Of Showing Off

A little over a week ago our new five-year-old - a fact she will tell anyone and everyone with whom she comes into contact - "I'm five!" - ventured out for a sleepover with her doting aunt, a part of a birthday gift from said aunt.

With oversized backpack hanging from her shoulders, filled with all the precious things required for such an adventure (P.J.'s, hairbrush, storybook and dance clothes for the next morning), she bounced to Aunt Dayla's car, ready for an evening of pizza and girl time. 

She's so grown up.

She returned to us the following morning, post dance class, decked out in tights and leotard, sporting fancy new nails. Well, the finger nails weren't new, but the hot pink polish on the fingers and sparkly purple on the toes sure were.

And was this girl proud.

For the next 48 hours, at least, everyone she met was a new audience for her excitement.

"Look!" She would announce, proudly holding out her fancy fingers to anyone who may or may not listen - cashiers, the friendly custodian at church, the operator of the inflatable place, and countless others- "My Dayla did them!" (After the sleepover, Aunt Dayla officially moved away from her more formal title, or even the less formal "Dia" coined when this girl could barely form more than one syllable in a row, into the much more intimate "My Dayla." I think she's kind of loving it.)

And as this girl boldly and eagerly shared her news with all she met, it made me wonder.

Why is this not the way we show Christ to others?

When was the last time we initiated a conversation with a total stranger, let alone used the opening line of, "Look at what My Jesus has done for me!"

Let us move forward with faith like a child. He has created in us something beautiful - should we not be eager to let His handiwork shine?

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 Heeding God's Demands

Lately I've been feeling as though it's a difficult time just keeping my feet on the ground, or even as though life has any other purpose besides making it to the end of the day. I could easily blame it on the fact that I've been enduring yet another first trimester with three out-of-womb little ones scurrying underfoot. And, certainly, there is something to that excuse.

But I'd be lying if I blamed it all on the tiny critters over-running our home.

Truly, I've just been disconnected. From life, from my family and, most of all (and most importantly), from God.

I've been doing the basics - attending church (when we've been in town), pulling out the Bible once or twice a week to half-heartedly read a few verses or to get my "fix" so I'd feel better for just a little while. But it wasn't sustaining me, because I wasn't allowing it to. I was trying to get by on my own strength and this nausea, headache, trying-to-eat-right-for-the-baby-when-all-I-want-to-do-is-suck-down-all-the-gross-things-that-will-only-further-the-nausea-and-the-headaches time of my life was not giving me much strength with which to work.

Thus, when it was time to get back in the routine of Wednesday morning Bible Study with my favorite girls, I was very ready to have something specific to study that would encourage me to open the Word every day (because, let's be honest, I'm a rules-follower, and if someone gives me homework, I'm going to do it, because it would hurt my heart not to).

But I really wasn't prepared for Ms. Priscilla Shirer to go messing with my business on Day 1. I was ready for a soft intro before hitting the big guns. But that's just not her way.

We started Gideon's story before Gideon even enters the picture. To set the scene, she shows a little of life in his culture, but before that, even, she takes us back to Deuteronomy 7:1-2, where God is giving the Israelites specific instructions before they move to take their Promised Land - and the most basic of these instructions is that they are to wipe out EVERY people group in their way. It seems harsh, but God has His reasons. He knows that even a little of the enemy is enough to mess with their security and their future.

Fast forward to the beginning of Judges (1:21 and forward, to be exact), when we see the tribes of Israel flat out ignoring God. One after another, we visit the tribes in their new lands, still living with the Canaanites! They didn't wipe them out. Not even close. They're living side-by-side with the enemy. Now, in some territories, they forced the Canaanites into labor. So, of course, we can hear their justifications: "Everyone else is keeping them around. We can just cut them back a little; we'll make them work for us. We don't really need to cut them out altogether. That's just unnecessary - a little drastic, don't we agree?"

And at this point, I don't know about you, but I want to kick the Israelites (as we wanted back when they were whining in the desert and multiple other times in their history) - God told you to do something; so just do it! Don't you get it by now?!

Sigh. Some people.

Ms. Shirer goes on to summarize the effects of their disobedience to God's clear demands,

"Had Israel destroyed Canaan's inhabitants as instructed, the ungodly influence and infiltration of idolatry would have all but evaporated. Had there been no enemies left in their territory, the Israelites could have settled into the enjoyment of God's promised land instead of facing extended struggle and oppression from their neighbors."

Basically, life would have been amazing - as God intended it. But they thought they knew better. And they paid for it for the rest of history.

Stupid Israelites (pardon my frankness).

And then . . . THEN . . . Ms. Shirer has to go get all up in MY business: "Are you facing any battles today due to something you didn't destroy earlier?"

Wait, what?

I thought we were talking about the Israelites.  Those guys are annoying. They're the ones not listening to God. I'm just over here living my life. God doesn't want or need me to wipe out any people groups. Thank you.

But there was something.

