Before nap time, I like to read Parker a story from his children's Bible. He enjoys flipping through the colorful pages, finding an interesting picture, and having that story read to him. Recently, he found the story of the crucifixion. Oh boy.
He lost interest part way through the story and interrupted me:
"Mommy, why did they put nails in his hands?"
I tried to explain the idea that sins required sacrifice, and Jesus offered to be the sacrifice for all of us. In hindsight, perhaps that was a little too high-brow.
"But mommy, why did those guys put nails in his hands?"
"To hang him up and kill him." [How's that for concrete? Lovely bedtime story, huh?]
Parker: But he didn't do anything wrong.
Me: I know.
Parker: [pointing to the picture of the Roman soldiers] Those are bad guys! [thoughtful pause] Well, I'm just going to put nails through their hands!
Me: Jesus wouldn't want that. [Quickly told him the turn-the-other-cheek story.] Jesus even asked his dad, God, to forgive them.
Parker: [shrugging carelessly] I'm still gonna put nails in their hands.
Me: [a little alarmed his last statement reflected all the compassion of a trained assassin] But that's not what Jesus would do!
Parker: Well that's what I would do.
And with a satisfied nod, he closed the Bible. End of story.
Note to self: Might be nice if next Bible story focuses on grace/forgiveness...Just a thought.
8/15/10
8/13/10
A Season of Grace
Today at lunch, my friend, Rosemary asked, "So how do you like being a mom?"
I paused. My other friend, Sharan, chimed in, "Some days better than others, right?"
So true. I love being a mom and staying home with the kids - most of the time. I'm just not always very good at it.
"This is just not my 'season of grace,'" I finally said. I stole that phrase from my friend, Serina. She was consoling me when I called to tell her about my abnormally calm sister-in-law who just had a baby. I had visited Natalie and the baby for a few days and left there utterly confounded. Where were her tears (my sister's, not the baby's)? Where were the hormonal rages, the sleep-deprived zombie-like stares, and emotional breakdowns? I certainly wasn't wishing them on her, I just assumed they were all part of the birthing process. I left wondering what the heck was wrong with me? Why did I run around like a chicken with its head cut off and cry at the drop of a hat when I had babies?
Like me, Serina has had her ups and downs making the transition into parenthood. "This is just not our season of grace," she explained. She offered hope that one day we, too, would be in our element with our kids, knowing just what to say and do at just the right times. Maybe when they were in middle school, she pondered aloud. (Or maybe in about 30 years, I thought to myself.)
Okay, so it's not my season. But isn't there some middle ground? If I'm not graceful, does that mean I have to be graceless? Constantly floundering for all the world to see?
We recently visited Mammoth Cave (the longest cave system in the world located right here in the great state of KY). About 5 minutes into the 1 hour 15 minute tour, Parker said, "Mommy, let's get out of here! I want to go [the 1 hour 30 minute hellish van ride] home!" Meanwhile, Maddie's arms encircled my neck in a tenacious death grip as I bent low to avoid the ceiling and slipped down the wet passages. She utilized a very clever system to ensure I would carry her the entire tour. Every time her feet touched the ground she emitted deafening shrieks which echoed off the cavern walls, endearing us to our fellow spelunkers and drowning out the tour guide.
A kind, old man approached us and addressed Parker. "Do you want to come with Grandpa Greg? This here is my grandson, Connor." Parker happily held their hands and prattled on and on about his friend named Connor in Seattle. I sighed. Simultaneously relieved and embarrassed, I realized the reason random strangers so often offer to help me with the kids...I just have an air of desperation about me.
But you know, that's okay. This season of gracelessness is enabling me to recognize a greater power in my life. My desperation is not synonymous with hopelessness. It is simply me (and everyone around me) recognizing I am at the end of my rope. Then my God, whom I can't see, sends someone I can see to help me along this journey. Thank you, Father.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 "But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
I paused. My other friend, Sharan, chimed in, "Some days better than others, right?"
So true. I love being a mom and staying home with the kids - most of the time. I'm just not always very good at it.
"This is just not my 'season of grace,'" I finally said. I stole that phrase from my friend, Serina. She was consoling me when I called to tell her about my abnormally calm sister-in-law who just had a baby. I had visited Natalie and the baby for a few days and left there utterly confounded. Where were her tears (my sister's, not the baby's)? Where were the hormonal rages, the sleep-deprived zombie-like stares, and emotional breakdowns? I certainly wasn't wishing them on her, I just assumed they were all part of the birthing process. I left wondering what the heck was wrong with me? Why did I run around like a chicken with its head cut off and cry at the drop of a hat when I had babies?
