My boys are definitely ALL boy - the rough-and-tumble, energtic, roll-in-the-dirt, and loud variety. but sometimes they can still melt my heart.
Ryan told me a couple days ago, out of the blue, that the way to treat a horse is to use a "soft hand, a firm voice, a sunny attitude, praise and reward." He heard it from one of his Magic Treehouse CD's - the series he listens to for hours on end - but the way he said it, so assuredly and sweetly, he made me sigh happily. Every once in awhile, I ask him to repeat it for me, cherishing the sound of his little-boy voice say things like, "sunny attitude." Maybe it's just me. Probably you had to be there to fully appreciate it.
But it should be easier for everyone to understand the impact of Drew's comment over dinner. We were talking about the code of chivalry, specifically about the "women and children first" policy embraced by most of the men on the doomed Titanic. Aimee was saying that she didn't like how that seemed to make women "weaker" - she's going through a bit of a feminist stage, it seems - and so eventually I asked her what she thought the standard should be instead. This was a little tough for her, as she is just discovering at this point in this point in her life that it is quite easy to make sweeping philosophical statements, but another thing altogether to back them up. At any rate, after thinking it over, she said that maybe it should be "families first." Drew, who had been silent up to then, chimed in seriously, "Families should stick together. Because you wouldn't want someone to survive, just to live the rest of their lives in sorrow."
He really said that. And I really choked a bit on the bite of food I had just taken, and my eyes really did start to tear up right then and there.
Today they acted, sounded, smelled just like boys. And I love every inch of their dear little selves.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
In Which We Broach a Touchy Subject
"We don't celebrate Halloween."
The way many people react to that statement alone, you'd think we had said something like,
"We never let our children get within ten feet of candy," "We don't believe in letting them have fun," or "You're evil."
It's tiresome. We have family and close friends who celebrate the holiday in various fashions, and I think most of them respect our decision not to, the same way we respect their decisions, but this is still such a tricky (no pun intended) subject that those who abstain feel the need to walk on eggshells around it. It's hardly safe to make the above statement alone, much less to explain why, without people getting defensive.
For several reasons, this year seemed to be a harder one than others for my kids. They really wanted to know - again and again - why we don't do it, and can't we PLEASE?? So while we don't usually do anything at all on Halloween, I looked around for some kind of alternative event. After all, I have no objection to dressing up in costumes, having fun, or...ok, it's true. I do think candy is probably of the devil! But my kids still get to have some now and then. At any rate, I looked, and I found plenty of trunk-or-treat events, but no fall festivals or anything else completely removed from the trick-or-treating category. Still, I suggested that we might go to one. I didn't want to be legalistic and have the kids eventually become resentful.
But it never quite sat right. We believe that "...whatever does not come from faith is sin," so we feel like we need positive reasons to do a thing that might be considered a "gray" area. We have abstained from Halloween in the past because we believe that the festivities currently associated with it are too attached to the holiday's origins, and have no redeemable qualities. As I considered whether we could do something this year that we had previously not done, for those reasons, I went through all the reasoning for why we might do it, and it amounted to the following:
...The kids wouldn't feel left out.
...It would be fun.
...It's not necessarily "bad."
None of those are "from faith" reasons, particularly the last one. Just because something has an apparent absence of evil certainly does not make it a good thing. In fact, for us, it would be an unfortunate compromise of what we believe to be true, and therefore a decidedly bad thing. Actually I think the Bible uses a stronger term. It would be sin for us.
A few days ago, I also read this from Vision Forum, and it re-affirmed what we already knew to be true for us, and my mind was all the more made up. Dave and I talked it over again, and he felt the same way, and so just a couple days ago, I broke the news to the kids, bracing myself for the worst. In fact, I told them that I knew they would probably be angry, and that was ok. It was my fault for beginning to lead them down one road, and then abruptly changing directions. But they surprised me by shrugging it off and saying they didn't mind. When I told them that we had decided to do a Reformation party (of sorts) instead, and that we would have cake, balloons, and games to celebrate Martin Luther's birthday, they were excited. After dinner last night, we played Jenga and Twister (the latter of which caused hysterical laughter and fun), then cake while I read a little about the Reformers from The Church History ABC's, and the central theme was summed up well by the last statement about the last one we read about, "The Bible tells us everything we need to know, from A to Z." And with that, the night was over. It was easier than each of us thought, and the kids went to bed without any regret about missing anything. Dave and I went to bed with clear consciences.
I realize that just by posting this, I am risking bristly reactions. I am certainly not saying anything about anyone else's reasons for celebrating Halloween. As I said, we have family and friends who do. We assume that they do so "from faith." We don't get defensive when they talk about their Halloween plans. We wouldn't get defensive if they even explained their reasoning for their freedom to celebrate. But I confess, we do become weary from feeling like we can't even say that we don't, much less explain why, so that's all this post is.
Although....I still think candy is evil!
The way many people react to that statement alone, you'd think we had said something like,
"We never let our children get within ten feet of candy," "We don't believe in letting them have fun," or "You're evil."
It's tiresome. We have family and close friends who celebrate the holiday in various fashions, and I think most of them respect our decision not to, the same way we respect their decisions, but this is still such a tricky (no pun intended) subject that those who abstain feel the need to walk on eggshells around it. It's hardly safe to make the above statement alone, much less to explain why, without people getting defensive.
For several reasons, this year seemed to be a harder one than others for my kids. They really wanted to know - again and again - why we don't do it, and can't we PLEASE?? So while we don't usually do anything at all on Halloween, I looked around for some kind of alternative event. After all, I have no objection to dressing up in costumes, having fun, or...ok, it's true. I do think candy is probably of the devil! But my kids still get to have some now and then. At any rate, I looked, and I found plenty of trunk-or-treat events, but no fall festivals or anything else completely removed from the trick-or-treating category. Still, I suggested that we might go to one. I didn't want to be legalistic and have the kids eventually become resentful.
