Category Archives: Little Kids

Daily struggles and joys.

Dear Friend,

IMG_0585I’ve been writing and re-writing this Thank You note in my mind for days and the truth is, I can’t quite figure out how to write it yet. You see, there is no way I can explain what your kind deeds have meant to me without first telling you all the negative things that have been going on in my life and I think you know me well enough to know that I’m not a negative person. So, in the interest of trying to explain and in the hopes of being vague enough to not cause more grief, I thought I’d let you know how important your kind acts have been!
This spring there has been a war raging in our home. Nothing big enough to make the papers, but it has been a constant deluge of bad situations. Every day, I was confronted with something, figured out a way to handle it, and the next day it was a new surprising event. God is good and continued to show me grace and favor in the midst of the chaos. (Note: I said “in the midst” He did not shield me from the chaos but was beside me!) My son had some major trauma that was not in his control. No one should have to deal with what that boy had to deal with and all of it during his senior year. You know, that year that is supposed to be full of rainbows and dreams? His was full of doubt, trauma and an ugliness that I can’t even begin to imagine. Not knowing how to cope, he acted out with bad behaviors of his own which caused him even more pain. And, as his pain increased, his parents’ pain increased. And though his trauma took center stage there was a lot of other things going on in our lives too that we had to contend with.
That’s where you come in. You will never know what your kind words meant to me. The note, the card, the meal, the call, the hug, the plant, the text, the shoulder to cry on, the idea,  and the desire to lessen our pain in any way did not go unnoticed. Now, if you friend, were unaware of the struggles we were facing, you helped simply by being you. You made me smile, you encouraged me by assuming that everything was “normal.” You went for a walk with me, sewed a costume, mentioned mimosas, rolled your eyes, gave me a pedicure, shared an empathetic nod, and changed back into clothes to go out with me after you had already put on your PJ’s. You showed up for no reason and just were there for me. You asked me to do something and thought I was capable when I didn’t feel like I was capable of anything. If I eluded to some struggles you lifted me up in prayer. (I know you did, because I could feel it!)
I desperately want to share more with you. I want you to know how bad the details are so that I can then tell you how good my God is, but I don’t think that would serve Him well. I want to tell my side of the story to counter what may be being shared around town, but I won’t. I’ll simply thank you from the bottom of my heart for being my lifeline and helping me celebrate spring and all of it’s successes. I refer to this time as the season of Blessings and Burdens and I’ve had my share of both! You have been a blessing.  Thanks again!

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Elijah was afraid[a] and ran for his life. When he came to Beersheba in Judah, he left his servant there, while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep.

All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.      

The angel of the Lord came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God.                                                                         –1 Kings 19:3-7

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My Big Claim to Fame

weight-on-the-scale-at-the-pediatrician-s-office-when-they-weigh-8PIrpa-clipartI never really considered myself special. I mean, I never had one specific great claim to fame…until I became a parent.

The first six months of my first pregnancy, I gained six pounds. The doctor informed me that she would like to see a little more weight gain for the next visit and that I really should be following the nutritional guide she had provided. My husband and I attended the childbirth education classes the next week, and he scolded me that perhaps I wasn’t eating enough cheese. I felt fine but decided that I better check the scales to see how things were progressing. I stepped on, I stepped off, on again, off again, one more time…yep, there is a weight gain. Eighteen pounds in 3 weeks! What in the world is going on?

I called the doctor, and she felt there had to be an error. I went into the office for an official weighing the next morning and when I tipped the scales, I burst into tears. The nurse, in a comforting way, suggested we try another scale. We did, and sure enough there was an errror…it wasn’t eighteen pounds; it was twenty-one. She took my blood pressure, tried to calm me down, and told me to go home and rest while she consulted the doctor. The nurse called later that afternoon and said that the doctor had scheduled a sonogram for Monday and that I should rest over the weekend. I asked hesitantly, “Does she think it could be twins?” The nurse kept her answer brief and replied, “At least.”

