom who saved her kids...
http://nashville.about.com/od/extremehomemakeoverintn/Extreme_Home_Makeover_Tennessee_Style.htm
I caught myself thinking, 'Wouldn't it be nice if that that were true.' I have always struggled with the concept that Christ died for me. I've always been more comfortable with the idea that he died for us [the whole world]. I mean, why on earth would he be willing to endure such torture and ultimately sacrifice Himself if it were simply to save little old me? Sure, I've read the parable of the lost sheep. I have the head knowledge that he'd leave the other 99 to come save me, but in my heart, I've always doubted. It just didn't make sense to me.
As the song played on, a story I'd seen on TV popped into my head. It was about a mother who used her body to shield her two children when a tornado ripped through their home. The ceiling was literally falling on her and breaking her back (leading to permanent paralysis in her legs) as she selflessly covered her children. I am sure the thought ran through her head that she might die. I mentally put myself in her shoes and knew in an instant I would not have hesitated to shield my children, even if it meant I had to bear excruciating pain and possible death.
Then my thoughts drifted a bit further. What if I only had one child to shield? Would I make the same sacrifice? What a no-brainer! Of course I would. Each of my children is equally precious to me. I would die for one or all, it wouldn't matter.
I finally got it! Christ died just for me...and just for you. I am so excited that it finally makes sense to both my head and my heart! I love how the gift of parenthood keeps on giving and giving. I'm not sure I would have grasped this concept without it (though many Christians obviously can and do).
I am especially excited because now I can explain it to my kids with confidence. It is my sincere hope that one day they, too, will understand this truth and positively revel in Christ's amazing love!
P.S. Here is a link to the show about the mom who saved her kids...
http://nashville.about.com/od/extremehomemakeoverintn/Extreme_Home_Makeover_Tennessee_Style.htm
11/17/11
Gladdest Day
Today was a great day.
It didn't start out that way. It started out with me snapping at the kids as I hurriedly tidied the house before a play date. You read that right, before a play date. [How dumb is that?] The toys and clothes were put away. I desperately needed to sweep (and use a Clorox wipe to scrub off rogue spit-up drops that managed to escape my attention and dry like cement on the floors). I contemplated taking pictures of my full [nasty] dustpans. Somehow I felt like I needed proof of just how bad it was. I wanted all those people who say, "Oh, just leave it!" to look at those pictures and tell me if they would be comfortable leaving it on their floors. I'm talking spaghetti noodles from last night's dinner, broken crayons, stickers, human hair, cat hair, dirt, tricky little dried peas (from who knows when), sticks, dried bits of play dough, etc. Nasty.
Parker and Maddie wanted to play...with toys we'd just put away. I just wanted them out. of. my. way. Nice, huh?
The guests arrived, and a wonderful time was had by all.
Not long after our friends had left it was "quiet time." By some miracle, all three kids were in their rooms at the same time. I knew I had a good hour to catch some z's. But I couldn't. I tossed and turned. Something my friend said during the play date played over and over in my mind. She said she loved reading my blog because it reminded her of just how precious this time [with our children while they are little] really is.
As I lay in my bed, I was overcome. Precious = valuable. What do I value? A clean house? That's pride. Time with my children, now that is valuable, to be cherished, not squandered. I am certain some readers are sick and tired of reading about this revelation. I know I am. Shouldn't true revelation inspire revolution? Where is the change?
I jumped down off the bed. Lying face down on the floor I reached out to God. I prayed for humility. Here I was again. Treating the priceless gifts that He has literally placed in my hands with disdain and annoyance. I begged for forgiveness...for some true and lasting change in my heart.
An old sermon I'd heard years ago tickled my brain. Something about repentance and turning your behavior around. As I was writing this blog, I did a little research. Did you know there are actually about four different words in the original Bible texts that have all been translated into the word "repent" or "repentance" in modern translations? One means to regret or feel sorry (been there, done that). But one means "turn." Basically, it means don't just feel badly and say sorry; quite literally turn your behavior around. Repentance is an action.
