The Sneaky Reader and the Hot Job

I have a night owl and an early bird. My sweet girl is a night owl like her parents. She'd stay up all night and sleep late the next day if she could. Falling asleep has always been a bit of a challenge for her. Perhaps that's why she loves to read in bed at night. And she often sneaks in a bit of reading—okay, a LOT of reading—after we've given the lights out. So much so, in fact, that I've on occasion discovered her still reading past midnight and had to take her glasses away till morning just so she'd actually get some sleep.

What's most fascinating about her is that if we don't catch her reading exploits, she most always feels the need to confess them. I will often see her padding down the hall toward me well after bedtime, hair mussed from lying on her pillow, a guilty look on her face. Or the next morning after finally dragging herself from slumber, she'll level a serious gaze at me. "Mommy, I read a little bit last night."

Currently, she's working on The Chronicles of Narnia. There are so many worse things she could do than sneak in a bit of C. S. Lewis after bedtime.

Being a night owl, she loves to sleep in next day. She got this honest. And as she's nine now and nearing puberty, I've discovered that she needs to sleep a bit extra. That's a luxury of homeschooling. The day's work waits for them, not the other way around.

Her little brother is a different story. On designated reading nights, I'll often step into their room to tell them it's time to put their books down and go to sleep, only to find him already passed out on his bed, his book shipwrecked at his side.

He's an early bird. In fact, he's the only honest early bird in the family. Some wouldn't consider him very early (approximately 8am), but being a night owl, I do. If they get in bed early enough, most nights we let them have a bit of reading time before lights out.

He's my happy, chatty, sweet and smiley alarm clock.

Two mornings ago he sneaked into my room and crawled into my bed immediately upon wakening, as is his custom, and announced, as is not his custom, "Mommy, I want to be your huggy pillow."

Awesome! I moved the pillow and hugged him close instead. Five seconds later...

"A huggy pillow's job sure is a hot job."

It's it, Mommy

I tutor/teach English at a local homeschool co-op on Mondays. Today my seven-year-old son was a little sick, so he sat in my classroom instead of going to the play room with the other younger siblings. He hunkered down in a chair near where I stood with his nose buried in my iPhone, probably playing Angry Birds Star Wars.

So, I taught the fifth- and sixth-grade girls about nouns and pronouns, then I gave them a sample sentence:

Molly rode the horse.

Then I had students plug in pronouns to replace the nouns. They figured out "she" for the subject, but trying to decide on a pronoun for the direct object "horse" stumped them. One called out "him." I explained that we don't know the gender of the horse, and the horse is not being personified (like in a story with talking animals). I asked again, but nobody answered. Then I glanced down and realized my son had scurried around the podium and was patting my leg.

"Mommy, it's 'it'!" he said in a loud whisper and flashed me a huge smile.

I love that little boy. Being a parent is the most difficult job I've ever had, but I wouldn't give up that boy or his sister for anything.

When to Let Them Walk Away

© Marilyna | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

As I stood at the sink and washed dishes and listened through the window at the new neighborhood children playing in our front yard today, I heard a few catty comments, saw some stubborn jaws and crossed arms, and heard that fateful "I'm going home" when one girl didn't like the rules of wiffle ball, followed by a stormy exit through the picket fence gate. 

It occurred to me that children learn how to manipulate others at an early age. Seems that walking away is a powerful weapon to wield and a formidable foe to face.

As I reflect on this tonight, my heart for my children is to learn early on when someone is worth pursuing and when to shrug and let them go.

The Spider Rescue (sort of...)

Tonight my kids discovered a spider in the hall and trapped it under half of a barrel o' monkeys container. My son declared that a leg was missing, and I heard my husband shout down the hall for them to grab a tissue and kill it.

Our eight-year-old daughter was all for this, but our six-year-old boy, ever the compassionate one, said, "No, don't kill it! It's already lost a leg."

Daughter said, "You heard Daddy!"

"No, it's already been through a lot."

"You can either kill it or catch it and throw it outside so it can die naturally," my husband said.

So, our daughter told little brother to go and get a tissue. She slid the tissue under the container and carried the spider to the door.

"But don't throw it!" our son said.

I'm happy to say that one seven-legged spider has been safely delivered to the freezing outdoors. I suppose hypothermia is a more humane way to go than being crushed.

The Sky Has Chickenpox

While out running errands today, my five-year-old says to his big sister, "Look A, those clouds look funny. Looks like the sky has chickenpox."

My Sunshine

My five-year-old son often asks me to sing "You Are My Sunshine" to him. Last night, after singing it while he climbed the ladder to his bunk bed, he sang it back to me, and these were his words:

You are my Mommy,
my only Mommy.
You make me happy
when skies are gray
You'll never know, dear,
how much I love you.
Please don't take
my Mommy away.

What a beautiful life. Thank you, Jesus.

So Happy, It Made Me Cry

I read chapter books to my children, a chapter each night at bedtime. We recently finished A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The kids enjoyed the story so much that I let them watch two movie adaptations. First, the ancient Shirley Temple version, then we watched the 1997 version.

I confess, I almost always cry at happy endings, even those I've seen or read in the past. Toward the very end of the 1997 version, Sarah is reunited with her father (unlike in the novel, where he dies), and my five-year-old son was so moved by the reunion scene that he started blinking, then hid his eyes. I walked over to him, and he said, "Mommy, it made me so happy, it made me cry."

Such a precious moment. I took him on my lap, and we cried together.

Sweet Sound

There's nothing that sounds sweeter to me than the voices of my children singing worship songs from the back seat of the car. And today it was one of our favorites, "Strong Enough to Save," by Tenth Avenue North.

