Of Parenting Four

I recently saw on facebook, this article and video by parents of three who were tired of the judgment regarding their pregancy with their fourth child. I'm not gonna lie, I've had the parody stuck in my head all week - because this is so where we are.

So, this morning, as I'm singing in my head, "Can't you see it's we who love this life?" on repeat in my head, I'm also throwing away one boy's lunch that he didn't finish the day before, because, yes, I'm the mom who most often is only cleaning up the table from the last meal when it's time to eat the next.

And, later, as I'm glad to finally have gotten all the munchkins their eggs and cereal and I'm ready to finally go nurse that precious baby who is fine with the Cheerios but would really like her Momma, I walk into the kitchen to see a gagging little boy who decided one man's trash was another man's treasure and had opted to ingest his brother's day-old lunch I had haphazardly dumped in the sink. And he's now regretting that decision and as I attempt to direct him over the trash can to spit it out, his body decides to be quicker about it and he's vomiting now on the kitchen rug. Not the tile that's easy to mop, but the one 2'x3' patch of wide kitchen floor that actually has any form of synthetic covering.

Meanwhile, hungry baby is now REALLY done with her empty high chair tray and is crying pretty angrily. And I have a three-year-old with vomit on his clothes and a beautiful mess to clean up on the floor. Boy is stripped, sent to wait for new clothes in his room and the floor is quickly cleaned, rug sprayed in the sink, hung to dry on the patio. I grab the baby on my way upstairs, so I can get to feeding her after quickly dressing her brother.

But the brother ended up vomiting further on the carpeted hallway and his underwear, the only remaining item of clothing from the earlier mess. And his only clean underwear is folded on the couch downstairs.

So, now naked boy is running for underwear while, with a baby on the hip, Momma is cleaning up vomit. And eventually setting the baby down while hoping she'll be so satisfied with the toy she found (which may or may not be a choking hazard because who can keep up with what gets left all over the floor by the older three?) that she won't feel the need to grab for the mess and you know you're running against a ticking time bomb - get it clean before she decides to crawl in it.

And before I know it, that mess is clean, that boy is dressed and the baby is settling in to nurse and that five crazy minutes of my morning is over. And I still have over five hundred to go before bed time.

And I'm still humming, "Don't you know it's we who love this life?"

Because we do.

Because while I was cleaning up vomit and finally going to nurse a baby girl, I could hear downstairs the two older ones contentedly reading through piles of library books. And I know that baby girl will be ready to play when she's done eating and will bless me with the most heart-melting grins. And that little boy, stomach now emptied of yesterday's disgusting leftovers, will be telling me silly stories and hurrying to look at the pictures over his siblings' shoulders.

And it's a crazy life, this mothering a herd, but it's also exciting, silly, snuggly, and full.

And I wouldn't trade it. Because sometimes I am overwhelmed by this life, but mostly it is such a blessing.

Of Her Big Decision

About a year ago, we were in our pretty new house and one afternoon I was changing a boy's dirty diaper (ah the glamour of motherhood) when from the next room I heard my beautiful five-year-old call out from the comfort of her tiny pink armchair, "I just asked God to come into my heart!"

Wait, what?!

I had a panicked moment of realizing I needed to finish the task at hand - hello, poopy bottom - while my daughter was apparently having a spiritual epiphany next door.

"Baby, wait right there! I'll be there in a minute and we can talk about it!"

I wasn't prepared for this moment. I mean, really, was not prepared for my daughter to just pronounce this simple little act as something to be done as swiftly and matter of course as brushing one's teeth. I knew, at five years of age, she probably did not know quite what she was doing, but at the same time, why couldn't it be that simple? Why couldn't she decide in the simplicity of her little purple bedroom to follow Jesus for the rest of forever? And if she made that decision, why shouldn't she follow through?

But wasn't it supposed to be more complicated than this? Weren't we supposed to have a heart to heart? Weren't we supposed to lead her in some prayer or something?

So, I was torn - between the organic nature of a child making her own decisions, and recognizing the weight of this sort of decision and the gravity with which this decision should be handled.

Of course, we talked - I told her if she was really ready to make this step we would talk with our pastor so he could help her understand what this meant.

Now, it's important to understand that at this time in our lives we were attending our church's Saturday evening service - so, while our church's typical Sunday morning crowd averaged about 400 attendees per service, we were used to sitting in the second row of a congregation of about two dozen every Saturday night. And after nearly every service our little precocious one was always so eager to go tell Bro. Todd whatever her news for the week was - whether it meant showing him her new Bible or her new shoes. She loved talking to him.

But when I suggested talking to him about this most important decision, one she should be thrilled about, she suddenly resisted. Deciding, nevermind, she didn't really want to be a Christian.  I was baffled, but didn't push.

Later, in talking to our pastor's wife, she told me this was usually a good indication if a child was "ready" - because if she truly wanted to become a follower of Jesus, nothing would stop her - not even talking to Bro. Todd.

Thus, we continued to wait. I wasn't eager to push her too early, anyhow.

Fast forward a year, and many spiritual conversations, later, to Good Friday.

We began the day discussing what the significance was. She had read on her calendar that it was the day before "Passover Begins" - so we talked about Passover. She has always been a big fan of the story of the Israelites putting blood on their doorways so the Angel of Death would not kill the firstborn sons in those homes. Yet, when I asked her if she remembered what Passover meant, she began with, "It's when Jesus took the bread and said, 'This is my body, if you do this you will be part of me.' and he took the wine and said, 'This is my blood . . .'"

Here is where I want to thank the amazing staff of our children's department at church - because I never taught her this part of the story. These are all words she clearly must have learned in Sunday School.

Of course, we discussed that further and went about our day. Later, we discussed that at the service that evening we would have The Lord's Supper but they would not have any because it's only for those who have made the decision to follow Christ. I was really trying to prepare them for the moment of the passing of the plate when crackers and juice would pass them by and Mommy and Daddy wouldn't let them have some. Because no one needs to deal with an Emmett who isn't getting a snack when they're trying to focus on the body and blood of Christ.

But, then, the natural consequence of my warning was that everyone suddenly wanted to become a Christian - it's all about that bread and juice (or bread and wine, as Micaiah continued to emphasize). Which meant, of course, I had to spend the next hour or so convincing Emmett that he couldn't become a Christian just to have food in service.

And the subject was dropped.

Until another couple of hours passed and Micaiah, always loving to just drop the spiritual bomb as if it's nothing, came marching down the stairs with the broadest grin I'd seen on her face in a long time, and declared, "I just went upstairs and asked God to come into my heart - and now I'm a Christian! And now we can talk to Bro. Todd and I can get baptized!"

Well, now I was torn. Because here I was, yet again, caught unaware, and not sure where to go from here. On the one hand, that was really exciting news. On the other hand - was she, too, just looking for that bread and wine? And why couldn't she ever do this when her father was home?! So I sent her back upstairs where she and I could talk.