I had the sonogram, and it looked like I was going to have one big baby. I kept gaining weight at a normal rate and approached my due date. No baby. Every night I went to bed and woke up disappointed that I was still there.  Finally, with tears in my eyes, I asked the doctor to help me out. The baby was getting bigger and bigger and didn’t show any interest in coming into the world. She agreed to break my water the following morning.

Always feeling that attitude was the biggest help in labor, I tried to keep a positive outlook the whole time. I think I can, I think I can, became my motto. Finally, after pushing for two-and-a-half hours, I quietly said to my doctor, “I don’t think I can do this.” She said, “I don’t think you can either,” and the baby was born by Cesarean Section. I was awake for the procedure and heard the cries from the operating room. “Oh, my gosh, his head is so big…He’s huge…Have you ever seen such a big baby?” I was getting nervous, not to mention somewhat insulted, and I asked my doctor how much he weighed. She chuckled and said, “I don’t know. I can’t lift him.” As soon as the delivery was complete, they shouted for the scales to be brought in. My bouncing baby boy weighed eleven pounds, three ounces! I was shocked and said, “No one has eleven-pound babies.” and the doctor said, “You just did.”

The rest of my hospital stay, from my room across from the nursery, I could hear people ooh and aah over the babies. “Look how sweet, look at the hair, OH MY! Look at this big bruiser!” Even the nurse giving expectant parents a tour of the facility stopped at my doorway and said, “There’s the woman who had the eleven-pound baby!” Comfort and acceptance came for me when my minister visited. In his prayer, he asked that my son be not only big in body, but big in mind and spirit as well.

I still, on occasion, will meet someone, and they will ask if I am the one with the big babies. (I delivered my daughter two years later who weighed ten pounds, 5 ounces and my youngest was three weeks early and weighed eight pounds, nine ounces.) I have come a long way in my confidence since those “new parent days” and I am proud of my big babies. I am sure they will be big in mind and spirit as well.

 

Originally published in The Doula Magazine Fall 1996

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The Good Friday Story

aa0e1ad2d67bf1ce0bd254d3a3601881_is-clipart-sore-feet_301-279Maybe not THE Good Friday story, but definitely in our family, the following story is referred to often.  Paul will say, “Does she know the Good Friday story?” or “You should tell him the Good Friday story.”  It is definitely a story that has survived the years and the telling.

It was a good Friday, the Friday before Easter and my kids had the day off of school. They were 13,11, 9 and Paul was 4.  We didn’t have plans for the day except for my nephew coming to install a new kitchen floor for us so the kids were all in their separate rooms, probably playing a video game of their choosing.  My friend who is a pastor’s wife called and said that our family should join her church family for their cross walk.  Annually this group of worshipers carry a wooden cross through the streets of town to represent Jesus carrying the cross to His crucifixion. Of course, I thought it was a good idea, but my older kids were reluctant to be drug away from their activities.  I nagged at them to remind them of the true reason for the season and that they should thank Jesus that they were out of school for the day.  They were donning their hats, gloves, and coats as I nagged and preached.  It’s what moms do to instill righteous guilt during the Easter season. We arrived at the church complete with somber scowls and bad attitudes. Between taking their turn carrying the cross, they would come to me and whine, “I have snow in my hood.” “My socks are wet.” “My glove has a hole in it and my fingers are cold.”  Each complaint was met with my canned answer. “Jesus suffered a lot more than this, so keep going.” Each time, they came to me with their complaint and I responded with the same answer.  Last but not least, Paul came up to me and quietly said, “Before I say anything, I want you to know something…Jesus was NOT wearing these shoes!!!”  I gasped!  You see, Paul had a physical disability and had received new orthotics the day before. He received these braces that fit inside his shoes with the instructions that he was to wear them for an hour, then take them off for two hours, then try to wear them for another hour and then take a break for two hours until his feet adjusted to wearing them.  I had totally forgotten that he had them on as I whisked him out the door.  The poor kid’s feet were swollen on the bottom and I didn’t carry the cross to the church, but I carried him to the church.  I’m not sure if scripture says what kind of shoes Jesus was wearing that day, I don’t believe any and at that moment, Paul wishes he would’ve been the same.

