You realize that laughing might have been the inappropriate reaction when your son (in complete monotone) tells you "Sarah just broke a toy with her bare hands."
You turn the corner of the hallway to find a trail of toys from one end to the other. Your oldest son inventor informs you it's all part of his plan to lure Abby into a "booby trap" in his room created especially for her. Later, he thought better of letting her fall victim to it because "it was way too painful for her". Geez. (Good thing she had no idea what all of those toys were about after all.)
Your husband took each of the oldest kids out for an individual date night on Saturday only to find out that your four year old is scared of Smurfs (her quote when the movie started "This was a bad idea.") and that going to an all-you-can-eat buffet before a playground results in a short stay...because nature calls.
The first time your daughter got in trouble at Pre-K was (in her words) because the kid next to her wouldn't be quiet. Apparently he was making weird noises just to bother her. (With an older brother you'd think she'd be used to that by now.)
On Saturday mornings, everyone in your family tries to pile into your queen-sized bed to watch cartoons. If only you'd known that throwing a couple of pillows on the floor in the shape of a "bed" could be so much fun, you could have been catching a few extra's zzzz's all these years.
When your toddler emerges from her big sister's room wearing a different colored sock on each foot and on each hand, you hesitate to see what's become of the sock drawer.
As much as you love routine, your toddler waking you up every morning by jumping on you, shouting "[Little] Ensteins!" in your ear, and subsequently demanding, "Milk!" is not your ideal start to the day.
Now that the older brother and sister are back in school, you and little miss have been known to occasionally frequently regularly have chips and string cheese for lunch. That's half-healthy, right?
After teasing with your daughter that they weren't going to let her in school because she was dragging one morning, she asked what would happen then. You told her she'd just stay home with you, to which she replied, "Well that would be bad." She's quite the little encourager. Good thing you are mostly secure in your mom-abilities.
After having two kids who get embarrassed when you catch them playing pretend, you finally got one who is not ashamed to be "caught" playing with her toys. Her favorite exchanges between the toys (typically Barbies) - "What you doing here?" "My turn next!" "We're flying, flying, flying!"
I have always said that age three is "worse" than age two. By worse, I mean that the "Terrible Two" thing is nothing compared to the "Thunderous Threes".
Then I had Sarah. And I learned what the terrible twos are about. It's not that she is terrible. She's just very...passionate. About everything. Some might say she's got all of the characteristics of someone diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Particularly the extreme highs and lows within nanoseconds of each other.
The terrible twos, in my opinion, are the direct result of a yet-undeveloped means of communication. She says lots of words, but mostly nouns - not adjectives. So it makes it harder to describe how she is feeling. That makes life challenging to say the least. And the result is a violent reaction. Thunderous even...a year early. She's so advanced.
So in the times when there is a calm, I should know by now that mischief is abounding.
And yet somehow, I find myself so relieved for the calm, that I enjoy it for thirty seconds, a minute, maybe even two. And then...
I find her.
Sometimes she's digging in the refrigerator for string cheese or pepperonis. (Are two year olds supposed to be able to open the fridge unassisted? Do we need to sign her up for the World's Strongest Girl competition?)
Sometimes she's quite literally scaling the pantry shelves in a quest for lollipops or other candy.
Sometimes she's buck naked jumping on my bed.
Sometimes she's coloring on Ben's bunk beds with markers that are available only in his room. (The same bunk beds, I might add, that I grew up sleeping on, and that for the past twenty-some years, have existed with nary a single marker mark on them. Thanks, Sarah.)
And sometimes, she finds something new, something exciting...
Something wet.
Like...overflowing the bathroom sink, but only after dumping an entire bottle of kids shampoo into it...and smearing her soapy hands all over the mirror.
"Uh oh"
What you can't tell from the picture is that there was quite literally half an inch of standing water on the counter top, a cupful of toothbrushes tipped over and filled with the soapy water, and thanks to the non-existent overflow hole (which is something that's always troubled me) in our "fancy" sinks (which, by the way, came with the house when we bought it) there was also enough water to fill the two drawers under the sink, and wet every towel in the cabinets underneath.