But it never quite sat right. We believe that "...whatever does not come from faith is sin," so we feel like we need positive reasons to do a thing that might be considered a "gray" area. We have abstained from Halloween in the past because we believe that the festivities currently associated with it are too attached to the holiday's origins, and have no redeemable qualities. As I considered whether we could do something this year that we had previously not done, for those reasons, I went through all the reasoning for why we might do it, and it amounted to the following:
...The kids wouldn't feel left out.
...It would be fun.
...It's not necessarily "bad."
None of those are "from faith" reasons, particularly the last one. Just because something has an apparent absence of evil certainly does not make it a good thing. In fact, for us, it would be an unfortunate compromise of what we believe to be true, and therefore a decidedly bad thing. Actually I think the Bible uses a stronger term. It would be sin for us.
A few days ago, I also read this from Vision Forum, and it re-affirmed what we already knew to be true for us, and my mind was all the more made up. Dave and I talked it over again, and he felt the same way, and so just a couple days ago, I broke the news to the kids, bracing myself for the worst. In fact, I told them that I knew they would probably be angry, and that was ok. It was my fault for beginning to lead them down one road, and then abruptly changing directions. But they surprised me by shrugging it off and saying they didn't mind. When I told them that we had decided to do a Reformation party (of sorts) instead, and that we would have cake, balloons, and games to celebrate Martin Luther's birthday, they were excited. After dinner last night, we played Jenga and Twister (the latter of which caused hysterical laughter and fun), then cake while I read a little about the Reformers from The Church History ABC's, and the central theme was summed up well by the last statement about the last one we read about, "The Bible tells us everything we need to know, from A to Z." And with that, the night was over. It was easier than each of us thought, and the kids went to bed without any regret about missing anything. Dave and I went to bed with clear consciences.
I realize that just by posting this, I am risking bristly reactions. I am certainly not saying anything about anyone else's reasons for celebrating Halloween. As I said, we have family and friends who do. We assume that they do so "from faith." We don't get defensive when they talk about their Halloween plans. We wouldn't get defensive if they even explained their reasoning for their freedom to celebrate. But I confess, we do become weary from feeling like we can't even say that we don't, much less explain why, so that's all this post is.
Although....I still think candy is evil!
Friday, October 28, 2011
In Which Sometimes It's Not as Hard as You'd Think...and Sometimes It's Exactly LIke That
"I just don't know how you do it!"
I hear this kind of comment not frequently, sometimes as a way of communicating "You're nuts!", and sometimes as a way of posing the question for informational purposes - "How do you do it? "It's enough work to handle the three [or whatever] kids I have, and you have five! And you homeschool them?" And my typical answer is, "We just do it. We've got them, so we just do what we have to do. It works out." When people ask how we homeschool such a crew, my line is that it's not as hard as people think.
And that's mostly true. Someone once asked me where I did school with the kids, and when I appeared a bit confused, she went on, "You know...are they all sitting around a table?" I realized that many people have this idea of a "typical" eight hour-school day, with mom as a typical teacher, instructing several grades all at once, which in truth does sound ghastly, not to mention impossible. No, I could never do that. Homeschooling - or at least our version of it, is quite a bit different, and I've posted about that often enough here. Anyway, that's pretty much true of having this number of children as well. When a pregnant mom of several young children asks me, with something akin to terror in her eyes, how I manage, and seem to do it so well, I know she's thinking that having five of the children she's got sounds impossible. I encourage her with the fact that there's good news. Nay, great news! They get older. They don't always need every single thing done for them. (Sometimes I have to remind them of this, but never mind that at the moment...) They go spend hours in their rooms because they want to. They go to sleep at night in their own beds and stay there. All night. And when it comes to homeschooling them, they can do many things on their own. For that matter, even when they are little and need more attention, that's some of the best - and easiest kind of homeschooling. It just involves lots of reading, looking at caterpillars, and playing. Lots and lots and LOTS of reading and playing.
So it's probably not as hard a prospect as they envision. Also, when they look at me and think, "Wow - she's doing it so well," their vision is perhaps not quite clear. It's a nice compliment, truly, and I do appreciate it when out in public it appears that we're doing some things right. Yay! (And I know that even in actuality, we are doing some things right.) But sometimes the appearance of success and "she-has-it-togetherness" can be misleading, and unfortunately so. What I don't talk about enough are days like today. Tonight I talked to a mom interested in having a number of kids and in homeschooling, and it would probably not have been the most encouraging thing to say to her, "You know, it's all not so hard as you might think... except on days like today, when, frankly, I wanted to lock the kids of my bedroom, crawl under the covers and, stay there until their father got home. We're all wearing smiles now, but an hour ago, tempers were flaring, no one liked each other, and my house looked like a bomb hit it. Hardly any "school" got done because no one would pay attention to me, and I was failing at getting them to obey me...hey, I was pretty much failing at being a good mom, period. My crowning achievement this afternoon was that I presided over everyone surviving it."
It might have scared her off, but if she does have a large family and does decide to homeschool them, it might have actually been good to have been able to retrieve the memory of someone essentially saying, "Sister, we're all just doing the best we can. Sometimes it looks nice, and sometimes it looks pretty ugly. That's normal. You're normal. You're not failing."
I keep a friend's baby a couple days a week, and when she comes to pick him up, she gets to see us at the time of day that is often the most messy and chaotic. Periodically I thank her for seeing us at our most "real," and still choosing to be our friend anyway! I think it would be beneficial if we all got a peek at each other's "real-ness" now and then. Certainly those who saw mine would know that often I am hanging on by a slender thread of sanity some days! And in seeing that, either they would realize that I'm not quite so amazing and feel encouraged...or they would be confirmed in their belief that having and homeschooling five children is in fact an impossibly nutty thing to do.
