Observations about parenting infants through preschoolers

Top 10 Games for Family Nights

The best free dinner game ever! http://beautyandbedlam.com/conversation-starter-questions/

This morning I’ve already been exploring blogs on how people quit television time cold turkey. We tend to watch Netflixs or Amazon on a daily basis around here. Granted, the shows are typically educational but even so I am fully aware of the research being done that shows the negative impact of tv time. In fact, we’ve started telling the kids that the tv is making their brains rot and when they ask for more, we sniff their ears and holler, “Ewww! Stinky rotting brain!” just to make an impression.

 

One of the most consistent recommendations I’m seeing from folks that have quit tv is to replace it with something else, like Board Game Night or Family Walk or Bowling Night, etc. I’m trying to practically fit these ideas into our life.

 

We do have games to play and we enjoy them. But they aren’t all easy to do with the span of ages we have in our home – almost-5, 7, 9, 11 and eh-hem 40×2. Here are some favorites that are working for us right now… but do you have any recommendations? (All of these links are affiliate links, which means if you purchase them from this blog post, you’ll be supporting me with a fraction of the purchase price – at no cost to you! Thank you!)

1. Tenzi. Oh man, this is a winning game for us! We’ve been able to play it for the last year, so we can vouch it’s pretty good for ages 4 and up.

2. Monopoly. The tried and true classic – still a winner around here. The girls have been playing it for about two years, which means it’s good for probably ages 5 and up. Bubby is still bored out of his skull and not at all interested in playing.


3. Suspend. This game is fun for all of the kids, and it has the bonus benefit of being able to be used as a review game for Classical Conversations (just assign the colored tips a subject and then when they roll it, ask a review question they have to get right before they place the piece.)

 

4. Timeline. OK, OK, the kids are kind of stinky at this game. But they’re not bad thanks to the history component of their schoolwork. The parents, though, we LOVE this game!

 

5. Kerplunk. Bubby (the 4 year old) loves this game. So much so that he steals the marbles and hides them in his pockets and then I find them in the washing machine later and shake my hands in the air.

6. Apples to Apples Big Picture. This game has brought us many evenings of laughter! The photos are so funny and the kids are expanding their vocabulary as they go.

 

7. Battleship. Tried and true. Really only our older girls are liking it, and I kind of groan when it comes out because all of those pegs never seem to make it bad in their entirety to the box. But it’s fun enough.

 

8. Uno Attack. Regular Uno is fun, but Uno Explode adds an element of surprise to the adventure that can’t be replicated. We’ve ended up taking all of our Uno cards from various games and putting them in the Attack.

9. Telestrations. This one is really for grown ups and works best in a group. We did it at a homeschooling retreat where no one knew each other exceedingly well and it was hilariously fun.

10. Story Cubes. These suckers stay in my purse for when we go to restaurants. It’s really fun – the kids usually only roll three die at a time when we are at restaurants, then make up their stories from there. (Just one set is what I carry in my purse, but this link shows you all six sets available in a bundle… and mixing and matching is allowed!)

Bonus: Probably our favorite pastime during dinner is the Jar of Questions. We received this as a Christmas gift from a good friend three years ago and still love it to bits now. You can make your own easily – and here is the blog with links to the questions and template so you can print it for yourself for free: Family Conversation Starters. Really… this one is amazing!

 

What are the games you play in your family? Have you successfully quit television? How did you do it? I’d love your advice and feedback!

 

** Just as an update, believe it or not, that soccer team I wrote about last time that had never even won a game… won the entire tournament yesterday! Unbelievable and super exciting for them! I think it will be really interesting to see how their “I’m just not competitive” attitude withstands the experience of actually winning and coming in on top? I’ll keep you posted!

 

 

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Providence vs. Coincidence

Coincidence Fate ConversationProvidence vs. Coincidence: To recognize that our circumstances do not exist by chance but instead by intention for our good. (Ephesians 2:10)

The word Providence has not been a regular part of my vocabulary. Last year when we listened to an audiobook about the Pilgrims I realized that the Pilgrims attributed everything to Providence and I thought that was proof that they had an almost mystical perception of God’s activity in their lives but I didn’t see how that applied to me.

Up until now I have absolutely preferred the word “Coincidence.” Inexplicable things happen as a coincidence all the time and if you use the word coincidence you have very little chance of offending someone of a different belief structure. Coincidence is a safer word that (I have believed) still covering the sentiment put forth by that old-fashioned and dreary word, Providence.

These word choices came back to me this morning as I came across the idea of Providence again in my quiet time. I did a google search for word definitions and the first thing search result  for Coincidence was the dictionary definition: “a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. from the Latin coincidere, which means to coincide or agree.”

In contrast, I had to scroll WAY down the page past blurbs about Providence, RI before I found the definition for Providence: “divine guidance or care, God conceived as the power sustaining and guiding human destiny. From the Latin providentia, which means to provide or care for.”