That's talent, ladies and gentleman. (And apparently, I'm a neglectful parent. Moral of the story: Two minutes of Sarah-unseen is two minutes too long.)
Come to think of it, I don't think that this is an example of the Terrible Two's at all.
I think it's just Sarah. Period.
I'm pretty sure she's kin to Dennis the Menace. (And here we thought Abby was our mischievous one.)
Just goes to show you - you can never get comfortable in the parenting role. Because then God will give you a situation - or, in this case, a whole new kid to rock your socks off.
And that she does. She rocks them right off.
I love this little girl. Menace or not.
(And we're having another one of these??? Ha! Bring it on.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about "passion". Not the late-night, for-purchase-on-tv kind of passion. I'm talking about the kind of thing you feel so strongly about that you want to devote your whole life to it.
When I hear the word "passion", my mind naturally tends to think of the movie. You know the one.
In this case, the "passion" refers to the hours leading up to and during Jesus' trial and crucifixion during which time he suffered immensely in every possible way - physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally.
From wikipedia (the source of all sources, right?):
The etymological origins of the word lie in the Greek verb paschÅ, to suffer, from passages such as Matthew(and parallel passages in Mark and Luke) and Acts 1:3. The Latin word passio is used with reference to Christ's mortal suffering in the Vulgate.
The term first appears in 2nd century Christian texts precisely to
describe the travails and suffering of Jesus in this present context.
The word passion has since taken on a more general application and now also describes the accounts of Christian martyrs.
I watched this movie at the theater in March of 2004 when Ben was a mere six months old. As a new mom, the images of Mary following her son around the city, watching him endure such torture were almost too much for me to bear. In just six months time, I had quickly found out that one of my passions was being a mother. I tried to put myself in Mary's shoes, and then just as quickly I tried not to imagine what that would be like to watch your sinless son face unrelenting, shameless torture.
The images in the movie were startling, to say the least, but I believe that the magnitude of the torture was accurately portrayed, if not even watered down for the sake of the modern movie-watcher. Obviously, the movie took some Hollywood liberties, but that withstanding, the general premises - that Jesus was arrested, tried, condemned, tortured, and crucified - are absolutely true.
The crucifixion is often times highlighted as the event that Christians dwell on, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Crucifixion, in fact, was a pretty common means of carrying out a death sentence in those days. The most important fact about Jesus' death is that it had nothing to do with the beatings he endured, the spear in his side, or the physical hanging on the cross. Jesus died from voluntarily accepting God's wrath on his soul, so that we wouldn't have to. Someone completely blameless, 100% righteous, and obviously selfless died so that the rest of us would have the opportunity to live.
And it doesn't even stop there.
The fact that Jesus endured God's wrath for our sins, and still defeated death by rising again is what gives us hope of the promise that if we believe in His sacrifice and accept His grace we, too, will rise again to live in eternity after death. Jesus paved the way for our eternal life.
20But Christ has been raised to life! And he makes us certain that others will also be raised to life. 21Just as we will die because of Adam, we will be raised to life because of Christ. 22Adam brought death to all of us, and Christ will bring life to all of us. 1 Corinthians 15: 20-22
(Aside: For two seconds let me just say that it matters not to me if you despise Mel Gibson. The people who made this movie are just men. Jesus was not. The sins of a director can do nothing to taint the character of Jesus. The end.)
By modern standards, the term passion is something along the lines of what I started out with - something that causes a deep emotional stir in us. Jesus' passion was the soul of every person on this earth.
A few weeks ago, I brushed off a dusty book from my bookshelf that I bought back in 1999. It was compiled by the Christian band dcTalk, and contains the stories of over a hundred people with a passion for Christ and His message so strong that they gave their own lives for it. It is called Jesus Freaks: Stories of Those Who Stood for Jesus.
It is said that there are more Christian martyrs today than there were in 100AD - in the days of the Roman Empire. According to a study done at Regent University, there were close to 156,000 Christians martyred around the world in 1998. ~Jesus Freaks
The dates and places of the account go from the first martyr, Stephen, to present day martyrs all over the world. These people chose not to deny their faith in the face of certain death as a testimony to the truth of Jesus. Their stories have caused a stir in me.