I asked her multiple questions, such as what it meant to ask God into her heart, why she wanted to do so, etc. And the whole time, she had the most brilliant smile on her face. I can describe it as none other than a Holy Spirit change.

And sure enough, as she finished out the afternoon, her attitude (which we'd been fighting with all week) was completely changed. She was helpful and kind and there was always that smile (even days later, when a friend of ours commented to her about how polite she had been, her response was, "It's because I'm a Christian").

At church that evening, she was eager to tell everyone, "I'm a Christian now!" and even continued to ask, "When will I get to tell Bro. Todd?!" (which we did immediately following the service). And after much deliberation, she even was allowed to have her first taste of the Lord's Supper (and when I say much deliberation, I mean, she didn't even get to have her own bread, because I didn't decide until after the plate had passed and I finally tore mine in two to share with her), because I realized I didn't need to wait for her to understand what it meant - she had already told me that morning.

And that everlasting smile - the joy of a changed heart - would not leave her beaming face.

Which may have only been slightly eclipsed by the cries of her brother as we left church that evening, "But I didin't get anything to eat!"

Of A Homeschooling Day in the Life - with a 6-year-old, 4-year-old, 2-year-old and 10-month-old

Because my brother accused me of making my homeschool seem like more than it was in our annual Christmas letter, and because a homeschool blog I subscribe to is in the middle of a "Day in the Life" series, and because I know a lot of moms who homeschool and some who are much intimidated by the process, and, finally, because I have many other friends and family who wonder just what we actually do every day, I have decided to jump right in, rip off the happy-homeschooling mask and give everyone a better picture of what homeschool in this house looks like - what it is and what it definitely is not (mostly, it's not just a reproduction of school at home).

Honestly, I have hestitated to talk about our "routine" (note the quotation marks and know that those indicate that word has no semblance of a literal definition in this house), even with other homeschooling moms, because sometimes it just feels like maybe we're failing over here. And by failing I mean failing to "do school," because, by the way our precious six-year-old flies through a library book, I certainly know we're not failing her, in particular.

I first want to indicate that I have waffled long and hard on how I even want school to look in this house. I recognize it looks different for everyone and it has taken me awhile to settle into how it needs to look for us. After much research, I really like the idea of "unschooling" and "interest-led learning" - meaning we do a lot of "school" by living - math as part of dinner-time conversations, science while playing in the backyard, YouTube videos when that curious little scientist needs to know how something is made, and family reading (lots and LOTS of reading) of both fiction and non-fiction.

At the same time, I like the idea of a curriculum. I like knowing what kinds of standards we need to be aiming for so our kids are more or less where they should be in their knowledge base, and ideas for areas where I lack creativity (which is a lot of areas). So, we have owned a curriculum the past two years (we use My Father's World and highly recommend it, particularly if you're wanting something that takes the guesswork out of planning - it's a really well-thought out curriculum with a great daily plan), and we've "followed" (remember what those marks meant up there? yeah, they still mean that here) the curriculum better this year than we did last year, but sometimes it's hard to stay motivated when the work gets tedious. Because I don't want my kids to dread school (which, to a certain extent, will happen for all kids at some point - even if it's just one day out of a hundred). So, yes, we have a curriculum but it's a guideline and a place for good resources more than anything.

And that was a lot of introduction, so let's move on.

Here is my day, more or less (and I'm cringing as I type this because I really am insecure about sharing how things go around here). Note that this is a big generality, clearly every day can vary greatly.

7am - My husband gives me a kiss on the cheek after getting ready for work, before heading downstairs to have personal time before heading to work. Most mornings these days I don't even feel it - I'm still dead asleep. Sometimes I feel it and think it's sweet and go back to sleep. Sometimes I feel it and think, "I really need to start getting up earlier . . . but not today." And then, on the REALLY rare occasion (like today!) I decide today is the day to start new habits and I actually wake up (woohoo!).
8am - This is when I actually wake up most days. Many times it's because I can hear the kids playing in their rooms. In our house the kids (all but the baby) stay in their rooms after waking up in the morning - they play together (sometimes happily, sometimes not so much) until Mommy tells them it's time to come out. In their rooms they have plenty of books, stuffed animals and puzzles. At times I feel bad that I'm "ignoring" them during this time, but we do have monitors and I'm right down the hall, so I know everything that's happening in there and the times I've gone in there to get them pretty quickly after they wake up, I've actually had them complain that I came too quickly. This is also the time of day where they do their most imaginative playing, which I enjoy hearing. While they play I spend my time "waking up" - checking e-mail and getting in computer time for things I need to get done on there, and sometimes reading my Bible (if I don't do it at this time, I generally do so at nap time). If the baby wakes up during this time, I'll nurse her while I do these things.
9:30am - I go see the kids in their room (whichever one they happen to be in), we talk about what we're going to do today and I try whatever method works that day for getting them to clean the mess they've created in the past hour and a half. Sometimes I stay in and help them, or at least oversee them, sometimes the baby chooses this time to wake up and I ask them to clean on their own (this does not typically go well as far as their productivity, but I still want to encourage them to learn to work even when I'm not there) while I feed her, other times I'll ask them to clean while I go make breakfast (see above parenthetical).

10am - Breakfast! When I finish my food, I read to them from one of our children's Bibles (we own The Jesus Storybook Bible and The Beginning Reader's Bible). While still at the table, we do our number of the day (usually two or three numbers at a time, because I'm often behind). If the baby wakes up during breakfast (notice a lot of variance on her actual sleep/wake schedule), I will go feed her while the others finish eating. They are then free to play or read on their own until I'm done feeding her (she doesn't actually eat if anyone else is in the room, so I have to do this in my room). Often if this happens I come out to find them all huddled around a book while the six-year-old reads. It's super sweet.

10:30am - The older two will empty the dishwasher while I clean up the kitchen or start a load of laundry. This is the time when there is the most variance in our daily schedule. Sometimes at this time we'll sit down and do a few pages from workbooks - the oldest works from her curriculum, the four-year-old will do a few pages from a dollar-store or garage sale workbook (because he wants to - I don't ever force him to at this age) and the two-year-old colors. Other times we'll play a game or do a fun group learning activity, or, if it's nice outside, I'll let them go outside to play. Still other times we do housework together - folding laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, etc.

12pm - Husband comes home for lunch (love this!). We talk, and unwind a little before making lunch for everyone and then we all sit down together to eat before he has to head back to work.