I hear this kind of comment not frequently, sometimes as a way of communicating "You're nuts!", and sometimes as a way of posing the question for informational purposes - "How do you do it? "It's enough work to handle the three [or whatever] kids I have, and you have five! And you homeschool them?" And my typical answer is, "We just do it. We've got them, so we just do what we have to do. It works out." When people ask how we homeschool such a crew, my line is that it's not as hard as people think.
And that's mostly true. Someone once asked me where I did school with the kids, and when I appeared a bit confused, she went on, "You know...are they all sitting around a table?" I realized that many people have this idea of a "typical" eight hour-school day, with mom as a typical teacher, instructing several grades all at once, which in truth does sound ghastly, not to mention impossible. No, I could never do that. Homeschooling - or at least our version of it, is quite a bit different, and I've posted about that often enough here. Anyway, that's pretty much true of having this number of children as well. When a pregnant mom of several young children asks me, with something akin to terror in her eyes, how I manage, and seem to do it so well, I know she's thinking that having five of the children she's got sounds impossible. I encourage her with the fact that there's good news. Nay, great news! They get older. They don't always need every single thing done for them. (Sometimes I have to remind them of this, but never mind that at the moment...) They go spend hours in their rooms because they want to. They go to sleep at night in their own beds and stay there. All night. And when it comes to homeschooling them, they can do many things on their own. For that matter, even when they are little and need more attention, that's some of the best - and easiest kind of homeschooling. It just involves lots of reading, looking at caterpillars, and playing. Lots and lots and LOTS of reading and playing.
So it's probably not as hard a prospect as they envision. Also, when they look at me and think, "Wow - she's doing it so well," their vision is perhaps not quite clear. It's a nice compliment, truly, and I do appreciate it when out in public it appears that we're doing some things right. Yay! (And I know that even in actuality, we are doing some things right.) But sometimes the appearance of success and "she-has-it-togetherness" can be misleading, and unfortunately so. What I don't talk about enough are days like today. Tonight I talked to a mom interested in having a number of kids and in homeschooling, and it would probably not have been the most encouraging thing to say to her, "You know, it's all not so hard as you might think... except on days like today, when, frankly, I wanted to lock the kids of my bedroom, crawl under the covers and, stay there until their father got home. We're all wearing smiles now, but an hour ago, tempers were flaring, no one liked each other, and my house looked like a bomb hit it. Hardly any "school" got done because no one would pay attention to me, and I was failing at getting them to obey me...hey, I was pretty much failing at being a good mom, period. My crowning achievement this afternoon was that I presided over everyone surviving it."
It might have scared her off, but if she does have a large family and does decide to homeschool them, it might have actually been good to have been able to retrieve the memory of someone essentially saying, "Sister, we're all just doing the best we can. Sometimes it looks nice, and sometimes it looks pretty ugly. That's normal. You're normal. You're not failing."
I keep a friend's baby a couple days a week, and when she comes to pick him up, she gets to see us at the time of day that is often the most messy and chaotic. Periodically I thank her for seeing us at our most "real," and still choosing to be our friend anyway! I think it would be beneficial if we all got a peek at each other's "real-ness" now and then. Certainly those who saw mine would know that often I am hanging on by a slender thread of sanity some days! And in seeing that, either they would realize that I'm not quite so amazing and feel encouraged...or they would be confirmed in their belief that having and homeschooling five children is in fact an impossibly nutty thing to do.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Perspective...and the Lack Thereof
I recently posted on Facebook about how homeschool kids may lack some perspective. Mine do, anyway. The other day I called up to them that it was time to come downstairs, and one of the older kids called back down inquisitively, "For what?"
Oh, I don't know. To start our day! To do some school - you know, that stuff we (try) to do five days a week. I know we're relaxed about it, but good grief, it does figure into our schedule enough so that I would think they would understand this is a recurring thing. But no, they still tend to act a little surprised when they discover (day after day after day) that once again, we have learning to do. My reaction to this ranges from baffled amusement to annoyance, the latter because I would love for them to understand that most of their peers get up at the same time each morning, get dressed, go the same building, then go the same classes at the same time, every day, pretty much all day. Maybe I'm having a "grass is greener on the other side" moment, because those kids probably complain a fair amount about it, but I wouldn't think they wake up regularly and say, "What? School again? Didn't I just do that yesterday?"
Of course, on the flip side, I am trying to make a statement that what we do here is NOT just "school at home." I'm not after the kids mimicking a typical school experience, so I don't really want to be throwing in their faces all the time the "if you were in school..." line. It might be nice if they had some perspective on their situation, and, if I'm honest, it might be nice if out of that perspective bloomed a sense of gratitude and appreciation for what they do have. And it might be nicer still if that caused them to get dressed, do their chores, and present themselves to me each morning ready to seize the day and learn.
Shhh. Stop laughing. Let me have this moment to dream.
Ok, back to reality...here's what I tend to hear instead,
"Why do we have to start school so early? [at 9:30] Aren't we going to have any time to [read, ride bikes, build with LEGOs, etc, etc] first?"
Upon finding one of my children still in their pajamas at a time in the morning when I would have expected something different..."Why are you not dressed?" Child - "You didn't tell me I had to get dressed." Oh, right - silly me! I thought maybe after nine years of living you might have assumed that's just what we do in the morning.
With dramatic sighs - "What do you treat us like slaves?" This from my six year-old, who does collectively a whole 30 minutes worth of "formal" school each day. I just laughed.
If I start talking about the next subject as we're wrapping up the first subject of the day, "What? Aren't we going to get a break first?" Apparently since we must do school, the ideal schedule is 15 minutes of school, followed by an hour or so of breaks, and so on.
And since we're talking about breaks, this one really cracked me up, "We've had a two-hour break, and you want us just to start right back up instantly?"
A response to being posed arelatively simple math question, "Do you expect me just to say the answer immediately? Well, that's the goal eventually, yes dear.