You fought
but you were just too weak
so you lost
all the things you try to keep
now you're on your knees, you're on your knees

But wait,
everything can change,
in a moments time you don't have to be afraid,
'cause fear is just a lie
open up your eyes

[Chorus:]
And He'll break
open the skies to save
those who cry out His name
the One the wind and waves obey
is strong enough to save you

[Verse 2:]
Look
now is not too late
lift up your head
let the rain fall on your face
you're not far from grace, you're not too far from grace

[Chorus:]
And He'll break
open the skies to save
those who cry out His name
the One the wind and waves obey
is strong enough to save you
[Repeat]

[Bridge:]
I know the weight of this world can take you down like gravity and I know the current of yourself can take you out, out to sea but hold on, hold on

[Chorus:]
And He'll break
open the skies to save
those who cry out His name
the One the wind and waves obey
is strong enough to save you

The Splits

This morning, my seven year old was teaching her little brother how to do cartwheels and round-offs like she learned in gymnastics. He found this great fun. Then she sat down and showed him how to do stretches and splits. He eyed her in a split position, then turned to me and said, "Well, I don't think I want to do the splits, because that would hurt."

Monster Brother Love

Our five-year-old son came upstairs to fill his water cup, then headed back down to the basement play room. At the top of the stairs he paused and shouted out to his seven-year-old sister, "A-, I love you!" Then stomped down the wooden stairs, calling, "Here comes the hug and kiss monster! Grrrrrrrarrr! Grrrrrrarrr!"

You've just got to love that monster brother love.

I was in their room with them the other day, when they started telling each other how much they love each other, and how great the other person was.

"I love you, I-. You're the best brother in the whole world."

"I love you too, A-. You're the best sister in the world."

Okay, so perhaps this very human mommy and daddy haven't messed them up after all.

Or perhaps Jesus is just that good. Yeah. I think that's it.

Profound

Tonight my husband was trying to explain the meaning of the word "profound" to our children. He used the example of our daughter telling him probably a year ago that "Jesus dying for us is the most important thing." After a minute or two, she said, "Daddy, what if we could see Jesus dying on the cross? If I could see Him, I would kiss Him before he died for us. Right on the lips. I bet he would like that. Jesus is part of our family."

Rainbow House

As we were driving Virginia mountain back roads in the rain today, four-year-old son piped up and said, "Daddy, when it stops raining, make our house new. And paint it rainbow colored. Every color in the world. Okay, Daddy?"

Cobbler Dot Com

A few months ago my husband overheard our four year old playing with his beloved Cobbler, a ragged plush cat toy. In the midst of his play, he said, "Go to www dot cobbler dot com for more details."

Mommy Grace

My husband came out of the bathroom after giving the kids a bath and said that our daughter told him, "Daddy, I know I won't be as good a mommy as Mommy is. She's so sweet."

Thank God for His grace that covers all my mistakes and lets my daughter see beyond how I see myself.

The Eternal Optimist and the Smooth Talker

I played my sweet six-year-old in checkers tonight. When she was down to her last man, she said, "I'm alone, but that's okay. I can think better alone."

Meanwhile, this morning my four-year-old learned to say, "How you doin'?" in true Joey Tribbiani style.

Worlds Apart

After listening to a song tonight while cleaning her room, my six-year-old daughter told my husband, "I was in here talking to God. Sometimes I just get this feeling that I don't care about all the toys and stuff, and just care about my relationship with you and Mommy and Brother. That song made me think about that."

Lord, guard her heart, keep it soft toward you throughout her life. Give us wisdom as her parents. Help us to maintain a healthy, loving relationship with her as she grows into the beautiful woman you've created her to be.

The song that inspired her words is Worlds Apart by Jars of Clay. Here's a youtube link:

Kid Quote

Tonight while talking to Doug, our six year old daughter said, "You and Mommy are the best Mommy and Daddy in the world! But don't tell any other adults that, or it will hurt their feelings."

Champagne Grapes

Last August I stumbled across a little gem—technically a cluster of little gems—at the grocery store. Organic champagne grapes.
Any mother will tell you that the quest for healthy snacks never ends. So I snatched up a box and took them home. My then-three-year-old son fell in love with them. Big sister, not so much. But she did declare them better than regular grapes.
I had to agree. These tiny grapes are delicious, sweet, and easy to eat. Plus, they’re so small, I don’t have to worry about little throats getting choked on them.
The drawback: they’re only in season August and the first part of September. So you can imagine my elation when I found them in the produce department at Whole Foods this week. I bought the last two boxes.
Children are finicky, and this year my son isn’t enamored with them anymore, although he says they're okay when the skins don't stick to the roof of his mouth.
I say they're delicious, and I don't even like grapes.

Childhood in My Hand

Not more than an hour after I posted my last entry, my daughter's wiggly tooth came out.
I cannot explain what it feels like to hold a tiny piece of her childhood in my hand.

Wiggly Teeth

Saturday night, after a busy day and a birthday party, my almost-six-year-old daughter came running into the bathroom where I was brushing my teeth. Clothed in her butterfly pull-over towel, glasses off, hair wet, she's still so little, so sweet and innocent. Daddy followed close behind, camera in hand. Tears in her eyes and a smile on her face—a trace of fright swirled in with the excitement about growing up just a little bit more—she announced that one of her teeth was "wiggly."
Those precious baby teeth that I lovingly counted, the arrival of each one anxiously awaited, are now falling out. "Grown up teeth" are on the way. Adding to my list another of those many things you don’t think about being temporal until they’re on their way out the door.
Another milestone reached. The others have passed in a blur.
Where does the time go? Savor every moment.