Some Christians haven't even attempted to think about whether or not they would die for Jesus because they haven't really been living for Him. ~dcTalk
Naturally, it got me thinking about where my passions lie. I'm still figuring that out. But God gifts us each uniquely so that we can best serve Him with our individual talents. In Sunday School a couple of weeks ago, we talked about using our spiritual gifts. The challenge was not to wait until we figure out what our gift is to use it, but to dig in and "get our hands dirty", and we'll quickly find out how we're gifted.
I have been blessed in so many ways that sometimes I think it's to my misfortune. In my comfort, I lose touch with reality. I forget about those who are lost, and hurting, and whose daily needs aren't even being met.
Our worship service closed yesterday with the singing of the song "My House is Full (But my Field is Empty)".
(From youtube)
There is peace and contentment
In my Father's House today
Lots of food on His table
And no one is turned away
There is singing and laughter
As the hours pass by
Then a hush calms the singing
As the Father sadly cries
Chorus
My house is full, but my field is empty
Who will go and work for Me today?
It seems My children all want to stay around My table
But no one wants to work in My field
No one wants to work in My field
Push away from the table
Look out through the windowpane
Just beyond this house of plenty
Lies a field of golden grain
And it's ripened unto harvest
But the reapers, where are they?
In the house, oh can't the children
Hear the Father sadly say?
Souls are crying, men are dying
Won't you lead them to the cross
Go and find them, help to win them
Win the lost at any cost
But no one wants to work in My field
I looked around, and I didn't notice anyone else tearing up, but my eyes were just about freely flowing. It brought it all together for me. Jesus said, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few." They may be few, but I'm one of them. And I need to pick up my reaper. Because, to be honest, it's getting a little rusty.
I have comfort in knowing that even as I dive in, I'm not alone. The most reaffirming thing for me, as a Christian, is knowing I'm in a situation I alone cannot possibly handle, but having the Holy Spirit bring me through. Thank you, God, for that.
My prayer today is that God will give me the motivation and courage to get myself out in the field and get my hands dirty, and in doing so that God will reveal my passions and my gifts to me, so that I may better serve Him.
Time for more "You know you're a mom whens-day..."
From the next room over, you hear your youngest daughter crying out, "Mommy! Help!" with an unusual sense of urgency. You find her in the pantry clinging for dear life to the third shelf like a possum, just above your head, with a lollipop in her mouth (which she apparently nabbed off of the fourth shelf). You were not at all surprised, only disappointed that you didn't think to grab the camera before you rescued her.
Your two year old has taken up an interest in potty-training. Your four year old enjoys this, and on one occasion, nearly convinced the impressionable toddler to "tee-tee" on the toy potty they have for their baby dolls. You walked into the playroom just in time to stop your diaper-less little girl from sitting down. When she saw you she smiled, nodded, and said, "Baby's potty." Guess she thinks she's the baby.
(For a little perspective...that's the tiny potty...that the Cabbage Patch doll is sitting on.)
Interestingly enough, this same toddler refers to all Polly Pocket dolls and Barbie dolls as "Polly", except, she doesn't say it correctly. So she actually calls them all "Potty". Those poor beautiful dolls.
While watching Beauty & the Beast (your all time favorite), your two year old loudly proclaims, "UH OH!" every single time the Beast appears on screen. She's nothing if not dramatic.
Your four year old seems to have skipped her childhood and tween years and gone straight to her teenaged attitude when she comes up with stuff like this, "If you were really my mom, you would care about what I'm saying to you." The context of this declaration? She was protesting bedtime. I actually don't care what she has to say about that. Guess I'm not her mom.
As soon as the month of August hit your son started planning your birthday "surprise". This involves three straight weeks of him walking around taking candid videos for some sort of compilation. It's sweet, but you're less than happy about it when he records the less than pristine conditions of your home on a day-to-day basis for all posterity.
During the taping of one of these videos, he set his sister up to do a "dance show" after school. In the middle of the song, she needed to go to the bathroom, but he tried to forbid her from going in the name of a successful shoot. He takes this birthday video thing pretty seriously. (Don't worry, Daddy intervened to allow for a restroom break.)