It never ceases to amaze me that they haven't developed a set a more realistic set of expectations by now. Oh, but what's that you say? Maybe it's the mother who ought to have developed a more realistic perspective and set of expectations after 11 years of having children? I do have to remind myself that perhaps that's true. Perhaps I should expect the kids to act like kids - not to stay there, obviously, and not to get away with doing nothing at all - but it might at least help my attitude to remember that they're supposed to act like children. They can't possibly have a broad perspective on educational styles or any other aspect of life, for one thing, and for another, it's the job of all children to question, to push boundaries, to learn the ropes of life sometimes the hard way. And it's not my job to make sure they know how good they have it, but to gently, lovingly, and firmly guide them through each day. Eventually they'll get themselves dressed each morning without having to be reminded. I don't hold out too much hope that they'll come to accept daily learning and instruction, but it could happen!
In the meantime...[insert the sound of my cracking whip here]!
Oh, I don't know. To start our day! To do some school - you know, that stuff we (try) to do five days a week. I know we're relaxed about it, but good grief, it does figure into our schedule enough so that I would think they would understand this is a recurring thing. But no, they still tend to act a little surprised when they discover (day after day after day) that once again, we have learning to do. My reaction to this ranges from baffled amusement to annoyance, the latter because I would love for them to understand that most of their peers get up at the same time each morning, get dressed, go the same building, then go the same classes at the same time, every day, pretty much all day. Maybe I'm having a "grass is greener on the other side" moment, because those kids probably complain a fair amount about it, but I wouldn't think they wake up regularly and say, "What? School again? Didn't I just do that yesterday?"
Of course, on the flip side, I am trying to make a statement that what we do here is NOT just "school at home." I'm not after the kids mimicking a typical school experience, so I don't really want to be throwing in their faces all the time the "if you were in school..." line. It might be nice if they had some perspective on their situation, and, if I'm honest, it might be nice if out of that perspective bloomed a sense of gratitude and appreciation for what they do have. And it might be nicer still if that caused them to get dressed, do their chores, and present themselves to me each morning ready to seize the day and learn.
Shhh. Stop laughing. Let me have this moment to dream.
Ok, back to reality...here's what I tend to hear instead,
"Why do we have to start school so early? [at 9:30] Aren't we going to have any time to [read, ride bikes, build with LEGOs, etc, etc] first?"
Upon finding one of my children still in their pajamas at a time in the morning when I would have expected something different..."Why are you not dressed?" Child - "You didn't tell me I had to get dressed." Oh, right - silly me! I thought maybe after nine years of living you might have assumed that's just what we do in the morning.
With dramatic sighs - "What do you treat us like slaves?" This from my six year-old, who does collectively a whole 30 minutes worth of "formal" school each day. I just laughed.
If I start talking about the next subject as we're wrapping up the first subject of the day, "What? Aren't we going to get a break first?" Apparently since we must do school, the ideal schedule is 15 minutes of school, followed by an hour or so of breaks, and so on.
And since we're talking about breaks, this one really cracked me up, "We've had a two-hour break, and you want us just to start right back up instantly?"
A response to being posed arelatively simple math question, "Do you expect me just to say the answer immediately? Well, that's the goal eventually, yes dear.
It never ceases to amaze me that they haven't developed a set a more realistic set of expectations by now. Oh, but what's that you say? Maybe it's the mother who ought to have developed a more realistic perspective and set of expectations after 11 years of having children? I do have to remind myself that perhaps that's true. Perhaps I should expect the kids to act like kids - not to stay there, obviously, and not to get away with doing nothing at all - but it might at least help my attitude to remember that they're supposed to act like children. They can't possibly have a broad perspective on educational styles or any other aspect of life, for one thing, and for another, it's the job of all children to question, to push boundaries, to learn the ropes of life sometimes the hard way. And it's not my job to make sure they know how good they have it, but to gently, lovingly, and firmly guide them through each day. Eventually they'll get themselves dressed each morning without having to be reminded. I don't hold out too much hope that they'll come to accept daily learning and instruction, but it could happen!
In the meantime...[insert the sound of my cracking whip here]!
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Play of the Game
I should comment first on my ever so long absence from blogging. Dave was working in Savannah for the past three weeks (three weeks!), so I wasn't doing much else but...well, everything. Perhaps I'll post about our time in his absence, but I may just leave it with this summation - everyone ate relatively good food, we made it to places we were supposed to be (and usually on time), we did a fair amount of schoolwork, and the house wasn't a complete disaster by the time Dave finally came home. So I call that a success. But of course, we're also terribly glad to have him home again!
At any rate, today all three boys had their first flag football games, the two younger ones at our YMCA, and Drew at another nearby branch (for reasons that would take too long to explain and wouldn't particularly enhance this story). We decided that Dave and Aimee would take the younger ones to their games, and Scarlett and I would go with Drew, who actually had a double header. I'll take this moment to mention that I was dreading, just a bit, the idea of having a toddler (have I mentioned that she's walking now? Woo-hoo!), out on a field by myself for two hours, but I discovered that she was content to sit in my lap most of the time. At the end of it, I was just looking at her in grateful awe. For two hours this little miss just sat and looked at books and played with empty water bottles, never once attempting to run off anywhere. As I thought about it, I realized that my last two toddlers, and especially Chase, never once stopped for anything, and I had to spend their entire toddlerhoods chasing...er, following...them and pulling them down off dangerous heights. What fun that was! (I'm not being sarcastic. I really did appreciate their energy and daring, even though, admittedly, it was exhausting.) And what a blessed, beautiful relief that I'm not having to do that with the current toddler!