1pm - This is a tricky hour because they nap at two, so I don't want to do anything big, but I don't want to give up on doing anything at all. Sometimes we finish up "schoolwork" or housework or they go back outside to play. Most days, though, I snuggle on the couch with them and read a giant stack of library books. That's my favorite.
2pm - Naptime. I read to them from a chapter book (we've been working our way through Little House on the Prairie) first and then I typically put a new CD in our six-year-old's tv (the tv is only for listening, we just didn't have another stereo - plus it has a remote, so it can be high enough they can't reach it, but she can still at least turn it on and off). She usually listens to audiobooks from the library during naptime and/or plays quietly by herself - reading books or playing with dolls in her room. The younger three are all supposed to sleep (though the four-year-old has been doing that less - he often ends up playing quietly in his bed). During this time I do any number of things - housework (if I'm feeling ambitious), computer time (I do a lot on my computer - sometimes it's productive, like meal planning and building my grocery/couponing list, sometimes it's YouTube and facebook), or my Bible Study.
4pm - I typically let our oldest come out of her room when I feel I've had enough "me" time or gotten the things done I needed to without distractions (so it could be earlier than this, or later). Sometimes she and I listen to Anne of Green Gables on my computer (I've never read it, either, so we listen to that one together) or do a little schoolwork (stuff I couldn't get done while the other three were distracting us) or she colors while I cook dinner.
5pm - Daddy comes home! The other three wake up when they're ready and come downstairs. Then we do whatever is scheduled for that evening - or just play together, or just survive until bedtime (let's be honest).

So, see? It doesn't look much like "school," but it's working somehow because our six-year-old can read and our four-year-old can write letters and is beginning to read. Both of them can work simple math problems and both ask a lot of really good questions about the world around them. They both have a really great working knowledge of the Bible and what we believe and all of them have great imaginations.

I don't worry too much about forcing them to do the worksheets they really don't want to do, because I figure they can learn it another way and they'll get it eventually - for example, my oldest used to HATE cutting and the curriculum, in order to give kids lots of practice, had a LOT of cutting and gluing words with pictures; I finally let her stop cutting and just write the words, even though she still hadn't mastered cutting a straight line. These days she is fantastic at cutting things out - it just came naturally eventually and I didn't have to force it. There are other things, the things I know she just needs to push through, that I do encourage her to finish, but if it seems like busy work to me, I don't push it.

Overall, we have a great time together (most of the time), learn a lot and savor these growing-up years.

Of Our Scientist

Remember when I told you Emmett was our sponge? Our questioner, our scientist, the one voted most likely to push this homeschooling momma to learn a lot more about everything just to satisfy his insane desire for knowing exactly how the world works.

Questions that have me honestly answering, "You know, I actually don't even understand how that works - I just know it does." Questions like "How does the other phone know you're calling it?" which leads to "How do phones have their own numbers?" Follow-ups as simple as, "Why?" are not good enough for this guy. He literally thinks through my answers and comes up with legitimate inquiries based on that new knowledge.

So then we had Daylight Savings Time.

Blow this kid's mind.

The poor guy, as the days have been getting shorter through the fall, has begun having mild breakdowns when the sun begins to set. "It's already bed-time and we haven't even had dinner!" Now, on the one hand, I totally want to work this "sundown = bedtime" misconception - especially now, post Daylight Savings Time: "Oh look, Daddy just got home from work, but, bummer! It's bedtime! See you guys later!"

But I do tend to have issues with lying to my kids. Darn conscience.

Thus, I've been trying to explain that the sun just starts setting earlier during the fall. Thus, Saturday, as we were at the grocery store, pre-dinner, while the sun was setting and he was crying, again, about not having eaten (eating is REALLY important to our kids), I went so far as to explain that the next day, it would even be dark when we went to evening church/children's choir.

Lo and behold, as we're gathering children into the car to head to choir, the remainder light of the day was glimmering through the twilight. "Momma, did you tell me it would be dark before we go to church? How did you know it would be dark?"

"Well, it's something called Daylight Savings Time - we had to change the time on the clocks, so now it gets dark earlier."

"How do you change the time?! That's silly!" "Well, we just change what time the clock says." "But how do you change what the clock says?" "We just do." (aka the Lazy Mom's way of saying, I can't explain it right now - we were in the car, so it wasn't exactly an option to pull out the clock and show him how it works.)

Pause.

"Momma?" "Yes?" "How do the clocks control the world?"

Bam. Well, now that's a good solid question from a four-year-old.

So, then I have to go into dynamics about how the world itself does its thing without changing - the only thing that changes is what time the clock says, which affects when things like children's choir starts.

But really, I'm just grasping at straws, trying to describe this crazy world in a language a little boy can understand.

And somehow he's soaking it all in, despite my worst efforts.

All I know is google was invented for such a time as this.

Of My Little Treasure

At six weeks, our little Niah girl was sleeping seven hours straight at night (then returning to sleep for another five hours or so after a quick 10-20 min feeding). At seven weeks she was sleeping 10 hours solid. We'd lay her down when Mom and Dad went to sleep and she'd be the last to rise in the morning (which is amazing considering the amount of volume created by her siblings as they entertain each other in their rooms - right next door to hers - every morning).

On the one hand - the one that recognizes I'm a momma of four who needs her rest if she's to keep Mean Mommy at bay - I was grateful for the uninterrupted slumber.

But can I be honest without being hated too much by mothers of babies who don't sleep through the night until they're twelve? I was mostly sad.

Sure, the first night was great, waking up well-rested and refreshed. But then I started to realize those precious early morning hours in the dark were ours. They were just for my Niah and me - tender moments one-on-one with my youngest daughter. Quiet minutes for me to catch up on my reading and treasure uninterrupted snuggle time with my sweetie.

In fact, every moment with this little girl seems entirely too precious to allow it to slip away.

I recall with my first, I enjoyed the newness of a little baby in my arms, but I still struggled with giving up "me" - I still wanted to do and be all the things I was before I was a mommy and I wasn't sure how to reconcile that with the new little one before me. And so I treasured the new milestones and embraced her sweetness, but I also let too many moments pass, wondering when I would be able to get back to "me."

With my second child, I was, again, adjusting. I didn't know how to care for one child who was very active while savoring time with this new little guy. It seemed if he didn't NEED to be in my arms, eating, he wasn't - I was just too busy trying to keep everything else in order.

My third child brought a little more awareness with him. I began to recognize, as I watched the first two blossom right under my nose, saying good-bye to those fleeting baby moments comes much too quickly. Now is the time to cling to what will soon be gone.

And my fourth has brought an entirely new perspective.

For a long time it felt this baby train might never end. And, as we're leaving things to God, it could be we're still in the middle of these baby bearing years. But the truth is, one of these babies will be our last. And in leaving the decision to God, I have no idea which one it will be. I don't know when the last moment of suckling a precious girl in the wee hours of the morning will come. I don't know if this is the last of my own little ones that will curl her tiny fingers around mine or spread unbelievably adorable gassy (or just plain happy) smiles across her face.

And even if she is not my last little one born of this womb, there is also the ever-present reality, made all the more distinct in light of the passing of a beautiful little family member much too young, only weeks before we welcomed this one in our arms, that I don't know when my last moment with her, or any of these cherished members of my family will come.