There was something he asked me to give up a long time ago. Something that should have been a far easier task than committing genocide. But I didn't. I rationalized it: "Everyone else does it - so it's not like it's really bad, right? And, besides, I know it's taking up a lot of my time, but I can just cut back. I can make it work for me. We don't really need to cut this out altogether. That's just unnecessary - a little drastic."

So I kept it around. To comfort me when I wasn't feeling well, to distract me when I didn't feel like thinking about anything deep. And, more and more, I was turning to outside sources to fill my time, my mind, my heart, rather than filling up on the Word of God and finding my satisfaction in Him.

And hear me, what God was asking me to cut out was not something anyone else, had they heard me struggle over the instructions, would have said was a necessity to get rid of. It's nothing inherently bad, nothing the Bible condemns.

But God had asked me to cut it cleanly out of my life. And I had ignored Him. And my heart was feeling the infiltration from the Enemy. I had been disconnected from God.

So, this time I'm listening. I'm taking a lesson from those stupid Israelites, and I'm cutting this virus out.

Because when God speaks, we need to listen. #LessonsFromGideon

Of More Milestones

Our home has reached a few milestones in just 24 hours.

The first occurred yesterday evening when we flushed Micaiah's first pet (well the first that belonged to just her). However, lest you be concerned for her overall emotional state, she still hasn't even realized poor Embien's demise. I thought, certainly, our little observant one would be sure to notice a gaping hole on her art table where once her colorful fish sat. But, no. She colored quite happily this morning with no mention of a missing fish. I'm thinking she'll handle the grieving process just fine when his death has finally been uncovered.

It's a sign of maturity (I'm sure). Besides, we ordered her Kindergarten curriculum this morning (she sure is growing up fast!), so, clearly, this big girl can handle saying good-bye to a floating creature to whom she rarely gave more than a passing glance (right?).

And we reached yet another milestone last night in the development of our newest member of the family. We reached the point in the pregnancy when Fred had to make his appearance. Fred is my candy-cane shaped body pillow which eases the transition for this belly-sleeper into the side-sleeping position when the belly starts getting in the way. I really thought I'd be able to last longer without Fred in my bed, but it turns out, just as I'm transitioning out of the first trimester, his time has come.

Philip is really a good sport about this giant interloper in our sleeping/cuddling space (though, let's be honest, I'm not much of a cuddler so Fred isn't much to blame in the lack of pre-sleep snuggle in our home), though as I hugged my sleeping buddy for the first time in over two years, my living/breathing partner had to grumpily declare, "Wipe that silly grin off your face!" Yeah, Fred definitely gets a lot more snuggles than my patient husband. But we all know who I really love, so it's alright.

After all, Fred doesn't change diapers or cook me dinner when the morning sickness settles in.

Of the Sibling Connection

Gram and Grandy have spirited Micaiah away this week for some quality grand-daughter time (given they'll have quality grand-son time while she is adventuring in Ecuador later this month). They have spent an amazing amount of time tuckering that girl out on one excursion after another - I'm sure she won't even want to come home (I probably wouldn't).

Meanwhile, Philip and I have been doing our best to soak up every minute with these precious boys, particularly with the middle child who is currently enjoying the benefits of being the oldest at home. Thus, last night we took him, just him, on a special date with Mommy and Daddy while Joey enjoyed some quality Aunt Dia time.

We took the little guy first to the library, as we typically go on Tuesday mornings but tiny one slept until noon that morning (no, I'm not complaining about the glorious amount of sleep allotted to me with the early riser out of the house). Emmett was quite happy to meander the library, picking out movies and books and playing with trains. Of course, after selecting the trains to borrow, he went through his ritual of testing their size, a routine established after a particularly sad instance when his chosen vehicle could not pass through the tunnel on the train table. Ever since, that's the first place his trains go, just to be sure. Philip, who rarely gets the pleasure of accompanying us to the library, found this deliberate action quite humorous.

Finally, as we had a movie to head to, I suggested Emmett go put the sticker on his summer-reading-program calendar so he could pick out the prize he gets just for coming to the library every week. Philip was surprised, figuring we could squeeze out at least five more minutes before heading out. He doesn't know the process that is picking a prize out of that small bucket. In fact, because of this lengthy process, in which Emmett pulls out every possible toy in every possible color, with varying degrees of enthusiasm which suggests he might actually want a few of them, before putting them back and causing my head to droop with exasperation, we were still ten minutes late to the theater. What he finally walked out of the library with, proudly in his pocket, was an orange pencil sharpener in the shape of a puppy. Because the yellow and blue ones weren't good enough.

After the movie, which included indulging in too much popcorn and too much soda, we headed home to tell Aunt Dia all about his exciting adventures. And even though he had already headed to bed by the time we were talking to her, when he heard his sister's voice on the speakerphone in the living room, he rushed out to say hello.

"Do you want to tell her what you did today?" I encouraged him, knowing he saw the same movie she had seen with Gram a few weeks ago and thinking he might be excited to tell her. Instead, what came out in his slurred and halting three-year-old speech was,

"Caiah, I got a sharpener!"

Now, had this been an adult on the other end of the phone, I probably would have translated, considering they actually care about carrying on a conversation, but I knew it would take longer to explain the entire story to the four-year-old than was necessary for anyone. Besides, she just wanted off the phone, anyway, since she'd already told us all good-bye.