After enjoying exorbitant amounts of popcorn to the point that it counted as your entree for dinner, you opted for a 2nd course of chocolate fondue. Needless to say, it was a hit. It was kind of healthy. You had apple dippers...
It is no longer a question of "if" your two year old is doing something bad when she's off quietly "playing" by herself. It's where and with whose markers?
You consider it no small blessing that the teachers in the dismissal line at your school know you by face and name and see you coming from across the road with a retching, just-woken-up-from-her-nap toddler only to release your kids before you have to walk all the way up to the door. This might not be "small town Georgia", but it feels like sometimes. And I kind of like it.
You emerge from the second of two 30-second restroom breaks you afford yourself during the day only to immediately hear these very nonchalant words out of your oldest child's mouth: "Sarah just went out front completely naked. It's okay. I got her."
While your husband is out of town on business (AGAIN), you opt for a dinner out on the town after the first day of school, in lieu of cooking. Thinking that their first choice would be Taco Bell (as it usually is) was a mistake. Your children requested Golden Corral, the all-you-can-eat buffet with what couldn't possibly be less than a full mile of food options. While that did sound tasty, the prospect of taking three small-ish children to a buffet single-handedly was enough to convince you not to go. It was awfully nice of the kids to have complete confidence in your ability to carry 4 plates at a time though.
After convincing them that Taco Bell was, in fact, a much better option, you hear your suddenly-precocious four year old proclaim as she gazed out the window on the way, "Those are some handsome boys in that car!" Since when does she think boys are handsome enough to comment on? One day in school and she's already a harlot.
As you anxiously awaited a report from your Pre-K-going four year old about her first day, your experienced second grader quickly chimed in with, "I love everything about second grade." (Goody-two-shoes.)
Despite the fact that our society has demonized male elementary school teachers (and nurses and pediatricians and piano instructors and childcare workers), you were absolutely thrilled with the first impression of your four year old's male Pre-K teacher. And the fact that her face lights up with a smile at the mere mention of his name is all the confirmation you need. (Turns out, he must be pretty silly to win that little girl over so quickly.)
While it may have seemed that your girls were playing "Easter Egg Hunt" with pieces of chalk in the garden and a couple of buckets, you peek into one of said buckets a few minutes later only to find this:
It's okay, there are still a few blooms left out front after their shenanigans.
At first you worried that your daughters' naked water fights/races/flower picking sessions in the backyard would scare off potential buyers from your neighbor's on-the-market home, but then you thought, it's probably better that they know what they're getting themselves into with us for neighbors after all.
Look at her! Caught red-handed stealing another one!
Since your husband is away, your seven year old convinces you to let him have a slumber party in your bedroom. Turns out, his room is too bright, but your room is too dark. Maybe Goldilocks needs to try another room to find one that's "just right". Incidentally, you recap the parallels of the story to your son and refer to him as "Goldilocks", and you are delighted that the new nickname was received with the sincerest of seven year old giggles.
You shouldn't have worried about your youngest occupying herself while the big kids were away at school. She had no trouble coming up with some ideas.
Sometimes something as simple as pajama choice reveals how exceedingly different your children are from each other.
(In case it's not obvious, those are fleece footie pajamas, no pajamas, and a more-practical-for-summer-in-Georgia shorts set.)
But she tried so hard to get them down from her closet, you let her keep them on. She was rockin' those things.
Luckily, your third child isn't really aware of birthdates (or at least doesn't hold you to them) because just days ago, three months after her actual birthday, you finally presented her with her (combination first and) second birthday gift. As it turns out, she just wanted the box anyway. At least her big sister likes the water table.
Maybe next time I won't stay away from Mom Things for so long... Maybe next time I won't be so wordy... Maybe...
“If truth is the goal, Scripture is the source.”
― John MacArthur
Behind the Madness
Jennie
Just an easily-distracted, excessively-random, 40-something Christian wife and working mom->turned stay at home mom-->turned homeschooling mom of eight perfectly imperfect children. Clearly, I'm just the clay. God's having fun molding me.
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