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I Am An Adult!

unnamedPosted on the door of my studio was a sign that I scrawled out on a piece of paper.  It says, “Screaming, “I am an adult” means that you are NOT!!”

I took it down because I felt it contained a negative message and the fact that I saw it every time I entered the room did not put me in the positive mood I try to maintain.  SO, the note came down, but the message still rings true in our house.

Our son turned 18 in October.  It has been a journey since then.  He has battled with us and probably with himself over if he truly is an adult or not. We should’ve expected this process to involve more than the date on the calendar. Though we celebrated his birthday with family and friends the Sunday prior, he celebrated his actual birthday while my husband and I attended a church meeting.  A typical Thursday night, we return home from the meeting and our house smells like cigar smoke.  WHAT?!  We don’t allow cigar smoking in our house.  But, his reply was, “I’m allowed.  I’m 18!” We’ve been trying to teach him the difference between being legal and being allowed ever since.  He’s taken up smoking, enjoys R-rated movies even more and buys an occasional lottery ticket. He does all of these things for the thrill of showing off his state ID (He doesn’t have a drivers’ license.) He loves to show others that he truly is an adult.  That’s what the laminated card proves!

I wish it were that easy.  I wish we knew what stage in life we were in simply based on our chronological age.  It would sure take the guess work out of things.  We would enter school at age 6, no wondering if we should send kids on the younger side of the cut-off date.  School would be entered at 6. Three would be the age that kids were allowed to view television, potty training would be successful at 2, iPods could be gifted at 12, iPhones at 14, ears pierced at 10, learners’ permit at 15.5, license at 16.5, dating at 16, etc.  I think it would be wonderful if maturity simply matched actual age.  It would save me from quoting things like, “You are acting like a two-year-old,” and “That looks like it was done by a toddler.” Not to mention, “I don’t care if she has a cell phone or not, you aren’t old enough to have one.” There is definitely a lot of gray area in all of this.

So, my son is an adult.  The government says he is.  (He is, however, an adult who is still not able to consume alcohol.) I think instead of a State ID to deem this, though, we should have a Maturity ID.  I read a great definition of maturity.  Maturity is: The ability to stick with a job until it’s finished; The ability to do a job without being supervised; The ability to carry money without spending it; and The ability to bear an injustice without wanting to get even. When he can achieve that I’ll get him the laminated statement of his adulthood.  Heck, I’ll even engrave it on a medal for him to wear around town.  I am so looking forward to him becoming an adult and a mature adult at that!

But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.  –Hebrews 5:14

 

 

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Today’s Chuckle

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Four-year-old Kevin was fascinated with a dead fish floating in the river.  After studying it for hours, he asked his mother, “Will the fish go to heaven?”

Knowing she was out of her theological league, she said, ‘We’ll ask Pastor Dave on Sunday when we get to church.”

“Why? Does he know lots about fish?”

Originally published in Nov/Dec 1994 issue of The Christian Reader.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
    and our tongue with shouts of joy;
then they said among the nations,
    “The Lord has done great things for them.”
The Lord has done great things for us;
    we are glad.   –Psalm 126:2-3

 

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Gone.

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My fifth grader brought home her class picture last week.  It’s so fun to see the different kids in her class.  I pointed out one boy and said, “He’s a cutie,” and she said, “Well, he’s gone.” Gone? Gone where?  She went on to say that this boy has been expelled.  When I asked her for how long, she said he wasn’t coming back. Ever?! A boy who has been a classmate for 6 years is just “gone?”

My mind immediately went to the possibilities of why he was expelled.  Obviously, the school wasn’t a good fit for him.  Does he have a diagnosis? ADHD? ODD? Something else – NOS (Not Otherwise Specified?)  Poor kid.  Poor parents. I am sure this decision wasn’t made lightly and the school has an obligation to keep all kids safe so I’m not saying that this child shouldn’t have been expelled, I’m just saying that it is truly sad that he was. Again, poor kid, poor parents.

