Would You Rather…? 50+ Questions to Engage Your Kids

Mexican Jumping Beans

Last night we went to dinner to celebrate Father’s Day. In a restaurant. Yes, folks, we actually went into public with all of our children.

Since dinnertime at home typically resembles a case of Mexican Jumping Beans, I knew the smart move would be to prepare for the event. It took awhile, but I finally figured out what to do beside the traditional coloring pages: Would you rather.

Yes, the game that, as college students, involved asking inappropriate, sometimes risqué questions where there’s really no good option but a choice must be made.

I tamed it down a bit for the youngsters and broke the questions out right after we ordered. It captured the attention of the 5-year-old and 7-year-old for the rest of the night, with the 3-year-old chiming in when she felt particularly inspired.

I’ve created a .pdf with more than 50 Would You Rather…? questions and you can get it right here: Would You Rather…? 50+ Questions to Engage Your Kids. To whet your interest, Would You Rather…

Be forced to hop everywhere like a bunny or crawl like a slug?
Play Hungry, Hungry Hippos or tag as the only game for the rest of your life?
Put your hands in vomit or poop?
Be blind or deaf?
Be a giant hamster or tiny rhino?

Grab the whole list by clicking here and hitting print!

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

A Father’s Day Ode

Medal of Honor

In honor of Father’s Day, I have composed a silly Ode. Let this not be confused with a Father’s Day Odor, which can be addressed with a shower and fresh application of deodorant.

Let us begin:

Blessed is the man who wallows in the bounty of children, for such a man need never fear old age.

His children shall rise up and provide for his creature comforts, encompassing toilet paper when he is stranded and hugs if he is burdened.

Honored is the man who shrinketh not from the foulest of parenting tasks, for lo, tho the diarrhea diapers shall come in an unceasing torrent, so shall the appreciation from his wife.

The man who changeth the diapers shall find his children remember he hath loved on them at their ugliest and thus shall be a stalwart companion in all circumstances.

Envied is the man who putteth his muscles to household chores, for thy garbage repeatedly accumulates and thy dishes don’t dirty themselves.

Yet a man who applyeth himself to these tasks shall be heralded amongst Bunco groups unnumbered and appreciated in all domestic dominions.

Glorious is the man who maintaineth his thirst for adventure and includes his progeny in such endeavors; indeed, the fondest memories are often of those experiences that resemble Murphy’s Law more than Pinterest.

Reminiscing of those devilish times shall be the cement of family unity and provide a basis for camaraderie for decades.

Powerful is the man who gentles his might to cradle a babe; who exposes vulnerability to his wife.

He shall be an example of greatness to his colleagues.

Desired fully is the man who labors at a job that respecteth not, payeth little, and frustrates much in order to provide for the care of his family. He shall receive opportunity aplenty to grow in character and perseverance.

Respected is the man who turnest his attention to his household, for he shall be adored and emulated by generations untold, he shall be honored with monikers, peace, and fame amongst his family.

Wisdom is the name of the man who loves as a fierce warrior; protecting those who need protection, sheltering this progeny under his leadership. His discernment shall be limitless.

All of this to say, thanks, dads, for being stand up guys who stick around, make us laugh, help out, and lead. We appreciate you!

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

Man Tank Mandate

Richard Simmons, sporting the man tank.

I’ve talked about my fashion prejudice in the past, about how I feel the pajama jean is the ultimate symbol of “I give up,” that the Forever Lazy is a disgrace, and that I think it’s always wise to keep clothing on while pole dancing for Jesus.

Despite my ridiculous prejudice, I’ve always left the men’s fashions alone. Until tonight.

Now that summer is in full swing it’s time to mention something I simply hate: tank tops on men.

I can only think of three places a tank top is vaguely appropriate for men – as a sleep shirt, at the creek as a swim shirt, and possibly - maybe - while working out.

Just like the skinny jean for men, the tank top is not an ok fashion statement to make. Last night we went to dinner and were seated by a person with chin length, gently curled hair pulled back in a headband, gray skinny jean cut off shorts, a tightly fitted tank, and those creepy shoes with all your toes separated out.