And so I hold her a little longer. I rejoice just a bit when I hear her cries, once again, resounding much earlier than I'd planned to rise, looking forward to her sleepy eyes drooping in the dark. I take in the tiny swirl of hair on her crown, the precious snores of her slumbering next to me as I type, those chubby rolls and that little outie of a button that swirls in just the most perfect way - a reminder of our attachment that will never end.

I grieve laying her down to move on to other tasks and watching her grow out of clothes she just began wearing. I cry just a little to think of the day she won't be sleeping peacefully on my chest, tiny arms wrapped tight.

But mostly I embrace her, counting every moment as a treasured gift.

(And take a ton of these - vain attempts to hold on to just a fraction of these sweet, yet fleeting, times)

Of Our Perfect Storm

We sold our house last week.

Somewhere along the road, as we shuffled between my 39 week check-up with the midwives and gathering my mother from the airport who has graciously committed an indeterminable amount of time to helping us keep our sanity in these last days of pregnancy (as well as accepting the added perk of being here to welcome her coming grand-daughter to the world), I clicked send on the text that said, "We will accept that offer."

And our house was sold.

And a baby was going to come any day.

And there were papers to sign, inspections to schedule, loans to get rolling, and boxes to pack.

And a baby is going to come any day.

It would seem to the outsider now would be the time my head would be spinning and the stress would be almost insurmountable. I mean, I'm pretty sure the moving process and welcoming a new baby into the family are generally considered high stressors in the counseling world, and God, in His perfect wisdom, has coordinated all of these to encircle us at once.

And His wisdom is perfect.

Because where I would normally be sitting around wallowing in my pregnancy, wondering when this baby will come, counting every contraction and maybe begging a few extra foot rubs to get things moving (we are in the full-term category these days, having already surpassed the due date allotted by the midwives from the very beginning), I am, instead, grateful she has opted to stay put, allowing us time to get things moving along in the home buying/selling process. She didn't enter the world before the inspectors, appraiser, realtor, buyer and anyone else who claims to be a part of all of this came parading in and out our front door. I didn't have to sign loan paperwork in bed or tell our realtor that list of priority repairs on the new house would just have to wait.

She has given us time and this house has given me a focus on something other than the inevitable waiting for baby.

Meanwhile, while the packing process has begun, I have been able to refrain from the impulse to put anything not moving or breathing into a box, folded shut and labeled semi-neatly with a Sharpie. I can hold back simply out of necessity - my body can't do all I would normally force it to do if I knew I was moving in a month. Which is just as well, because we do kind of still need to use the things in our house. And knowing this baby will come has given me pause - time to slow down and recognize the work can get done later.

And so God, in His perfect wisdom, has coordinated these high stressors to coincide perfectly, bringing about the perfect balance between hurried work and patient waiting.

And the nerves have stayed calm and the world has carried on.

And having an extra mom in the house hasn't hurt any of it one bit ;)

God is good.

Of Enjoying Real Life

As I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade last week, my remnant of personal tradition among my husband's family, with children scattered over the room declaring, "We want to watch a kids's show!", I assured them they were lucky they don't get stuck watching Mommy's and Daddy's choices very often, because when I was a girl . . . we sat on the living room floor very quietly watching whatever was on - and while the Flintstones made a regular appearance, so did M.A.S.H. and last night's video recording (you know, the kind actually taped over and over on the same VHS, none of this digital nonsense) of David Letterman, so as far as I'm concerned, my kids are living the life, entertainment-wise. So could Momma just have this one morning of the year, for crying out loud?

Nevertheless, there were the sweet moments, like when the Rockettes - the highlight of the yearly event, the part my mom would run in from the kitchen to see so that we were always watching at least that part together while the turkey took a rest from its morning preparations - donned the screen and my eldest and youngest turned Papaw's living room into their own stage. That girl kicking as high as she could and that little boy twisting in his own best version of dance. Special memories for a momma passing down her own childhood moments.

And then they announced it. Next Thursday evening would be a special live broadcast of an entirely redone Sound of Music.

To those who turn on their TV's regularly, this was probably old news. As it was, I was hit with it for the first time that morning and was already scheming how to tune the children out between the 7pm start time and their 8pm bedtime. Momma was going to need another allowance, and only a week later, to tune the television to her choice - while the kids were awake. It's a risky proposition because we all know, with three children aged five and under scurrying about, one can rarely hear her own thoughts, let alone the TV. Maybe they could go to bed early.

Either way, I spent the week reminding myself and my husband, though the hideous foil-adorned antenna had been stowed in the attic during this house-selling season of our lives, it would need to be pulled out for at least one night. I was watching that TV special - and suddenly I was having 90's flashbacks - who actually tuned in to a live TV special these days? Who doesn't simply watch them the next day, or at least with a delayed start so as to fast forward commercials? Apparently we, of the no cable, no DVR, no Netflix, even. That's who. I didn't even have a blank VHS handy. I was behind the technological times even if it had been 1993.

Then Thursday came and forecasts of ice and snow and a wintry mix of wonderland flooded the forecast and my mind. I was planning chili and Christmas movies and what dessert to prepare as a family while we snuggled in our warm nest. So, it wasn't until after the chili and after the newest VeggieTales Christmas DVD (see? sometimes we at least catch up to 2001 with our entertainment technology), as we stirred puppy chow in the kitchen and pondered what slice of holiday media to enjoy with our chocolately goodness that I declared, "It's Thursday!" "Yes it is," confirmed my confused husband. "We only have 18 minutes!" I cried, glancing at the clock.

Catching on, he dutifully, and reluctantly, hurried to the attic for that blasted antenna and, after the powdered sugar had been shaken over the snack and everyone had their bowls of Chow and cups of milk, we finished our Jesse Tree devotion just in time to tune in.

I hadn't planned to snuggle together as a family with a fire in the fireplace, all eyes on the recreated classic, but it's the way it happened - as it goes with all best memories, the kind that can't be created on purpose. And then my littlest boy started dancing to the chorus of the hills coming alive and my daughter was twirling across the floor while Maria sang of her favorite things. And there we were in that blissful moment, and I didn't care that it would keep the kids up two extra hours, or that I sometimes couldn't see because an excited three-year-old has a knack for sticking his giant noggin in front of the TV, or that the acting was sometimes sub-par, or even the question at every commercial break, "Is it coming back?" (commercials are still a little foreign to them). I didn't care because we were making memories. The same kinds of memories I have from my own childhood, of sitting around the black box as a family, watching that TV special, with the Christmas lights twinkling and the icicles forming outside.

These are the moments real life is enjoyed.

Of Our Non-Expendable Brood

As we await the long-coming arrival of Baby #4 to our growing flock, I recognize we have crossed a threshold - in fact, we crossed it back in 2011, when our youngest had just turned one, our oldest was still yet two and we learned our third was on the way, the point at which the question on everyone's lips subtly changes to, "So, are you planning to have more?" to "So, do you think you're done?"