Like me, Serina has had her ups and downs making the transition into parenthood. "This is just not our season of grace," she explained. She offered hope that one day we, too, would be in our element with our kids, knowing just what to say and do at just the right times. Maybe when they were in middle school, she pondered aloud. (Or maybe in about 30 years, I thought to myself.)
Okay, so it's not my season. But isn't there some middle ground? If I'm not graceful, does that mean I have to be graceless? Constantly floundering for all the world to see?
We recently visited Mammoth Cave (the longest cave system in the world located right here in the great state of KY). About 5 minutes into the 1 hour 15 minute tour, Parker said, "Mommy, let's get out of here! I want to go [the 1 hour 30 minute hellish van ride] home!" Meanwhile, Maddie's arms encircled my neck in a tenacious death grip as I bent low to avoid the ceiling and slipped down the wet passages. She utilized a very clever system to ensure I would carry her the entire tour. Every time her feet touched the ground she emitted deafening shrieks which echoed off the cavern walls, endearing us to our fellow spelunkers and drowning out the tour guide.
A kind, old man approached us and addressed Parker. "Do you want to come with Grandpa Greg? This here is my grandson, Connor." Parker happily held their hands and prattled on and on about his friend named Connor in Seattle. I sighed. Simultaneously relieved and embarrassed, I realized the reason random strangers so often offer to help me with the kids...I just have an air of desperation about me.
But you know, that's okay. This season of gracelessness is enabling me to recognize a greater power in my life. My desperation is not synonymous with hopelessness. It is simply me (and everyone around me) recognizing I am at the end of my rope. Then my God, whom I can't see, sends someone I can see to help me along this journey. Thank you, Father.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 "But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
8/3/10
Boys are Magic
Tonight as I was tucking him into bed, Parker reached up and touched my head to stroke my hair - such a sweet gesture. However, he quickly withdrew his hand, his brow furrowed.
"Mommy, you have to wash your hair because it has poo [pool] chemicals in it."
We had been swimming less than an hour before bed, and my hair was still wet.
He thoughtfully touched his own head.
"But I don't have to because my hair is already dry. It's magic. Girls don't have magic hair. Just boys. Sometimes my hair changes in different ways."
Though I can't say I am thrilled about Parker's hair changing "in different ways" [read: Daddy gave Parker a buzz cut when Mommy was out of town], I will agree with him on one point: He is magic.
"Mommy, you have to wash your hair because it has poo [pool] chemicals in it."
We had been swimming less than an hour before bed, and my hair was still wet.
He thoughtfully touched his own head.
"But I don't have to because my hair is already dry. It's magic. Girls don't have magic hair. Just boys. Sometimes my hair changes in different ways."
Though I can't say I am thrilled about Parker's hair changing "in different ways" [read: Daddy gave Parker a buzz cut when Mommy was out of town], I will agree with him on one point: He is magic.
8/2/10
Big Boy Alcohol
My husband and I don't drink much alcohol. We'll have an occasional glass of wine or mixed drink, but that's about it.
Parker, ever curious, has shown some interest in this magical drink of which he cannot partake (see previous post: Underage Drinking).
With many things, he likes to push the envelope once we've told him "no" (using the permanent marker on the table, spitting on the floor, taking his pants off in public). However, he has been compliant with the ban on alcohol. At least, I thought he had...
We were in the van one afternoon. Maddie finished her juice. Noticing her brother was still happily sipping away, she began to whine and stretched her chubby arms toward his seat.
Parker turned toward her and stated matter-of-factly, "Sorry Maddie. You can't have any of my drink. It has big boy alcohol in it."
Oh well...It's 5 o'clock somewhere.
Parker, ever curious, has shown some interest in this magical drink of which he cannot partake (see previous post: Underage Drinking).
With many things, he likes to push the envelope once we've told him "no" (using the permanent marker on the table, spitting on the floor, taking his pants off in public). However, he has been compliant with the ban on alcohol. At least, I thought he had...
We were in the van one afternoon. Maddie finished her juice. Noticing her brother was still happily sipping away, she began to whine and stretched her chubby arms toward his seat.