My first instinct with this person was to thank her for her hospitality – and then I realized she was also sporting a goatee and it wasn’t the kind you get thanks to menopausal hormones.

She was a he. Wearing very feminine attire.

I admit it – I stared. I didn’t want to stare because I want to believe I’m more cultured than that. But I’m not. I stared. Every time he walked briskly by our table I stared some more.

Some things belong to women and other things belong to men.

Men get pretty much exclusive access to certain items of apparel like athletic supporters, banana slings, and suits of armor. Women get sole ownership of panty hose, brassieres, and tank tops.

Everyone can share the boxer shorts, socks, and t-shirt. No harm, no foul. There are lots of other things they can share too, like toothpaste, hair gel, and hand lotion.

The tank top – men, keep your head out of them. I have as much interest in seeing your pit hair as you have in seeing mine. By virtue of your flowing armpit wool you also have deodorant balls. Not a pretty sight!

Men, if you start wearing tank tops I’m going to have to request you begin shaving your armpits and I think you know you don’t want to start that funky business. Just think of the vast amount of razors you’ll be going through then!

Are there any other items of clothing you’d like to classify as exclusively one gender or the other?

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

Sneaky, Sneaky

Fry2k / stock.xchng

Let’s take a moment to talk about a little promoted parenting skill – hiding things from your children.

Back in the early parenting days, where things were rosy and I didn’t want to plug my ears to avoid waking up in the middle of the night when the baby cried, I promised myself I would be the kind of parent who always told their child the truth. I would answer the hard questions with honesty and no topic would be off limits.

This was before I learned the depth of despair that can come over you when your child says:

“What’s in your mouth, Mommy?”

Oh! How I long for the opportunity to finish a bag of potato chips without sharing! Or keep my own pack of chewing gum and not be put to the test with suspicious questions from the peanut gallery of children I’ve produced.

Lizard and I have become gifted at hiding our food choices, particularly in the car. We smuggle pieces of Twix to one another like we’re performing some covert drug deal, hoping no one squeals and we don’t get caught with the contraband.

They catch us, though. They see our mouths moving, masticating food, and then come the chirps from the back seats: “What’s that?” “Can I have some of that?” “What’s in your mouth?” “I want some!”

They don’t even know what we’re eating, but they assume it’s good. And usually… they’re right. It’s the good stuff that adds pounds to our middles and gives us delirious sugar shock. It’s the stuff they only get as a treat or if they finish all their food and it’s a dessert night.

They know.

And we continue to hone our stealthy skills, hoping that one day, one blissful day in the future, we’ll be able to eat our treats without coming under attack…

Do you have to sneak food from your kids?

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

Card Carrying Member

Etsy / Vintage Library Cards

We’ve crossed a threshold of child rearing today – Uno and Dos got their very own library cards.

Today kicked off the summer reading program in our town and, instead of participating in the Harkin’s Summer Fun program, we decided to head toward the library and commit to do our best to get in about an hour of reading each day.

I have some concerns about this plan, but I’m going to go with it.

I’m a recovering bookworm. I’d still be deep in the throes of book love if I didn’t have children, but somehow the kids have derailed my plans to read and read and read. Meh. It’s a season of life – and the books are waiting for me, calling my name, on the other end!

What I will say is that, despite my love of the written word, I CANNOT STAND the scent of pages of old books. I think this has to do with the fact I have a bloodhound mixed up somewhere in my ancestry, but the smell of old pages on my fingers makes me nauseous.

What I do LOVE is my memories of time in the library as a kid, of reading every single book in the Wizard of Oz series, of the little envelopes and the stamps for due dates. I have great memories of the library as a kid, and still have my first library card tucked away with other important items like my birth certificate and marriage license.

We’ve always talked to our kids about the importance of reading, the freedom of a good story, of how you can travel anywhere or do anything when you can imagine a story in your head. Of course, for many years the most significant use they had for a book was as a teething toy.

It’s gross and disrespectful to the authors, but… it’s life.

Now that they’re a little older and working on improving their reading skills, however, the books are beckoning them. Today Uno picked out a book on drawing horses and a chapter book while Dos chose a book on rabbit care and a story about a bunny. They’re predictable, those kiddos.