So I actually enjoyed my two hours watching Drew's games. Part of my enjoyment was supplied by his coach, who is an 18 year-old Y employee and who is one of the most SUPER PSYCHED people I've ever met. I hadn't met him before, because other Y employees had run Drew's previous practices, and this was the coach's first time meeting the team. I was a little taken aback by his hyper intensity at first, but as I sat watching the team with the other parents, we all began to laugh along with his antics, and eventually to appreciate his enthusiasm. Sure, it's probably a little over the top, but he taught the boys, encouraged everyone, made sure they all played the different positions and substituted fairly, and he was a lot of fun all the way around. Drew seemed to enjoy his coaching and the game in general, but occasionally he became frustrated with himself because he wasn't completing some of the flashier and exciting plays that I guessed he had been hoping for. He was also pretty hard on himself for mistakes he made and couldn't really get the perspective I tried to offer him when I assured him that everyone was making mistakes and it wasn't a big deal.
Toward the end of his second game, it was his turn to sit out for a few minutes, and he came to me rather upset. After listening for a minute, I told him (again) that I thought he was doing a good job and playing hard, but that I understood his frustration and that of course he could vent it - when he got home. I encouraged him quietly to take a deep breath and display good sportsmanship and a good attitude on the field, and to continue cheering on his teammates. To his credit, he nodded and took that deep breath. Just about then, one of his teammates got hurt and was escorted off the field in tears. It looked like Drew was going to have to go right back in, and I was glad to see him get up and walk toward the sidelines without hesitation.
But before he walked out on to the field, he stopped and turned to his injured teammate nearby.
He patted him on the shoulder and asked if he was ok. My mother's heart just melted a little and my
knees went a little wobbly. If I had been like his coach I would have bounded (yes, bounded) up and down, shouting, "YES! WAY TO GO! WHAT AN AWESOME PLAY!" But I didn't, of course. First of all, I'm not like that in general. Second, it would have embarrassed the living daylights out of Drew, who had informed me earlier that it was ok to cheer for his team but not for him personally (I think I messed up on that once or twice - oh well.) And third, I think it's best for all involved if good deeds happen with little fanfare. I did tell him afterwards that I was proud of him for it.Even if I had laid the praise on thick, though, I don't think he would have believed that it was worth so much more than the plays he had hoped to make. I think he was probably still a little disappointed with himself. But in my opinion - admittedly biased though it is - it was the best thing I saw happen all afternoon.
Way to go, Drew, for making the play of the game.
At any rate, today all three boys had their first flag football games, the two younger ones at our YMCA, and Drew at another nearby branch (for reasons that would take too long to explain and wouldn't particularly enhance this story). We decided that Dave and Aimee would take the younger ones to their games, and Scarlett and I would go with Drew, who actually had a double header. I'll take this moment to mention that I was dreading, just a bit, the idea of having a toddler (have I mentioned that she's walking now? Woo-hoo!), out on a field by myself for two hours, but I discovered that she was content to sit in my lap most of the time. At the end of it, I was just looking at her in grateful awe. For two hours this little miss just sat and looked at books and played with empty water bottles, never once attempting to run off anywhere. As I thought about it, I realized that my last two toddlers, and especially Chase, never once stopped for anything, and I had to spend their entire toddlerhoods chasing...er, following...them and pulling them down off dangerous heights. What fun that was! (I'm not being sarcastic. I really did appreciate their energy and daring, even though, admittedly, it was exhausting.) And what a blessed, beautiful relief that I'm not having to do that with the current toddler!
So I actually enjoyed my two hours watching Drew's games. Part of my enjoyment was supplied by his coach, who is an 18 year-old Y employee and who is one of the most SUPER PSYCHED people I've ever met. I hadn't met him before, because other Y employees had run Drew's previous practices, and this was the coach's first time meeting the team. I was a little taken aback by his hyper intensity at first, but as I sat watching the team with the other parents, we all began to laugh along with his antics, and eventually to appreciate his enthusiasm. Sure, it's probably a little over the top, but he taught the boys, encouraged everyone, made sure they all played the different positions and substituted fairly, and he was a lot of fun all the way around. Drew seemed to enjoy his coaching and the game in general, but occasionally he became frustrated with himself because he wasn't completing some of the flashier and exciting plays that I guessed he had been hoping for. He was also pretty hard on himself for mistakes he made and couldn't really get the perspective I tried to offer him when I assured him that everyone was making mistakes and it wasn't a big deal.
Toward the end of his second game, it was his turn to sit out for a few minutes, and he came to me rather upset. After listening for a minute, I told him (again) that I thought he was doing a good job and playing hard, but that I understood his frustration and that of course he could vent it - when he got home. I encouraged him quietly to take a deep breath and display good sportsmanship and a good attitude on the field, and to continue cheering on his teammates. To his credit, he nodded and took that deep breath. Just about then, one of his teammates got hurt and was escorted off the field in tears. It looked like Drew was going to have to go right back in, and I was glad to see him get up and walk toward the sidelines without hesitation.
But before he walked out on to the field, he stopped and turned to his injured teammate nearby.
He patted him on the shoulder and asked if he was ok. My mother's heart just melted a little and my
knees went a little wobbly. If I had been like his coach I would have bounded (yes, bounded) up and down, shouting, "YES! WAY TO GO! WHAT AN AWESOME PLAY!" But I didn't, of course. First of all, I'm not like that in general. Second, it would have embarrassed the living daylights out of Drew, who had informed me earlier that it was ok to cheer for his team but not for him personally (I think I messed up on that once or twice - oh well.) And third, I think it's best for all involved if good deeds happen with little fanfare. I did tell him afterwards that I was proud of him for it.Even if I had laid the praise on thick, though, I don't think he would have believed that it was worth so much more than the plays he had hoped to make. I think he was probably still a little disappointed with himself. But in my opinion - admittedly biased though it is - it was the best thing I saw happen all afternoon.
Way to go, Drew, for making the play of the game.
Monday, September 19, 2011
"You Don't Want Any of Those"
Earlier this week the kids and I gathered around the dining room table to play the board game Life, which Aimee had borrowed from a friend and had been begging us to play. (Playing games of this sort are something of an adventure with the little boys...but that's another subject altogether!) We got started, and early on in the game, I got married, and soon after, had a baby boy. Yay! :-) But upon seeing this, Drew said matter-of-factly, "Oh, you don't want any of those." I asked him why, and he said, "Every once in awhile you land on squares that tell you to pay a bunch of money for each kid you have - they cost a lot of money!" And I was momentarily stunned, as I listened to my son unconsciously spouting one of the worst lies of which Satan has thoroughly convinced our culture -that "you don't want any of those, because they cost so much money."