I couldn't wait to get off that floor. I ran upstairs and hugged my babies (the older ones, anyway; I haven't had enough time to really mess things up with Jack yet). They were confused but happy. "Is quiet time over already?" I was grinning and crying. "It is today."
We went downstairs and began work on some "ordaments," as Maddie calls them. Flour and salt flew everywhere. Dough dropped on the floor. Mushy ornaments were torn. With each perceived infraction, two little heads whipped around to gauge my reaction. I didn't even have to fake it. I shrugged and laughed, dismissing it with an "It happens."
Love and warmth and kindness filled our kitchen. I watched in amazement as my two (typically territorial) children shared. Maddie climbed atop the stool and immediately scooted to one side. "Here, Buddy. Here's a place for you." "Do you want this cutter, Maddie?" They squished dough balls and traded cookie cutters for the better part of an hour. When we were finished, the counter was lined with stockings, gingerbread men, candy canes, and hand prints. They were beautiful.
With a huge smile on his face, Parker sighed, "This is the gladdest day ever." I couldn't agree more.
Tomorrow is another play date. Remember the mom with the white socks [see previous post: I saw your socks, and I'm sorry]? They are coming. My floors are a mess again tonight. Maybe I'll see if the kids want to play with the dustbuster and suck up some crumbs tomorrow. Maybe I won't. What I do know is that with God's help, I will set my pride aside, and tomorrow can be the gladdest day ever, too.
It didn't start out that way. It started out with me snapping at the kids as I hurriedly tidied the house before a play date. You read that right, before a play date. [How dumb is that?] The toys and clothes were put away. I desperately needed to sweep (and use a Clorox wipe to scrub off rogue spit-up drops that managed to escape my attention and dry like cement on the floors). I contemplated taking pictures of my full [nasty] dustpans. Somehow I felt like I needed proof of just how bad it was. I wanted all those people who say, "Oh, just leave it!" to look at those pictures and tell me if they would be comfortable leaving it on their floors. I'm talking spaghetti noodles from last night's dinner, broken crayons, stickers, human hair, cat hair, dirt, tricky little dried peas (from who knows when), sticks, dried bits of play dough, etc. Nasty.
Parker and Maddie wanted to play...with toys we'd just put away. I just wanted them out. of. my. way. Nice, huh?
The guests arrived, and a wonderful time was had by all.
Not long after our friends had left it was "quiet time." By some miracle, all three kids were in their rooms at the same time. I knew I had a good hour to catch some z's. But I couldn't. I tossed and turned. Something my friend said during the play date played over and over in my mind. She said she loved reading my blog because it reminded her of just how precious this time [with our children while they are little] really is.
As I lay in my bed, I was overcome. Precious = valuable. What do I value? A clean house? That's pride. Time with my children, now that is valuable, to be cherished, not squandered. I am certain some readers are sick and tired of reading about this revelation. I know I am. Shouldn't true revelation inspire revolution? Where is the change?
I jumped down off the bed. Lying face down on the floor I reached out to God. I prayed for humility. Here I was again. Treating the priceless gifts that He has literally placed in my hands with disdain and annoyance. I begged for forgiveness...for some true and lasting change in my heart.
An old sermon I'd heard years ago tickled my brain. Something about repentance and turning your behavior around. As I was writing this blog, I did a little research. Did you know there are actually about four different words in the original Bible texts that have all been translated into the word "repent" or "repentance" in modern translations? One means to regret or feel sorry (been there, done that). But one means "turn." Basically, it means don't just feel badly and say sorry; quite literally turn your behavior around. Repentance is an action.
I couldn't wait to get off that floor. I ran upstairs and hugged my babies (the older ones, anyway; I haven't had enough time to really mess things up with Jack yet). They were confused but happy. "Is quiet time over already?" I was grinning and crying. "It is today."
We went downstairs and began work on some "ordaments," as Maddie calls them. Flour and salt flew everywhere. Dough dropped on the floor. Mushy ornaments were torn. With each perceived infraction, two little heads whipped around to gauge my reaction. I didn't even have to fake it. I shrugged and laughed, dismissing it with an "It happens."