I downloaded their first Nancy Drew, Harriet the Spy, and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle on Audible.com. We’ll be listening to books after dinner, I think. And during rest time.

Since it’s been years and years since I was wandering the youth stacks at the library myself, I’d curious if any of you have suggestions for some great books for the girls? Either read-aloud or simple chapter books would be appropriate for us right now.

What are your favorites children’s books? Can you remember your first library card?

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

A Few of My Favorite Summertime Things

summer lovin’

It’s summer time. Summer time is a special season, filled with burning the backs of your legs on the car seats, watermelon seed spitting contests, and quick underarm sniff to reassure yourself that, yes, you did actually apply the antiperspirants/deodorant today.

In honor of this glorious season, a list of a few things I love about summer (and I’d love to hear your favorites in the comments!):

freshly shaven legs sliding into clean bed sheets
early morning sunshine
birds chirping
squirrels chasing one another in the age-old love scramble
late nights with friends
cold, bubbly refreshing beverages
water in your ears from swimming
attitude of possibilities
freedom from responsibilities
free time for family time
Chacos
pony tails and sunglasses
camping
swimming in creeks and lakes and rivers
mud pies
blackberry picking
family reunions
hearing the corn grow
Sonic cherry limeade
the smell of camp fires
dirt

What are your favorites?

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

Backyard Campout

porah / stock.xchng

I’ve just finished putting the kids to bed and Dos is crying because she’s not allowed to sleep outside tonight.

The side effects of a successful backyard campout.

You see, several weeks ago I had a bit of a hissy fit and decided we needed to make family time a priority this summer. Time spent away from our computers and phones, really paying attention to the kids and being present in the moment.

Distraction Free.

That’s seemed to be an impossibility for us many times. We are always available to friends via an electronic device. And I don’t think this is healthiest for our family. (I’ve been highly influenced by this post on Hands Free Parenting.)

During this hissy fit I laid down the law: we would go camping at least twice a month and have a family game night (not movie night!) at least once a week. We put it on the calendar and we’ve had a few rousing games of charades, Old Maid, and dominos. I’m hoping we can get gin rummy and spades down before too long!

This weekend was our first scheduled camping weekend and for one reason after another it just wasn’t going to be possible to actually leave and head to a camp ground. Our next best bet? Just setting up the tent in the backyard!

It’s not glamorous and it’s definitely dirty, but we put the tent in the trampoline, pulled the fire pit next to the swing set and settled down. All electronics had to be left inside (the exception was my phone and I was only allowed to take photos) and we did our best to spend quality time together.

Our simple campout dinner was roasted corn and hot dogs.

Dinner was pure finger foods; hotdogs and corn on the cob roasted over the fire pit with grapes. Dessert was an ice cream cone s’mores: peanut butter, chocolate, banana, marshmallow and caramel melted into a big glob in a sugar cone.

Ice cream cone s’mores: peanut butter, marshmallows, chocolate, banana, and caramel wrapped in tin foil to heat in the coals.

We sang A Boom Chicka Boom, Sippin’ Cider Through a Straw, Jesus Loves Me, and Kum Ba Yah. The girls got a chance to burn sparklers, then we told spooky stories around the fire pit, with everyone taking a turn and Tres coming up with the best story about a coyote eating us all up!

Dos loved her sparkler!

The Pinterest fail was trying to make a lantern using the goo inside a glow stick and a jar, but the next time we do it I think I’m going to plan ahead to make the glow stick hopscotch board. We also didn’t get a chance to play Ghost in the Graveyard so we’ll have to slate that for some time in the future.

It was full dark when we all crept inside the tent, a mass of dirty, smelly bodies cuddled together. The night started sweaty and ended freezing! We were all spooning by dawn just trying to stay warm!

Lizard got up early and made a warming fire while the kids consumed the apple strudel I picked up from the store for breakfast. We played around a bit more, came inside, took showers, and went about our day.

It was so simple! And it cost us nothing except a little pre-planning, which is another plan I really, really like!