We hear this sentiment all the time, usually expressed after the fact, as in, "Well, I guess it's ok that you have that many children...as long as you can afford them." (Thanks for the permission.!) Often complete strangers will say this kind of thing, and sometimes in not too veiled a fashion. But it's even sadder to me this notion is even espoused in Christian circles. We were in a small group once that studied and discussed a Christian parenting series, and I remember the sinking feeling I had when I glanced over one of the chapters and read that good stewardship should determine when a couple begins to have children, and how many they should have. I have trouble with this idea, because I don't see this anywhere in the Bible. "Be fruitful and multiply...but first do the math and make sure you can afford it!" Or, "Children are a heritage from the the Lord...just be sure you only have only the size heritage you can fit in your car."
Of course it's true that kids almost literally eat money. I'm not so sure that the boys wouldn't actually eat it if given the opportunity. With a houseful of children, it's true that the idea of ever having any "extra" money is pretty laughable. It's true that we have no idea how we're going to send five kids to college in the future, and even in the present, each year it's a struggle to let them do extras like sports and...well, anything! Guess how often we go to the movies! In fact, I'll admit here and now that we're not always sure how we're going to clothe them. We don't have a sufficient clothing budget for seven people, and as fall approaches and I look at wrists and ankles poking out of last year's clothes, and the shoes of very active boys literally falling to pieces, I'm not sure how everyone is going to get what they need. And after we do take care of their wardrobes, will Dave and I be hitting the mall for ourselves? Nope. So does this mean that we have more than we should have had? That we were bad stewards of what God gave us? Should we have done better calculations a decade ago and planned for only the number of kids we could keep fed, decently clothed, in sports leagues and music lessons, and eventually into good colleges?
First of all, I think it's a trifle arrogant and short-sighted to assume that you can know enough about your future to know exactly what you'll be able to afford. People with only two children lose jobs. World events and disasters of all kinds have taken families in one circumstance and thrust them into a completely different one. That which was true about life, suddenly wasn't anymore. So here we are in a society that has certain expectations for childhood and the path to successful adulthood, but who knows. College may be a reality in the next decade, and it may be the last thing in the world our children to which our kids can even give a thought. Maybe playing sports, taking lessons of all kinds, and getting a thorough education will have been incredibly important for success...and maybe none of it will have mattered. At the end of the day, the year, the decade...and the end of our lives and theirs, even if everything in the world remains unaltered, will all that have mattered? Will I look at my children and think, "If only I hadn't had 'so and so.' And 'so.' And probably another 'so.' Then the first ones could have had a real life." Or will any of them regret their existence, or begrudge each other existence, because they had to wear hand-me-downs and received too few sports opportunities? I really doubt it.
We hear this sentiment all the time, usually expressed after the fact, as in, "Well, I guess it's ok that you have that many children...as long as you can afford them." (Thanks for the permission.!) Often complete strangers will say this kind of thing, and sometimes in not too veiled a fashion. But it's even sadder to me this notion is even espoused in Christian circles. We were in a small group once that studied and discussed a Christian parenting series, and I remember the sinking feeling I had when I glanced over one of the chapters and read that good stewardship should determine when a couple begins to have children, and how many they should have. I have trouble with this idea, because I don't see this anywhere in the Bible. "Be fruitful and multiply...but first do the math and make sure you can afford it!" Or, "Children are a heritage from the the Lord...just be sure you only have only the size heritage you can fit in your car."
Of course it's true that kids almost literally eat money. I'm not so sure that the boys wouldn't actually eat it if given the opportunity. With a houseful of children, it's true that the idea of ever having any "extra" money is pretty laughable. It's true that we have no idea how we're going to send five kids to college in the future, and even in the present, each year it's a struggle to let them do extras like sports and...well, anything! Guess how often we go to the movies! In fact, I'll admit here and now that we're not always sure how we're going to clothe them. We don't have a sufficient clothing budget for seven people, and as fall approaches and I look at wrists and ankles poking out of last year's clothes, and the shoes of very active boys literally falling to pieces, I'm not sure how everyone is going to get what they need. And after we do take care of their wardrobes, will Dave and I be hitting the mall for ourselves? Nope. So does this mean that we have more than we should have had? That we were bad stewards of what God gave us? Should we have done better calculations a decade ago and planned for only the number of kids we could keep fed, decently clothed, in sports leagues and music lessons, and eventually into good colleges?
First of all, I think it's a trifle arrogant and short-sighted to assume that you can know enough about your future to know exactly what you'll be able to afford. People with only two children lose jobs. World events and disasters of all kinds have taken families in one circumstance and thrust them into a completely different one. That which was true about life, suddenly wasn't anymore. So here we are in a society that has certain expectations for childhood and the path to successful adulthood, but who knows. College may be a reality in the next decade, and it may be the last thing in the world our children to which our kids can even give a thought. Maybe playing sports, taking lessons of all kinds, and getting a thorough education will have been incredibly important for success...and maybe none of it will have mattered. At the end of the day, the year, the decade...and the end of our lives and theirs, even if everything in the world remains unaltered, will all that have mattered? Will I look at my children and think, "If only I hadn't had 'so and so.' And 'so.' And probably another 'so.' Then the first ones could have had a real life." Or will any of them regret their existence, or begrudge each other existence, because they had to wear hand-me-downs and received too few sports opportunities? I really doubt it.