Parker turned toward her and stated matter-of-factly, "Sorry Maddie. You can't have any of my drink. It has big boy alcohol in it."
Oh well...It's 5 o'clock somewhere.
7/25/10
A New Career
Sometimes I daydream about what my life will be like once the kids have grown. What skills am I building today that might one day translate into a paycheck?
I have considered the following careers based upon my experiences as a mommy:
Forensic scientist:
I examined the shrunken, nearly petrified Cheerio. It was located under the car seat of a 21 month old female. It is known that the family has not purchased Cheerios in the last 4 trips to Costco. Given the background information and current state of the cereal, I have determined that said Cheerio is 2-3 months of age, likely served dry.
Treasure hunter:
Donning gloves for the 4th time in 2 days, I began my search anew. If the treasure didn't appear soon, more drastic measures were in order. Ah-ha! Finally - the booty from the booty! The penny was discovered! Crisis avoided.
Medical examiner:
Excrement is bright red in color, and yet it does not appear to be bloody. Upon gathering a detailed diet history from the patient's parents, I have determined red food coloring from a friend's birthday cake is to blame.
Detective:
Flowers everywhere. The vase is broken. Two eye-witnesses - both suspects. Unfortunately, one's language is unintelligible and the other is a known liar. Pool of water near younger suspect. However, given her recent potty-training blunders, this could be urine. Will contact forensic scientist to confirm.
Referee:
Self-explanatory if you've been reading my blog for any length of time or if you have children.
There are more: taxi driver, short order cook, maid, teacher, slave (well now I'm just exaggerating...a little).
Who knew that parenting a child would provide you with such a rich and varied set of skills? Perhaps they should offer it as a highschool class. No, wait. I have a great idea! Perhaps highschool kids could earn credits by coming over and watching my kids! This has merit! Eureka!
I have considered the following careers based upon my experiences as a mommy:
Forensic scientist:
I examined the shrunken, nearly petrified Cheerio. It was located under the car seat of a 21 month old female. It is known that the family has not purchased Cheerios in the last 4 trips to Costco. Given the background information and current state of the cereal, I have determined that said Cheerio is 2-3 months of age, likely served dry.
Treasure hunter:
Donning gloves for the 4th time in 2 days, I began my search anew. If the treasure didn't appear soon, more drastic measures were in order. Ah-ha! Finally - the booty from the booty! The penny was discovered! Crisis avoided.
Medical examiner:
Excrement is bright red in color, and yet it does not appear to be bloody. Upon gathering a detailed diet history from the patient's parents, I have determined red food coloring from a friend's birthday cake is to blame.
Detective:
Flowers everywhere. The vase is broken. Two eye-witnesses - both suspects. Unfortunately, one's language is unintelligible and the other is a known liar. Pool of water near younger suspect. However, given her recent potty-training blunders, this could be urine. Will contact forensic scientist to confirm.
Referee:
Self-explanatory if you've been reading my blog for any length of time or if you have children.
There are more: taxi driver, short order cook, maid, teacher, slave (well now I'm just exaggerating...a little).
Who knew that parenting a child would provide you with such a rich and varied set of skills? Perhaps they should offer it as a highschool class. No, wait. I have a great idea! Perhaps highschool kids could earn credits by coming over and watching my kids! This has merit! Eureka!
7/21/10
It's MY turn!
Why is it that young children are so fixated upon order and taking turns? Everything at our house is now dictated by turn-taking. Parker articulates his concerns about the order of things quite clearly, while Maddie simply shrieks if she feels she has been slighted.
Here are some every day examples:
Parker begins to cry because he is told it's bedtime. Moments later Maddie begins to cry when she realizes her sippy cup only contains water (and not the apple juice she's been jonesing for). Parker erupts: "NO MADDIE! You're not the person who is sad! I am the person who is sad right now!"
We are climbing the back steps to go into the house. Parker is in front. I attempt to go around him so I can unlock the door and unload armfuls of groceries. Parker sticks his arms out to prevent me from passing. "No Mommy! I am in front. It's my turn to go up first!"
There is only one usable child-sized watering can remaining. (One has a slow leak on the base and the other died a cruel death under the tire of our van.) I explain to the kids we are going to take turns. Maddie has a turn, then I tell her it is Parker's turn and reach for the can. Screaming, "NOOOO!" she throws the can across the yard. When Parker runs after it, her eyes widen as she realizes she just voluntarily relinquished her prized possession. She propels her tiny body in his general direction with all the grace of running penguin, inevitably falling face first and bursting into tears.