Maybe this is your summer to go backyard camping? I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

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Copyright © StealingFaith.com 2010-2013 | All rights reserved

Don’t Live With It

shed / stock.xchng

I have a bruise on my thigh that’s about two inches long and one inch wide. It’s purple and blue and green and yellow all over. Quite impressive, actually.

I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to it anymore because it’s been present on my thigh almost constantly for six years.

Why?

That bruise is from running into the foot board of our bed. I drive my leg into the corner of the bed at least once a week. Sometimes more frequently – my current bruise is worse than usual because I hit the bed twice in one day, two days in a row – but often enough that a sore spot on my thigh is my normal.

I have run into that bed countless times – it has little to do with the room, as we’ve had the bed in three different homes since we bought it. I just keep hitting it, getting mad, and finally deciding to just live with the bruising and accept that I’ll have a black and blue circle for as long as we have the bed.

This is really dumb when you think about it. Why accept the wound from an inanimate object? I don’t know. But it seems easier.

The more I think about it, the more ridiculous that bruise gets. It doesn’t make sense to keep doing the same thing over and over and not learn something about how to change it for the better!

And think about this from a larger perspective. Are there things in your own life that are really dumb, hurt you, and could be circumvented but you’ve decided to just live with it? I bet there are!

I keep uncovering this lazy, “no change” thinking in my life. A perfect example involves church. We’re involved in a church plant that’s meeting in a high school each week. My husband goes early on Sundays to help set up and stays late to break everything down. The first year we attended I didn’t help with the set up or break down. The second year I haven’t helped because I’m holding a baby and chasing kids.

The way my kids run wild before and after church has been driving me crazy for two years. It’s not that they (or any of the kids) are being particularly bad… it’s just highly UN-structured time in a building with lots of crooks and crannies that I’d prefer them to stay out of.

Over time this has become a problem that has made me not even want to go to church. I hate that I feel like I’m always yelling at them, that trying to keep all four kids in check is a Herculean task that I can’t complete.

Then, about three weeks ago, it hit me – why are we doing this at all? Why not flip the switch and do something else completely?

I talked with Lizard and we decided to drive to church separately Instead of waiting before and after for him to complete his work I gather the kids and we go grocery shopping. They enjoy the outing and I enjoy not having to yell at them for running amuck. It’s flawless!

And it took me two years to figure out.

I’m on a kick not of looking at the things that are frustrations… but not really deal breakers, and trying to see if I can “flip the switch.” Sometimes a simple change can do an awful lot in the way of improving your mental attitude and increasing your ability to meet adversity with grace.

I’d love to hear your stories of little changes that make a huge difference!

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The Ballad of Señor Don Gato

Don Gato. Was a Cat.

I saw a YouTube video today of a dramatic reenactment of Señor Don Gato and it gave me so much ridiculous joy I decided tonight’s post had to feature poor, love struck Dan Gato.

I don’t know about you, but Señor Don Gato was a major part of my elementary years. I adored singing the “Meow, Meow, Meow” parts at the top of my lungs, rivaling the 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Shirley, who can only be described as “having a set of pipes on her.”

It’s a song of longing, a song of love, a song of tragedy. It’s simply… meow, meow, meow!

Oh, Señor Don Gato was a cat
On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter,
(Meow, meow, meow)
Where the reading light was better,
(Meow, meow, meow)
‘Twas a love note for Don Gato.

“I adore you!” wrote the lady cat
Who was fluffy, white and nice and fat
There was not a sweeter kitty,
(Meow, meow, meow)
In the country or the city,
(Meow, meow, meow)
And she said she’d wed Don Gato!

Oh, Don Gato jumped so happily
He fell off the roof and broke his knee
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers,
(Meow, meow, meow)
And his little solar plexus,
(Meow, meow, meow)
“Ay, Caramba!” cried Don Gato.

Then the doctors all came on the run
Just to see if something could be done
And they held a consultation,
(Meow, meow, meow)
About how to save their patient,
(Meow, meow, meow)
How to save Señor Don Gato?

But in spite of everything they tried
Poor Señor Don Gato up and died!
And it wasn’t very merry,
(Meow, meow, meow)
Going to the cemetery,
(Meow, meow, meow)
For the ending of Don Gato.