Second, the bottom line is that we can plan all we like, for things from being able to afford luxuries, all the way down to the essentials of a grocery budget, and the truth is that God provides these things. We are completely reliant on him, and if we think otherwise, we've been deceived. In Matthew 6 He says, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." I certainly think this applies to providing for children, and I see no other indication that God asks us to limit our children in consideration of whether we can afford them for the entirety of their lives. We're not even to be worrying about tomorrow. "Life is more important than food." Children are more important than the sum of what they cost.
Third, children are people, not just "kids." And people in general are not just a number. I absolutely hate those commercials in which people carry around their "number," indicating the amount of money it would take them to retire comfortably. See points 1 and 2. Anyway, in that case, boiling life down to how much it takes to live it until you die is a rather depressing notion. Now, I obviously don't mean that we should never plan, never look ahead. We're supposed to be wise with our money, and being smart about saving is hardly a bad thing. But life is not just about numbers, and certainly the Bible talks about the dangers of money far more than about its benefits. Having a great deal of money is a much greater problem, biblically speaking, than having a great deal of children. And yet no one ever says, "Are you sure you should accept that raise?"
This isn't a pregnancy announcement! I don't know if we'll have any more children (and I certainly understand about times that are better than others to have another child - again, that's another issue, and one for which God has provided). If we don't, it won't be because we're worried about whether or not we can afford them. In answer to Drew's observation (which, of course, was perfectly innocent and only about the game), I would say, "Yes, we DO want some of those!" We're thankful we have a houseful of them. They're what we really can't live without.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
In Control...or in Charge?
So it seems that just in case I should start feeling too good about myself as a parent, one (or more) of my kids make sure I am taken down a notch or two. Humility is a good thing.
Today it was Chase. Dave wasn't able to be with me at church this morning, so I was flying solo in navigating everyone through the morning. We got there on time, and the Sunday School hour went well, but then I had to pick Chase up while Drew and Ryan went to Children's Church. Ryan's Sunday School teacher graciously allows Chase to come in with him, even though the Sunday School class officially starts with 1st grade, but he is not allowed in Children's Church, and I can understand that. It's a larger class, with a wider age range, and while Chase would probably do just fine, the leaders have no way of knowing that. Anyway, this is the point in the morning where we usually run into some trouble. Chase becomes angry, and when that happens, he tends to become uncooperative. Somehow I managed to get him downstairs, though, and we hung around in the atrium and had a snack while waiting for the service to start. I asked him if he thought he would like to go in his class - "They're going to be talking about David and Goliath today!", to which he replied, "Well. I've already heard that one." It didn't seem like he was going to be convinced, so I reminded him of our rule, which is that we don't require kids to go into their classes, but if they choose not to, they must sit quietly in the service with us.
I knew this was going to be dicey, though, since I already had Scarlett and knew she wasn't likely to make it past the singing anyway. But in we went, and only seconds later he began talking in a voice he knew was just a hair too loud. Then as the singing went on, he left my side and went to talk to Aimee (who, poor thing, was just along for this crazy ride), and then he went around her, just outside my reach, and perched himself on the back of the pew in front of us. I told him to get down, he initially did, but climbed back up, this time a little farther away from me, and I, recognizing the signs of a quickly accelerating downward spiral, indicated to him that we were going to step out. And he refused to come. So I laid hold of him rather firmly (with one hand, since I still had Scarlett on my hip) and insisted that he follow me. I began moving toward the exit, he began pulling against me, so the end result was that I made my exit from the auditorium literally dragging him behind me.
Well, no, to say that was the end result would not be quite accurate. I swung him up onto a chair in the hallway, and had to dodge a few attempted punches. Nice. I confess I looked up and down the hall hastily to see if anyone was watching this, and thankfully, they weren't. So I managed to get him off the chair and through another set of double doors to a hallway that would be more conducive to...ahem...discussing this issue. I sat him down in the hall. He ran away. I caught him before he got away again. To make a long story slightly less long and tedious, we'll just say that we repeated this a few times, and he even hit his sister in frustration. I kept returning him to the same spot in the hallway, against the wall, and repeated to him, over and over, that I loved him but this wasn't acceptable behavior. We weren't going anywhere, and we weren't playing any games. Eventually I had to hold him in my lap, until the beast within was finally, and inexplicably, soothed, and he became repentant. Without prompting, he hugged and kissed Scarlett and told her he was sorry. He stopped fighting and he became obedient.
But I would be lying if I said this wasn't embarrassing, if I didn't have to fight the temptation to discipline him in a public way so that any observers would know that I wasn't going to take this kind of thing, that it was an aberration, that I was in control. It reminded me, though, of conversations my friends in our playgroup in SC used to have, about the difference between being "in control" as a parent and being "in charge." We used to talk about how the desire to control kids, or at least to appear in control, often causes parents to make parenting choices that are ineffective and sometimes even quite bad. But of course we also talked about how it is important for parents to be in charge. Leadership and limits are important in the family dynamic.
I didn't do everything right in the scene I just described. I'm certainly not touting myself as a parenting expert here. I will say, though, that overcoming the temptation to try to be in control was helpful today. Being "in control" means I get to do whatever I want, and everyone else does what I want no matter what. Being in control in this situation would have meant Chase and Scarlett would have gone to their respective child care rooms, regardless of their feelings. It would have meant that even if they hadn't, everyone would have known that I was the parent and Chase was going to do what I said (right now, mister!). Being in control would mean breaking Chase's will, and probably reducing him to tears. Being in control would mean that I would not be inconvenienced or embarrassed - I would never lose face as a parent.
That, however, would have just been an illusion, because the fact was that I wasn't much in control of things. Chase had me cornered, and he knew it. I was severely limited in how I could handle things, and it was only the fact that I'm still bigger and faster (and stronger, but only by little!) that I managed to get him where I needed him. But I did need to take charge, and I was firm about setting and enforcing the limits when it came to his behavior. Taking charge also meant acknowledging that it was silly to have worn the tallest heels I own to church this morning, when I had to deal with everyone and everything on my own, and that letting Chase have a chocolate doughnut in between services was not a good idea. It meant that I had to let go of worrying about appearances, get down on the floor with him, and hold him until there was both repentance and reconciliation - even if it meant people watching might not have understood. Maybe they thought he I was letting him get away with what had happened. Maybe they would think I wasn't being a very good mother.