Maddie is crying about something (who even knows anymore). Parker takes up his guitar and begins strumming. He softly sings "Silent Night" to her. She stops crying and turns her head to listen. Caught up in the sweetness of the moment, I join in the singing. Immediately the serenade ends. "No Mommy! I am singing to Maddie. It's not your turn to sing yet!"
In writing this entry, I realize that I, in fact, am the one to blame for the turn-taking-obsession. How many times have I pried a newly-snatched toy out of Parker's hand and explained it was not yet his turn? If I had a quarter for every time I forced my kids to take turns with each other and with their friends, I might be able to hire a cleaning person, and maybe my floors wouldn't be sticky, and maybe there wouldn't be crumbs in Parker's bed, and maybe the dust bunnies under my bed would finally be shot and killed (or at least swiffered to death)...I digress.
I suppose my point is, I am just reaping what I've sown. Maybe next time I'll be a little more careful about what I plant.
Here are some every day examples:
Parker begins to cry because he is told it's bedtime. Moments later Maddie begins to cry when she realizes her sippy cup only contains water (and not the apple juice she's been jonesing for). Parker erupts: "NO MADDIE! You're not the person who is sad! I am the person who is sad right now!"
We are climbing the back steps to go into the house. Parker is in front. I attempt to go around him so I can unlock the door and unload armfuls of groceries. Parker sticks his arms out to prevent me from passing. "No Mommy! I am in front. It's my turn to go up first!"
There is only one usable child-sized watering can remaining. (One has a slow leak on the base and the other died a cruel death under the tire of our van.) I explain to the kids we are going to take turns. Maddie has a turn, then I tell her it is Parker's turn and reach for the can. Screaming, "NOOOO!" she throws the can across the yard. When Parker runs after it, her eyes widen as she realizes she just voluntarily relinquished her prized possession. She propels her tiny body in his general direction with all the grace of running penguin, inevitably falling face first and bursting into tears.
Maddie is crying about something (who even knows anymore). Parker takes up his guitar and begins strumming. He softly sings "Silent Night" to her. She stops crying and turns her head to listen. Caught up in the sweetness of the moment, I join in the singing. Immediately the serenade ends. "No Mommy! I am singing to Maddie. It's not your turn to sing yet!"
In writing this entry, I realize that I, in fact, am the one to blame for the turn-taking-obsession. How many times have I pried a newly-snatched toy out of Parker's hand and explained it was not yet his turn? If I had a quarter for every time I forced my kids to take turns with each other and with their friends, I might be able to hire a cleaning person, and maybe my floors wouldn't be sticky, and maybe there wouldn't be crumbs in Parker's bed, and maybe the dust bunnies under my bed would finally be shot and killed (or at least swiffered to death)...I digress.
I suppose my point is, I am just reaping what I've sown. Maybe next time I'll be a little more careful about what I plant.
7/19/10
A Star Hero
It had been a long day. A good day, but a long one. I had a headache and just wanted to get home and put the kids to bed.
"mama?" came a small voice from the backseat.
"Yes?"
"Mama?" A little louder.
"Yes, Maddie?"
"MAMA!" "Mommy!" Now both children where yelling.
"What is it, Maddie?!" I turned to see them smiling.
Parker had heard the edge in my voice. (It would have been hard to miss.)
"We're just cheering for you, mama."
"Cheering for me?"
"Yeah, 'cause you're a star hero!"
Hmmm. Funny, it didn't sound much like cheering. In fact, it strongly resembled the demanding wail they so often employ to elicit attention. Oh well. If he says it's a cheer, I'll take the compliment. It's not every day someone calls me a "star hero"!
"mama?" came a small voice from the backseat.
"Yes?"
"Mama?" A little louder.
"Yes, Maddie?"
"MAMA!" "Mommy!" Now both children where yelling.
"What is it, Maddie?!" I turned to see them smiling.
Parker had heard the edge in my voice. (It would have been hard to miss.)
"We're just cheering for you, mama."
"Cheering for me?"
"Yeah, 'cause you're a star hero!"
Hmmm. Funny, it didn't sound much like cheering. In fact, it strongly resembled the demanding wail they so often employ to elicit attention. Oh well. If he says it's a cheer, I'll take the compliment. It's not every day someone calls me a "star hero"!
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