And whether real or imagined, there is a definitive sense of judgment in our culture toward those populating the earth with more than the allotted 2.5 children. Sometimes I feel the weight of those questioning eyes, with my burgeoning belly and three little ones scurrying underfoot as we head to the library or the grocery store.

Yet, I watch my children playing, all seated together on the floor engrossed in a book or huddled into the plastic Fisher Price tree house out back, and as I melt in their large brown eyes I ask myself this question, "Which of these would I give up so as to have a socially acceptable amount of off-spring?"

Would it be the fiery strawberry blonde? Maybe it would have been nice to have waited just a little longer before starting our family - more time for my husband and I to have to ourselves as 'just us' before taking the deeper plunge from marriage into family. We could have traveled. We could have indulged in couple time and spare change. But then, where would our boys be without their big sister to lead the way? And who would impress me with the compassion she shows for others or her aptness for learning?

Or maybe it would be that middle one. Perhaps it would have been nice to have that longer gap - breathing room between Micaiah and Joey? But then, what would I do without my sweetly sensitive, yet rough and tumble little boy with that insatiable curiosity? And with whom would Micaiah have "camp-overs" in the living room or play hide-and-seek throughout the house? Joey isn't quite old enough for that, yet.

Well, then there's that, maybe we'd just give up that youngest one. He doesn't do much to contribute to the family, yet. Perhaps we could have enjoyed those first two a little longer if we'd spaced it out a tad. But, then, whose mischievous grin would break my stressful days? Or who would climb in my lap every time I sat on the floor to be with the other two?  Who would stand next to me in the kitchen, waiting to help, as I prepare meals? Who would offer Emmett the joy of having a brother and future games of cowboys and Indians or catch in the yard?

Then again, maybe we should have just been done after three. That's a perfectly acceptable number. But then, what would I do, on those long days, without the refreshing kicks, tiny reminders of life inside and the purpose I hold? Where would be that hope of a baby sister for our eldest - something of which she has long dreamed?

Where would we be, as a family, if any one of us were missing - had never even existed? Perhaps we'd be just fine. But seeing where we are now, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know God has formed our family perfectly, and I have a strong sense he's not finished with us yet. Which is just fine - because he seems to have done a wonderful job of putting just the right tiny souls into our wonderful little mix at just the right times.  Perhaps not every family is meant for this kind of blossoming - their perfect number may be smaller than ours - but I am so grateful for all we have been given, and all that is yet to come.

Of Walking Away

By the time my husband's alarm sounded this morning, I was in shock - there was no way that sleepless night was over already. Surely it was only 2am and his poor clock was just confused.

Unfortunately that was not the case. And my poor brain has been suffering the consequences of its own inability to rest. As evidenced by the fact of my sitting up in bed (entirely too early), rubbing my hand over my swollen belly and thinking, "I sure am getting fat." It was maybe a full two seconds before I remembered there was life growing in that belly, not just a stash of chocolate chip cookies.

Thus, after pouring milk on the cereal of a daughter who loathes milk on her cereal (though loves it in her cup) and dealing with the apocalyptic outcome of that brain-fogged action, as I listened to the chorus of my two eldest arguing over who would be allowed to open the fridge so the boy could put his un-finished cup of milk inside, I sighed. Trying once, unsuccessfully, to supersede the volume of his irrational sobs, to offer some sort of resolution (or, perhaps, a solid, "Stop crying and put your milk in the fridge! Sissy already has it open for you!"), I simply shook my head and walked away.

This was way below my pay-grade.

I recognized this issue was, in fact, one that could be settled by young children, and the value of my sanity was much higher than the fairness of whatever outcome they could manage.

And I left. I entered my room, closed the door, and started to get dressed, feeling slightly guilty over my inability and unwillingness to fix it.

It was only after the door had been opened again, as I straightened my sweater over that bulging belly, that Emmett came dashing into the room, sister close behind.

"Momma! I opened the fridge and 'Caiah held my cup and then she gave me my cup - "

"And then I threw the door closed!" she finished, triumphantly.

Though the slamming of the door isn't exciting to me, the fact that they successfully navigated the field of conflict resolution with a solution that left them both happy and proud of their independence re-assured me of my decision to walk away. Had I not, I would have missed this blessed moment - the one when Momma realizes it's not just her fatigue talking, but her children really can solve their own problems (some of the time, anyway).

And sometimes it takes us just walking away to realize how independent our children can really be.

Of Dance Lessons

Micaiah began taking dance lessons last week. It was maybe an exciting moment for Mommy because I've always wanted my children to find something they love and have the opportunity to pursue it. And this girl loves to move to music.

We had chosen a program taught by dance students at a local university (some may not realize our town actually boasts two small religious-affiliated universities within its borders, but, in fact, we do). I had spent absolutely zero time in my past eleven years in this region (more than a decade! How is that even possible?!) on said university campus and felt like a freshman all over again as I roamed the small grounds attempting to find the one spot I was supposed to be.

Except I would be the only freshman toting an over-eager near-five-year-old in leotard and tights as I sought the one university student awake on a Saturday morning who might be able to actually help me find where we should be. It was not an easy task as my eyes combed the tree-laden grounds with not a human being in sight. We did finally prevail upon one lone baseball player on his way to breakfast (it would appear the sports players are the only ones alive at that hour) who attempted to aid our quest, but his directions ended us at a locked door.

Finally, after 10-15 minutes of searching (which is a long time when you're standing in a square of about four buildings and, thus, have limited options, really) and some questionable advice from a cafeteria worker who, apparently knows nothing about her workplace beyond the cash register or the tables of the dining hall (and who can blame her - it's not like she's ever needed to find her way to the fine arts building for ballet), and a few tears (the frustration of arriving early and being in the proximity of the desired location but having not a clue how to get there may have worn on Momma's stress level just a tad), we made our way to the right place, just in the nick of time.

In fact, Micaiah was the only student in her class for that first lesson, so I suppose we could have been as late as necessary - but you could not have convinced me of the fact as I desperately sought our destination.

Week Two was bound to be much better. I was toting two extra boys to entertain for that 45-minute span and this fact made me a little nervous, but at least we knew where we were going and that fact alone thrilled my sometimes-nervous soul.

On the way, as Emmett chattered about going to sissy's ballet (pronounced "buh-LAY") class, Micaiah asked me ever so sweetly, "Mommy, did you take ballet class?"

Thinking fondly upon my one year at the city hall in small town Nebraska, clad in tights and little pink ballet shoes, I responded, "When I was very little."

"Did Grandma know how to get there?"

I responded tentatively, unsure where we were headed, "Yes . . . "

"Well, maybe she should have taken me last time."

Thanks, daughter, I love you, too.

Of His Thumbs Up

"Look, Emmett," I said, pointing to his tokens on the Sequence for Kids board, "if you play Camille the Camel here, you'll have how many?  See, one, two, three.  And then you can use your Unicorn to get this spot and you'll win."