Being in control - or having that illusion as a parent - is about appearances. Being in charge is about being accountable as a parent. It's about understanding love (and that love includes limits and consequences), and about cultivating relationships. And today, it also meant knowing when to cry uncle. Sitting there on the floor of the hallway, I realized that I had two tired and hungry kids. I was still wearing those dumb heels which were at that point really beginning to pinch. We had been at church for a couple hours already, and it was time to go, so we got the other kids out a little early and came home for some lunch and quiet time.
Humble pie for dessert.
Today it was Chase. Dave wasn't able to be with me at church this morning, so I was flying solo in navigating everyone through the morning. We got there on time, and the Sunday School hour went well, but then I had to pick Chase up while Drew and Ryan went to Children's Church. Ryan's Sunday School teacher graciously allows Chase to come in with him, even though the Sunday School class officially starts with 1st grade, but he is not allowed in Children's Church, and I can understand that. It's a larger class, with a wider age range, and while Chase would probably do just fine, the leaders have no way of knowing that. Anyway, this is the point in the morning where we usually run into some trouble. Chase becomes angry, and when that happens, he tends to become uncooperative. Somehow I managed to get him downstairs, though, and we hung around in the atrium and had a snack while waiting for the service to start. I asked him if he thought he would like to go in his class - "They're going to be talking about David and Goliath today!", to which he replied, "Well. I've already heard that one." It didn't seem like he was going to be convinced, so I reminded him of our rule, which is that we don't require kids to go into their classes, but if they choose not to, they must sit quietly in the service with us.
I knew this was going to be dicey, though, since I already had Scarlett and knew she wasn't likely to make it past the singing anyway. But in we went, and only seconds later he began talking in a voice he knew was just a hair too loud. Then as the singing went on, he left my side and went to talk to Aimee (who, poor thing, was just along for this crazy ride), and then he went around her, just outside my reach, and perched himself on the back of the pew in front of us. I told him to get down, he initially did, but climbed back up, this time a little farther away from me, and I, recognizing the signs of a quickly accelerating downward spiral, indicated to him that we were going to step out. And he refused to come. So I laid hold of him rather firmly (with one hand, since I still had Scarlett on my hip) and insisted that he follow me. I began moving toward the exit, he began pulling against me, so the end result was that I made my exit from the auditorium literally dragging him behind me.
Well, no, to say that was the end result would not be quite accurate. I swung him up onto a chair in the hallway, and had to dodge a few attempted punches. Nice. I confess I looked up and down the hall hastily to see if anyone was watching this, and thankfully, they weren't. So I managed to get him off the chair and through another set of double doors to a hallway that would be more conducive to...ahem...discussing this issue. I sat him down in the hall. He ran away. I caught him before he got away again. To make a long story slightly less long and tedious, we'll just say that we repeated this a few times, and he even hit his sister in frustration. I kept returning him to the same spot in the hallway, against the wall, and repeated to him, over and over, that I loved him but this wasn't acceptable behavior. We weren't going anywhere, and we weren't playing any games. Eventually I had to hold him in my lap, until the beast within was finally, and inexplicably, soothed, and he became repentant. Without prompting, he hugged and kissed Scarlett and told her he was sorry. He stopped fighting and he became obedient.
But I would be lying if I said this wasn't embarrassing, if I didn't have to fight the temptation to discipline him in a public way so that any observers would know that I wasn't going to take this kind of thing, that it was an aberration, that I was in control. It reminded me, though, of conversations my friends in our playgroup in SC used to have, about the difference between being "in control" as a parent and being "in charge." We used to talk about how the desire to control kids, or at least to appear in control, often causes parents to make parenting choices that are ineffective and sometimes even quite bad. But of course we also talked about how it is important for parents to be in charge. Leadership and limits are important in the family dynamic.
I didn't do everything right in the scene I just described. I'm certainly not touting myself as a parenting expert here. I will say, though, that overcoming the temptation to try to be in control was helpful today. Being "in control" means I get to do whatever I want, and everyone else does what I want no matter what. Being in control in this situation would have meant Chase and Scarlett would have gone to their respective child care rooms, regardless of their feelings. It would have meant that even if they hadn't, everyone would have known that I was the parent and Chase was going to do what I said (right now, mister!). Being in control would mean breaking Chase's will, and probably reducing him to tears. Being in control would mean that I would not be inconvenienced or embarrassed - I would never lose face as a parent.
That, however, would have just been an illusion, because the fact was that I wasn't much in control of things. Chase had me cornered, and he knew it. I was severely limited in how I could handle things, and it was only the fact that I'm still bigger and faster (and stronger, but only by little!) that I managed to get him where I needed him. But I did need to take charge, and I was firm about setting and enforcing the limits when it came to his behavior. Taking charge also meant acknowledging that it was silly to have worn the tallest heels I own to church this morning, when I had to deal with everyone and everything on my own, and that letting Chase have a chocolate doughnut in between services was not a good idea. It meant that I had to let go of worrying about appearances, get down on the floor with him, and hold him until there was both repentance and reconciliation - even if it meant people watching might not have understood. Maybe they thought he I was letting him get away with what had happened. Maybe they would think I wasn't being a very good mother.
Being in control - or having that illusion as a parent - is about appearances. Being in charge is about being accountable as a parent. It's about understanding love (and that love includes limits and consequences), and about cultivating relationships. And today, it also meant knowing when to cry uncle. Sitting there on the floor of the hallway, I realized that I had two tired and hungry kids. I was still wearing those dumb heels which were at that point really beginning to pinch. We had been at church for a couple hours already, and it was time to go, so we got the other kids out a little early and came home for some lunch and quiet time.
Humble pie for dessert.
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