When the funeral passed the market square
Such a smell of fish was in the air
Though his burial was slated,
(Meow, meow, meow)
He became reanimated,
(Meow, meow, meow)
He came back to life, Don Gato.

Isn’t that the most beautiful song? Imagine it re-enacted by a young child – or perhaps you have a memory of acting it out yourself! – and your day will simply be brighter.

According to Wikipedia, which is not an acceptable source in many college classes but in my mind is second only to Google searches in accuracy, the English version of Señor Don Gato is familiar to generations of school-age children in North America due to its inclusion in several common elementary school songbooks in the second half of the 20th century. Additionally, the lyrics are loosely translated from the traditional Spanish song “Estaba el señor Don Gato”, but the melody is from a different song, “Ahora Que Vamos Despacio”. There is also a French version of “Estaba el señor Don Gato” called “Monsieur le Chat”.
And now you know a little bit more about the dear Don Gato with nine lives! Enjoy meow, meow, meow-ing yourself until bed tonight!

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Getting Messy

bjearwicks / stock.xchng

Tonight my parents watched our kids at Chick-fil-A while I went out with my husband of nine years. I can say that because it’s our anniversary and I know we’ve been married for nine years because we told our server at Red Lobster right before she brought us our meal and I destroyed my crab legs, which are the most violent meal a person can eat.

It takes a certain kind of commitment to sign up to take four young kids out in public and I applaud my parents for doing it. They were suitably punished for their bravery by the kids. I’ve gone out with them frequently enough that I’m used to people doing a visible head count when we walk in the door.

But my parents, not so much. I believe about the time Tres spilled her orange juice all over the table and Dos slid to the floor in a sad fit because she had to wait to go to the play area they decided they wouldn’t be volunteering for babysitting duty again anytime soon. And that was before Bubby was kind enough to have a blow-out diaper while sitting in my mom’s lap chomping chicken nuggets.

That kid, he’s a giver. My mom? She was less than impressed with the chunks of excrement he produced and kindly shared with her clothing.

Believe it or not, she was still able to laugh about her experiences when we caught up with them after our own dinner. We all had a good laugh about how to expect the unexpected when it comes to child rearing.

Why is it that we’re willing to accept the world’s most disgusting activities (i.e., being used as a living latrine) when it comes from something that shares our genetic code?

Oh, no, no one is typically overjoyed to have a diaper full of unidentified mush and a solid 1/3 cup of corn, but it happens. And we may gag a little and squeal, but we put up with it… because we love the one making the smelly gift.

Since it’s our anniversary and everything, I started thinking about the ways we love one another through the ugly, through the poopy parts of life.

I’ve come to believe, despite my youthful fancies, that marriage isn’t about the beautiful wedding dress or Martha Stewart-esque ideas of a perfect home, perfect meals, and perfect children. All of that is a facade hiding the real stuff, the life that coats you with chaos when you’re least expecting it in the same way a poopy diaper can plan a sneak attack on your pants!

Marriage is about not quitting, about being willing to to the right – but rough – thing because it’s in the best interest of your family.

A speaker I heard last week said most of us are “undivorced” instead of really “married.” I think he was right and I think we can do better. Just occupying the same address is not a marriage; in my mind, walking literally and figuratively through each day hand in hand comes a lot closer to the better definition of marriage.

Most of us are able to keep time with someone else, but it’s a different story to actually live in communion with the significant other we chose. The day in, day out, nitty gritty of life takes hard work. It’s not fun and it sometimes carries a lot of ugly.

But it’s worth it, really, it is! I can say that my husband and I have gone through some nasty times… but we’re stronger for it. The storms have taught us how to stand firmly together, choosing to get messy with real life. If we can come up with this many stories in only nine years, I wonder what the next nine years will bring?

Can’t wait to find out…

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Stealing Faith

humor for relationships, family & life

Would You Rather…? 50+ Questions to Engage Your Kids

A Father’s Day Ode

Man Tank Mandate

Sneaky, Sneaky

Card Carrying Member

A Few of My Favorite Summertime Things

Backyard Campout

Don’t Live With It

The Ballad of Señor Don Gato

Getting Messy