He grinned.  And in a brief flash, I noticed his left thumb go up while his right eye, no joke, winked at me.

When did this kid get so fly?

Of Saying Good-Bye

"Guys, come here, I need to talk to you."

Micaiah started inching her way toward me, a sly grin on her face.  She's right, usually when I bring her and her brothers close to talk to them I'm telling them about something exciting that's going to happen - we're leaving that afternoon to go to Nenaw & Papaw's, we're going to pick up the toys so we can paint, we're going to the store (it doesn't take much, when you're four or less, to garner excitement).  It broke my heart knowing how out of place her current grin of anticipation was.

"Annie won't be coming home."

It was the sad news I had hoped not to have to share when we found the lump in our cat's abdomen on Sunday.  I had hoped making them say good-bye to her yesterday, while she moaned in her cage just before being shuttled off to the vet, was just a silly precautionary measure - more like a, "Have fun at the doctor; we'll see you soon!" kind of good-bye.

But it wasn't so.

At first the pronouncement that Annie wouldn't be returning from the doctor was a little bit of a shock to the two older ones and I debated whether to leave it at just that.  These are the tough calls a Mommy has to make when Daddy is at work and real life is unfolding before us.  So I decided to push through and be honest (well, as honest as a four-year-old and a two-year-old need).

"She's very sick and she's going to die."

At this my tears broke forth, indicating to Micaiah this was the proper response.  Thus, imitating me, she, too, wept for Annie.

For about ten full seconds.

And then, through the sobs, "Mommy, maybe we can do an activity."

"What kind of activity, Baby?" Was her soul more sensitive than I had anticipated? Was she already planning some sort of memorial?  Or was it simply-

"You know, an activity from The Box?"  Yep, just as I suspected. "The Box" being a cardboard box in which I keep craft kits for she and her brother to do on occasion.  Nothing cat or funeral-related there.  Just a fun thing to do now that we're done crying.

"Okay, Baby, sure."

Apparently these kinds of things are just easier on the young.

To be fair, they did ask a few more questions intermittently as the morning progressed and I did overhear this sweet conversation:

Emmett: "Why is Annie going to die, Sissy?"
Micaiah [in her most sweet, heartfelt voice]: "Because she's sick. Sometimes people, and animals, get sick."
Emmett: "But they don't die."
Micaiah: "Sometimes they do."

I know we'll still be answering questions in the most unexpected moments, as kids are known to have, but for now I'm glad this early brush with death was slightly less traumatic than we'd feared.  If only I could promise them this would be the last time we'd ever have this conversation.

Sometimes life gets hard.  And sometimes it's even harder than that.

Here's to the girl who wore her heart on her fur.

1,000 Gifts:
1110. A chance to say good-bye
1111. Simple understandings of not-so-simple things
1112. Understanding care-takers
1113. The way Joey's head rests in my lap as he sucks his thumb, tired from playing 
1114. Singing lullabies
1115. Learning to play the piano as I teach her
1116. Listening to her read

Of Sweet Conversations

[While his sister colors at the table]:
Emmett: "Mommy, can I color?"
Me: "Yes."
Emmett [not hearing me]: "Can I color?  Can I color?  Can I color?  Can I color?"
Micaiah: "Emmett!  If she doesn't answer, it just means 'yes'!"
I do not recall implementing that rule.


[Talking about the Science Museum]:
Me: "Well, baby, I don't know if we can go back to the one in Oklahoma soon, because that one costs money."
Micaiah: "Daddy has money."
Me: "This is true."
Emmett: "Mommy has money!"
Micaiah: "No, Mommy doesn't have money.  Mommy only has cards!"
Let it be known, Mommy actually uses cash much more frequently than plastic, but I do most of my grocery shopping solo, so apparently she does not know this fact.


[Talking about our neighbors' beautiful baby girl, Micaiah was sad over the fact she still has no sister]:
Micaiah: "I wanted a baby girl."
Emmett: "When you get bigger and be a Momma, you can have a baby girl!"
Micaiah: "Not if God gives me a boy; and I don't have anyone to be my husband."
Emmett: "I'll be your husband!"
Micaiah: "No, Momma says you can't be my husband; you can only be the uncle!"
Love how encouraging he is.


[While discussing why she no longer plays with her imaginary dog, Bolt, and, instead, prefers the imaginary cat, Mittens]
Micaiah: "Mommy, I changed my mind.  I like cats better than puppies.  I still like puppies, but I just like cats."
At least, in the case she doesn't find a husband, she has a future as the cat lady.


[While getting ready for bed]:
Emmett: "I can't put on my pajamas!"
Me: "Does Mommy help you put on your pajamas?"
Emmett: "No!"
Me: "Well, if you can't do it, and Mommy doesn't help you, how do your pajamas get on you?  Is it magic?"
Micaiah: "God does it!  God is the Magic Man."
Me: "God is the Magic Man?"
Micaiah: "Yeah, He is so powerful He can tell the waves, 'Stop!' and they do."
She speaks truth.

1,000 Gifts:
1080. Truth from the mouths of Babes
1081. He's not yet one and already climbing up the stool to play at the kitchen
1082. All three of them, snuggled up for story time
1083. Wizard of Oz, for the first time
1084. Family Time at Wal-Mart
1085. Game time with my man
1086. OETA Movie Club

Of Stuff My Daughter Says

"Hugantis" [pronounced "huge-antis"] - It's her new word for something extremely large (to her) - it's the next "ginormous." You heard it hear first.

[On why Emmett should wear his new-to-him leather bomber jacket]: "It's a man's jacket.  It's a rock-and-roll jacket!" - Where does she learn these things?!

"When Joey grows up, he's going to be strong like a girl!" - You go, girl!

[After I asked if it's nice to be home playing with her own toys, after all our travels]: "Yeah, but I like when we go on adventures, too."  "Adventures?"  "Yeah, like when we go see other people . . . and when we go to Paris . . ." - Note, this has not happened yet, but she has been convinced, since she learned that's where her Great Aunt and Uncle live, we will be visiting Paris when she turns six.  She has no idea where that is or why anyone else would want to visit, except to visit Uncle Gary and Aunt Becky.  

"When I was getting eaten by a dinosaur, a snake came out, because the dinosaur ate it, too.  And it was scary and I said, 'Stop, you snake!' [insert Heisman pose here].  And then we played together inside the dinosaur.  And we lived happily ever after." - Mark my words, this girl will be a writer someday.

Every day is a new adventure with this one.

1,000 Gifts:
1074. Late-night girl talk
1075. Getting our Vitamin D the natural way
1076. Fistfuls of cat fur (still attached to the cat), and a patient feline
1077. Friendship, new and old
1078. Long awaited prayers answered
1079. Newborn babies

Of Boundaries

I can't be the only parent to have experienced that moment - the one in which you wish you hadn't caught them in their disobedience because now, in your striving for consistency, you have to issue consequences, rather than just closing the door quietly, whispering, "Carry on."