Love and warmth and kindness filled our kitchen. I watched in amazement as my two (typically territorial) children shared. Maddie climbed atop the stool and immediately scooted to one side. "Here, Buddy. Here's a place for you." "Do you want this cutter, Maddie?" They squished dough balls and traded cookie cutters for the better part of an hour. When we were finished, the counter was lined with stockings, gingerbread men, candy canes, and hand prints. They were beautiful.
With a huge smile on his face, Parker sighed, "This is the gladdest day ever." I couldn't agree more.
Tomorrow is another play date. Remember the mom with the white socks [see previous post: I saw your socks, and I'm sorry]? They are coming. My floors are a mess again tonight. Maybe I'll see if the kids want to play with the dustbuster and suck up some crumbs tomorrow. Maybe I won't. What I do know is that with God's help, I will set my pride aside, and tomorrow can be the gladdest day ever, too.
11/11/11
Professional
I often wonder what professions the kids will choose when they grow up. I thought I had Parker pegged. He is a real dare-devil. He likes to climb to the tops of trees, do "tricks" on his bike (which still has training wheels on it, mind you), walk across the tops of monkey bars, etc. He always tells me not to worry, because he is a "professional." Yeah.
Given his interests and coordination, I daydream about his future as a snowboarder, gymnast, and so on. However, the other day, I decided perhaps I had pigeon-holed him and needed to reconsider his options...
With Jack on my hip I entered Parker's room and encouraged him to change his clothes so we could go out. He was wearing his favorite [ratty] orange shorts. He knows that he must change into pants when we go out, given the fact that it is fall (and thank goodness, too cold to wear those grimy things outdoors).
Parker dropped the shorts, revealing the fact he decided to go "komodo" [commando] today. He began to dance around, naked. He was very amused at his, er, anatomy.
"Hey mom!" he exclaimed, "How 'bout you tell Jack one day when he grows up, he'll have big private parts like this." [More gyrations] Clearly this child does not have a confidence problem.
I quickly turned away to shield Jack from the display. Aw, who am I kidding? Jack is 3 months old. He doesn't have a clue. I turned away so Parker wouldn't see me cracking up.
Stifling a chuckle, I repeated, "Yeah Jack, one day you'll have big private parts, too."
Parker prattled on happily to himself as he pulled up his underwear, "Yeah, and everyone will say, 'Wow! Look at those big private parts!"
Who is everyone and why are they all admiring his private parts? I wondered to myself. That's when it hit me. The career option I had ignored thus far: adult entertainer. His dad will be so proud...
Given his interests and coordination, I daydream about his future as a snowboarder, gymnast, and so on. However, the other day, I decided perhaps I had pigeon-holed him and needed to reconsider his options...
With Jack on my hip I entered Parker's room and encouraged him to change his clothes so we could go out. He was wearing his favorite [ratty] orange shorts. He knows that he must change into pants when we go out, given the fact that it is fall (and thank goodness, too cold to wear those grimy things outdoors).
Parker dropped the shorts, revealing the fact he decided to go "komodo" [commando] today. He began to dance around, naked. He was very amused at his, er, anatomy.
"Hey mom!" he exclaimed, "How 'bout you tell Jack one day when he grows up, he'll have big private parts like this." [More gyrations] Clearly this child does not have a confidence problem.
I quickly turned away to shield Jack from the display. Aw, who am I kidding? Jack is 3 months old. He doesn't have a clue. I turned away so Parker wouldn't see me cracking up.
Stifling a chuckle, I repeated, "Yeah Jack, one day you'll have big private parts, too."
Parker prattled on happily to himself as he pulled up his underwear, "Yeah, and everyone will say, 'Wow! Look at those big private parts!"
Who is everyone and why are they all admiring his private parts? I wondered to myself. That's when it hit me. The career option I had ignored thus far: adult entertainer. His dad will be so proud...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