There was a long pause while she processed the sounds he'd made, which I'm sure were even less clear after traversing the airwaves. I waited for an, "Oh, ok" that would have come from any older listener that would indicate, "I have no idea what that meant, but I'll pretend" or even a, "What, Bubba?" because she hasn't yet learned the art of the polite pretending.

After the few moments of silence, what she finally responded with was, "Oh . . . did you get that at the library?"

Philip and I dropped our jaws in shock. She not only understood what he said, but actually followed the thought process back to its source?!

Clearly children truly do have their own language. Or maybe it's just the sibling connection.

Either way, these kids are great.

Of Our Future Mommy

About a month or longer ago, during one of her infamous "I-don't-want-to-leave-wherever-we-are-because-wherever-we're-going-certainly-won't-be-as-much-fun" breakdowns, Micaiah declared, "I'm going to have a new Mommy and a new Daddy who won't let me go home and won't let me go to sleep!" Apparently she meant this as a threat - it really sounded to me like her new parents were sadistic, but whatever helps her sleep at night - or not.

Clearly, when she began to realize New Mommy and New Daddy weren't coming for her on their white horses, she changed tactics. Her new goal is simply making the world a better place for her own off-spring. This includes consoling herself about the fact that Joey did not come out a baby girl by declaring, "When I'm bigger, I will have a baby girl. When I'm a mommy." She is also already begging to buy baby clothes for this future daughter when we pass the racks at Wal-Mart. "Mommy, can we please buy this for my baby?!" "What baby?" "You know, the one I'm going to have when I'm a mommy."

What can I say? She's a planner (and I have no idea where she got that trait - certainly not from her parents who just got finished throwing together plans for celebrating their soon-to-be-three-year-old's birthday party the night before the festivities are to take place).

But more than settling with God just what these beloved children will look like or be named or even planning their wardrobes, she has already begun taking notes about how she will behave as a mother. Primarily by not doing what I do.

"My kids won't have to go to bed when I'm a mommy!"*

"When I'm a mommy, I won't give my children squash!" (yes, that's a direct quote, as are all of the above).

My feeling on these ground-breaking methods is, "When you're a mommy, I'll try my best not to judge your parenting choices so long as you stop judging mine."

Respect, that's all I gotta say, girl. Respect.

*I felt it crucial to document these declarations for the day when my grandchildren are sobbing over being sent to bed early for not eating their squash. Not that I'll be rubbing her nose in what she said as a four-year-old. I'm way too mature for that.

Of a Morning at the Movies

A few years ago I started seeing advertisements on various money-saving blogs for a summer movie series that various theaters across the country do - one children's movie a week, during the day, at a wonderfully reduced rate. Yes, they're old releases, but who doesn't love watching a movie on the big screen? Of course, I've come to realize with small(-ish) town living that the terms "regional" or "select theaters" generally rule us out. And such has been the case since I first learned of this summery movie extravaganza.

Not so this year, my friends. Not so this year.

This year our town joins the ranks, screening various children's favorites for only $4 - sure it's not free as others do, but the price of admission includes popcorn, a drink and fruit snacks. You won't hear any complaining about that from our kids (especially since they're not paying for it).

As soon as I caught wind of the excitement to come, I loaded up my calendar - each and every Thursday morning screening is prominently labeled, so I'll know which days we need to be lining up at the ticket counter.

Yesterday was the first of these much-anticipated days.

I loaded up the kids - a little concerned about how Joey would do, but also recognizing I was going to a movie theater at 10am to watch an animated movie everyone probably already owned on DVD - I doubted a squawky toddler would receive much attention. I knew I'd have my hands full, but it's not like I'm completely clueless at this point when it comes to toting around three children under the age of five.

I've got this.

What I forgot to factor in was toting around three children under the age of five (one on my hip) and three kids' boxes filled with popcorn and soda cups to spring-loaded theater seats not equipped for the meager weight of pre-schoolers and the inability to take bathroom breaks with the above mentioned munchkins and their snacks.

Let's just say, I have quite a few mental notes of how to do it better next time. These include not handing Emmett his popcorn tray until he has figured out how not to get scrunched by the chair, not arriving early so as to cut down on the time needed to hold a 15-month-old's attention (well, and just plain hold him - especially when he's using all his squirmy might to escape to the floor) and not having to share my (aka the baby's) popcorn with older brother (which includes a side-note of making sure his doesn't get spilled) - because when the popcorn is gone, so is that fidgety baby boy.

All things considered, we all had a fairly enjoyable morning. Joey finally resolved himself to the fact that Mommy wasn't letting go (no matter how good the popcorn on the floor looked) and, thumb in his mouth, settled his tiny head on my arm. Emmett learned how to hold his seat in place and made sure to point out to me all the parts that were funny. Micaiah leaned over at one point, to snuggle with Momma, and had a great time laughing when the other kids laughed (even if she didn't always get the joke).

The kids and I agreed, a morning at the movies is definitely not a bad way to pass the summer time.