Because that's what I truly desired to do after hearing muttering in their room - a sure sign they're not sleeping, for the umpteenth night in a row - and entering to discover an empty bed for Emmett and the two of them laying side-by-side - he even covered by his own blanket he'd brought with him - snuggled on her bed, talking quietly - about life and the golden moon, I'm sure.

And what is a parent to do, really, when this crawling out of his bed to play with his sister is the habit you've been working to break for nearly a year now, but the thought of them falling asleep this way, soul-to-soul, is the most precious time you could imagine for them?

I put an end to it, then. I truly had to, for consistency's sake (right?) - but all I truly desired was that I'd never opened the door in the first place.

Sometimes I love them so much it hurts.

Of Dentists and Haircuts

After having watched "The Berenstain Bears Go to the Dentist" innumerable times in our house, the announcement to Micaiah that she, herself, would be visiting the dentist this week was met with much glee.  Honestly, I hoped she wouldn't be terribly disappointed, because I believe she was under the distinct impression that visiting the dentist would bring her to the rite of passage of a loose tooth.  I didn't really have the heart to explain she would receive little more than a glorified brushing.

No worries, though, this girl was simply excited to be going.  And we, as her parents, were pretty excited, too.  It's a big step for us - yet another in a long line of firsts.

We were so proud of her, too, the way she marched right into that office with a smile that needed no brightening.  She climbed into the big chair, grin still in tact, though slightly wavering as the reality of the room sunk in.  Our hygienist was fantastic (as always, we're big fans) as she explained every tool to our little girl before she even tried to touch her mouth.

And the whole while, as though she's done this her whole life, our little girl leaned back, mouth wide open, waiting for the event to start.  We could see signs of worry, the clenching of the fists, the pointing of her little toes, but she held a brave face the entire time and came out a champ.

They even let her use cool shades for the bright lights - so jealous.

And as if going to the dentist weren't a reward in and of itself, the fact that she walked out of there with a Princess toothbrush, pink floss, new toothpaste and a hot pink timer to keep her on track when brushing would all have been enough to guarantee a repeat visit.  This girl is sold - the dentist is totally where all the cool kids go.

And, of course, ice cream is where they go next (And we'll try to forget she opted for Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream . . . and liked it.  If it weren't for her Daddy's eyes, we might have to question if she were really ours.).

In other firsts so far this year, Joseph had his first real haircut - Momma was tiring of the shaggy mullet. (Unless you had seen him personally, it would be hard to tell a difference - all the change came from the back, where the party was happening.)

And, getting jealous of her little brothers having all the hair-cutting fun, Micaiah continued to beg for her chance under the scissors.  I finally agreed it was her time.  She might have been super excited.

Before:

As another before, this was earlier the same day, as the kids, not understanding the length of the process, awaited apple chips from our new dehydrator:

So, of course, we sat her down with some Netflix (she opted for "My Little Pony," rather than her brother's stand-by of "Blue's Clues") and marshmallows (those are a necessary ingredient to the process), and I went to work.

It's gone!

All snipped up.

All her precious curls - the ones she's been growing since birth:

She did not seem sad to see them go (and, no, I did not have to tell her to pose for this - this is her 100% genuine reaction to the haircut, running into the bathroom and twisting to see her new look).

(If you wish to see what the dry result is, you can check out the dentist pictures above, once again).

And that's it, folks.  Our little ones are growing daily.  Sometimes it's hard to believe, but we're always so proud to see them move forward.

Of Keeping the New

Last week, as I attempted to dress three children for a photo shoot with their aunt that was supposed to take place at 10am, for which I was hoping to arrive by 9:30 so as to allow more actual photo time, I scrambled to find three pairs of socks, pull on three pairs of pants (ok, four if you include mine - and that was important to me), tug on shirts, locate jackets and secure shoes.

Meanwhile, the children had been bathed and were eating breakfast.  And as I scuttle to and fro that middle son of mine has pushed off his shoes, tugged off his socks and run happily to play.

Frustrated, I demanded, "Emmett!  Stop taking off your shoes!"  Because anyone who has ever put tight shoes on a squirrely toddler will tell you, it's not fun and it's not quick.  We were behind and this shoe thing was not helping.

So, we re-locate two socks and two shoes and put them back on.  I scurry to find that third jacket.  I return to find that same boy in socks.  No shoes.  Trying to work himself out of the jacket on his arms.

"Stop taking off what I have put on!"

In this exasperated moment, I had clarity of thought to recognize these very words as ones I could just as easily have heard from God Himself - in fact, I'd dare say it was the Holy Spirit who pointed this out to me, saying, "Are you hearing yourself?  Why, then, do you continually take off what I have put on?"

And I recalled right there in the Scripture where we are commanded "to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness" (Ephesians 4:22-24, ESV).

Too often I am that child, the one God is trying to dress in the new manner, holy and righteous as He, preparing me for the tasks ahead.  And there I am, stubborn and obstinate, ripping off the new (or maybe even doing so more subtly, simply slipping off what still feels a little uncomfortable at times, what hasn't been broken in), in favor of the old, the easy - the harsh words, angry tones, bitter spirit.

And all the while He's there, pleading (in a much more patient manner than I tend to display with my own children), "Daughter, stop taking off what I have put on!"

Since that moment of epiphany as I hurried the kids to the car, I've noticed a change.  As I strive to keep on the new, the old is what suddenly feels out-dated, uncomfortable and stiff.  I find myself, after years of trying it back on to see how it fits, finally ready to throw it out - because goodness knows I don't dare desire to see my children wearing this hideous monstrosity.

I think I just might like to keep this one - this one He has put on.

1,000 Gifts:
1026. Three children in my lap for story-time
1027. Following the Spirit's leading in service
1028. Twister with my littles - this old body ain't what she used to be
1029. A refreshing time with girls
1030. Keeping on the new
1031. A sick Sunday morning which meant lunch snuggled in Mommy and Daddy's bed - for everyone!

Photos from Sunday:
Joey's baby dinosaur face.  Makes me smile every time.

Brother kisses are the best.  Especially when they're unprovoked.

Of Her Genuine Prayers

Philip and I have prayed with our kids every night before bedtime since the day they were born.  It's one thing I feel we actually get right in days fraught with failure.

However, while we regularly voice prayers over them, they do not typically speak their own.

There have been periods of time when one or the other or both of our older ones would repeat after us.

There have been times, recently, when they have frantically, excitedly, sputtered out a modified version of sissy's prayer, "A,B,C,D,E,F,G.  Thank you, God, for bedtime. Amen" (I often feel if they really thought about what they were saying, they would not be quite so grateful for bedtime, but we're still working on the sincerity issue).

The idea, then, of Micaiah speaking to God thoughts and gratitudes from her heart is a concept we're still waiting on.  We have heard maybe a handful of self-motivated conversations between her and God in her short four years.