To the parents of this child who wasn’t able to stay in this classroom for whatever reason, I want to send you a hug.  I want to tell you that when I saw your son, I saw a cute kid.  He may have had a little twinkle in his eye which I recognized and thought was cute. That very twinkle that makes him unique is probably also the twinkle that causes the trouble in the classroom.  If your child truly was forever expelled from this classroom, you have my sympathy.  I doubt you are sure where to turn next. You are probably faced with many educational options and decisions. You are probably very angry and very frustrated. If we met, I would like to comfort [[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[you and say that everything will be alright, but I’ll be honest….I can’t be sure that it will.  Your child being identified as a “challenge” at this age will probably lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy and he may be headed down a path of self-destruction.  I will pray that this isn’t the case. I will pray that your family will survive this disruption in placement and that you will get the help that you all need to weather this storm.  I pray that the twinkle in your son’s eye will make him resilient and will help him rise to this challenge in a positive way. And I will also pray for you at home.  I’m assuming that the problematic behaviors at school are also problematic at home.  It takes huge effort to raise a child like this at home day in and day out and I know you get weary of dealing with it.  You get weary of dealing with the behaviors at home and you get weary dealing with the calls from the school and other parents regarding the behavior outside of the home.  It’s a tough road you are traveling.

Be strong parent. The next time you heave an exasperated sigh and throw up your hands and say, “Oh, god” recognize that it is a true prayer.  It’s not a sigh of defeat, it’s a sigh asking for help and God is truly there to help you. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth (Psalm 121:1-2) and even the maker of this child with the twinkle in his eye.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    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.

—Psalm 121:1-8

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Stringing Beads

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I read somewhere that being a homemaker is like stringing beads and forgetting to knot the end.  How true that can be.  And being a mother is just about the same scenario. The laundry is never finished. Just when I empty the last basket, the baby spits up. After the sink drains of warm, soapy, water, I find a cup under the couch and have no idea what was drunk out of it…or when. The everyday chores are just that, every day! The kids are bathed and smell great until they eat their next meal. The fresh scent of baby powder is quickly replaced with dirty diaper odor. An entire box of cereal gets dumped within minutes of running the vacuum. When my husband comes home from work and innocently asks, “What did you do today?” I could cry. He can’t see what I’ve accomplished since none of the tasks stay done. I haven’t sat down all day and still don’t feel I can because things are not yet in order.

Before I had children, I was a person who thrived on accomplishments and finishing tasks. At the office, when I finished a form and filed it away, there was a true sense of completion. With my new job, Motherhood, I haven’t had that feeling and I know that my job as a mother is just beginning.  Three-and-a -half years into this new career I recognize that my need to complete a task is as important as ever. I feel so pleased with myself when I get to the last page of a book – even if it is a book on sibling rivalry. I now try to sit down and cross-stitch or write every day just so that I can see something I did  was not undone in the same day. I realize that my personality requires that I take some time daily to accomplish something concrete. My job of nurturing my children and my daily tasks are important, but so is my sense of accomplishment. For now, I will try to complete something small for myself every day, while continuing to do all the other tasks of a homemaker and mother. Then, when my children are grown, and the knot is tied at the end of this string of beads, I will really know what it feels like to be rewarded with a completed project. I hope that it will be a project well done because I also took the time to care for myself.

NOTE: The above was written and published in May of 1994.  You would think that my kids have grown and that I am now able to accomplish all sorts of things.  The truth is, however, that I had….drumroll please….more kids!  I have three children who are grown and I couldn’t be more pleased with those completed projects. I have two left in the nest and it is my prayer that I still value the sames things I did over 20 years ago and that as I complete those mundane tasks, I still attempt to complete something for myself.  Sometimes it’s reading, sometimes writing and sometimes simply going out to lunch with a friend.  Which, by the way, sounds really good to me, so give me a call if you are available! 

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