So, tonight, when she began to pray on her own, without the alphabetical opening and without even mentioning "bedtime" in her list of gifts from him (maybe she's started to truly consider her words), my heart swelled.

"Thank you, God, for everything you made" - she's thankful for creation, and all of it, so incredibly sweet - "and for my friends and for my whole family" - glad to hear not only is she thankful for all of us, but she's decided to take the all-encompassing route, rather than the toddler-tendency to list each member individual - "and for the baby that came out of Mommy's tummy" - now I was truly grinning with my eyes clinched shut, apparently Joseph wasn't included in the "whole family" clause; also, she's never going to forget where he came from - "Amen."

It's the rarity of these moments that makes them so incredibly precious.  I love hearing the overflow of her heart.

1,000 Gifts:
979. Arms to hold me on a weepy Saturday
980. Baskets filled with bright green lettuce and brilliant red tomatoes
981. A squirrel skittering along the wire spanning the street
982. Fall leaves fluttering
983. A bright orange package shipped in the mail
984. Circus games on a warm fall morning
985. Hot dogs under the "big top"
986. A lazy Sunday afternoon, snuggled in bed, reading, holding kids and napping
987. Tabletop games, popcorn, and baseball on TV

Of Saying No

I'll be honest, we are not a baby-signing family.  I kind of wish we were.  I have a book of signs for babies.  We've watched Signing Time quite a bit.  But I lack the consistency.  As in, I usually forget to accompany my words with a physical motion of any sort.

Our older two both eventually learned "More," "Food," and "Please" so we could survive feeding time.  Anyone knowing our kids wouldn't be surprised by that combination of words. (Don't worry, we did teach them "All done" too).

Otherwise, nothing.

Joseph, however, seems to have figured something out.  Even if it's not technically correct.

When he reached the age of six months, we considered this to be the appropriate age for his first swats - nothing serious, just a small slap to the back of the hand when he touches something we prefer he wouldn't or to the leg when he's heading into a room where he doesn't need to be.  A firm "No" accompanied by a little swat (not even enough to draw a whimper) are typically all it takes for him to switch directions.

Eventually, though, much as I remember his older sister doing, upon hearing the word "No" as he crawled away, he began to stop, sit up, look at me, and slap his lap.  He knew what I was saying.  And he wanted me to know it (also that he could handle the discipline himself, thankyouverymuch).

Today, though, was the first time I had noticed a similar reaction when caught touching what shouldn't be touched by baby fingers.

"Joseph, no." I stated.

He looked at me, clapped and smiled, so proud of himself.  He was slapping his own hand, his own way.  And it was darn cute.  Philip agreed when he saw the same thing later that evening.

Now, he won't clap just to clap.  Only when we say "No".  As if it's a Sign.  Clearly that's what that little two-letter word means - "Let's Clap!"

What was really great, though, was later in the evening when Philip was antagonizing his littlest son (frustrating the children seems to be one of his favorite past-times) by putting his daddy hands all in Joseph's face.  And then Joseph clapped.

"I think he's telling me no!"

I think so, my dear.  I think so.

1,000 Gifts:
975. What once was lost, now is found (My camera is back!)
976. Melting crayons into something new
977. Creating a care package - mailing love
978. Her licking a stamp - apparently the old is not lost.

After a hard-core effort this evening, my camera was finally found, after I remembered we took photos at an air show two weeks ago and I hadn't seen those pictures - erego, it was misplaced at the same time.  Sure enough, it was found in Philip's coat pocket.  That's what happens when the temperatures drop suddenly and then pick back up, leaving the coats in the closets for weeks.

At the air show, me and my boys.

Love this face.

Standing on his own for the first time!

He loves his brother.

One of the few moments they were paying attention to what was happening in the air.

Joey and I were interested, at least.

Of Wearing it Down

When I was in middle school I still had my hair done daily by my mother.  And by "done" I mean pulled into a ponytail.

Ok, let's be honest, she was still doing it for me in high school.

I'm sure a lot of this stems back to her "helpful" nature for which we often tease her.  The nature that led her to look at my poor attempts at self-styling and assure me, "That looks great, honey.  Do you want me to help you?"  Eventually I realized it was just a lot faster to hand her the brush and skip the facade - I was never going to be able to handle a bump-less ponytail.

Thus, one day in seventh grade, I sat at the black tables of the science classroom and, for whatever reason, some hairs escaped their holder.  I was doomed.  I pulled the elastic out and tried, in vain, especially with no mirror, to capture every one of the millions of hairs on my head and tame them into submission.  Pulling them all together, I turned to the outspoken, no-nonsense acquaintance sitting next to me and asked, nervously, if it looked ok.  I could not be seen with bumps.

Her response was to pull the elastic out of my hair once more, hand it to me and tell me, "I like it better that way."

Wear my hair down?!  Well, that's just not something I do.  As mentioned, there are millions of them (seriously, I have an obnoxious amount of hair - as noticed by every hair-dresser ever) and they just get in the way.  I don't wear it down because I get tired of pushing it from my face.  All. Day. Long.

But someone thought it looked good that way.  And no one (besides my mother, of course) ever told me I looked good any way.  So, for that afternoon at least, I wore my hair down.

Throughout the years I have tried various styles, but almost every day, no matter how it starts at the beginning, I end the day with my hair pulled back.

It still drives me nuts.

Thus, a week or so ago, as Micaiah and I sat on the couch during a family game night of Mario Party, I relaxed, in my pj's and ponytail (which is still bumpy, but I have long since gotten over it, recognizing my curly hair is not destined for bump-less-ness - and not wiling to drive eight hours to have my mother "help").  Suddenly, as she observed my face, she announced, "You need to keep your hair long."

I was confused a little until she pointed to my up-do and repeated, "It needs to be long. I don't like your ponytail!"

Well, apparently I have once-again encountered an outspoken, no-nonsense girl with very strong opinions about my styling options.

And now I'm the mother consistently pulling her hair up - only she's more independent than I was (hard to believe, really), as she declares, "No, Mommy!  Girls wear their hair long!"

So we have.  Well, I more than she.  But I'm doing it on her behalf.  I hope she appreciates this.  Because I don't wear my hair down for just anyone.

But I am a girl - and this is, apparently, how we do it.

1,000 Gifts:
949. Being the kind of friend I look for
950. Recognizing He has always been everything I have ever longed for
951. Friendships on the horizon
952. Being on the same page
953. Talking things out
954. Bees, many of them, flitting from flower to flower, pollen on their legs
955. A defenseless wasp, skittering away
956. Learning of His Creation

We painted pumpkins last week with Aunt Dia.  I did the swirly one for me and the polka dots for Joey.  Philip did the awesome Jack-o-Lantern face.  Micaiah's is all drippy (I LOVE it) and Emmett's is green, because that's what happened when all his paints blended.  So fun.