While both Coincidence and Providence offer a glimmer of the mysterious and inexplicable, after looking at these two definitions, I realized there is no way I should be supplanting Providence with Coincidence in my daily word choices. They mean totally different things! Additionally, if I apply the differences in the definitions to my every day, my perspective shifts.

For example, if it was simply a coincidental meeting of egg and sperm that just happened to develop into my daughter, then I can consider her personality, growth patterns, and being a chance of nature – she just happened to be the luck of the draw that encounter and I get to deal with the results.

However, if I consider that that fertilization was PROVIDENCE it means that my daughter is not in any way chance, that her personality, growth patters, etc., are all designed specifically for my life, my family, and our stewardship of the child/parent relationship. She is specifically fitted for our circumstances and blessing right this moment. (Reminds me of C.S. Lewis writing these are not “mere humans” we work with in our schooling!)

Removing “coincidence” and replacing it with “providence” changes everything about the heart of how I parent.

Further, if I stop believing that things are happening in my life by coincidence and chance, but instead embrace everything I face as providence – whether it’s a challenge or a victory – then I begin to see that what I do right this minute has significance and purpose. My family, my profession, my community – they are all in my life by providential design. How cool is that to consider when I’m loading the dishes or folding the 20th load of laundry this week during our laundry marathon?!

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What Do You Have To Prove?

A. Khatir / freeimages.com
A. Khatir / freeimages.com

A few months ago as I was out and about I ended up having a conversation with an older gentleman I’d never met before.

 

He was old, the kind of old where his skin had given up on the whole concept of elasticity and instead folded in upon itself in valleys and peaks across his face. He was a World War II veteran and I thanked him for his service in the midst of our talking. He didn’t want to talk about his service in the military and instead looked at the four children I had on display and turned the conversation toward them.

 

“Where to they go to school?” he asked me.

“We homeschool,” I replied. He looked affronted. With so much skin available to him for use his expressions were magnified. It was obvious he was reevaluating my placement on the “normal” to “psychopathic killer” stranger scale.

 

“Well, what do you use to teach them reading, writing, and arithmetic?” he asked. I explained our educational plan and how we are careful to meet the state standards in these areas and go beyond the standards when it makes sense.

 

“Hurumph,” said my octogenarian friend. His face showed that he was trying to help me see the error of my support of home education without being rude. “Well, what about socialization?!” he asked me.

 

A little part of me was amazed that I was getting all of the stereotypical complaints against home education in one conversation, but I responded with an explanation of our civic groups participation, our weekly gatherings of youth activities, and how the flexibility afforded by homeschooling allows us to visit interesting places like museums regularly.

 

He was unimpressed and equally unwilling to let go of his belief that home education was foolhardy. So he finalized his questioning with what he saw as the knockout question:

 

“So, I guess you got your degree in education to be a teacher, then?” he asked me suspiciously.

 

The reality is that no, I don’t have my degree in teaching. I shared this with him, including the research that most home educating parents don’t have teaching degrees, yet their children are able to perform as well or better than their publicly educated peers on standardized tests and ultimately are able to find success as happily employed adults. I mentioned the studies that cite example after example of hiring professionals valuing skill sets encouraged by the home education lifestyle: autonomy, ability to respond to changing situations, problem solving skills, etc.

 

But then, seeing his interest had completely faded in the barrage of information I was using to convince him our family is educating “properly” and he wasn’t going to change his suspicious nature regardless of anything I said to validate my perspective… I just stopped talking.

 

He didn’t notice. He looked the other way for awhile. Eventually we said goodbye and went about our respective business. I don’t expect we’ll ever see one another again.

 

As I played the conversation over in my head later, one question echoed:

 

“What am I trying to prove, and to whom? Why?!”

 

Having just returned from our state’s homeschooling conference, I have educational models and methods on my mind. I am inspired and challenged, convicted and overwhelmed. I feel supported in this educational lifestyle choice we’re making, and like I’m part of a larger group of likeminded people.

 

I learned that there are more children homeschooled in this country right now than there are in parochial schools. The pendulum is swinging.

 

That being said, we must figure out what we are trying to prove with our home education and to whom. We must know our why are explore the underlying motivations.

 

If we homeschool because it’s the new trendy thing to do we will not be successful. We will simply be sheep following the next new thing.

 

If we homeschool because that’s how you prove to others that you’re a real Christian, we will fail because real Christians educate their children in all sorts of different ways. This isn’t a competition.

 

If we home school because we are out to prove the public education system wrong, to prove our kids are all little geniuses, we will ultimately be left with an empty spot in our heart because we push so hard for our children to “succeed” we push them right out of our homes with our perfectionism.

 

I’m of the opinion God blessed us with these children and we are called to be stewards of their individuality, to shine the spotlight on the ways they are gifted to be unique, they ways they can be used to impact this world.

 

It’s our job as educators to give them the skill sets necessary to allow those giftings to bloom.

 

For example, if I have a child who is gifted in design it behooves all of us to teach her the skills necessary for engineering so that the visions in her head can find a place in reality.

 

If I have a child who has a gifting in leadership it’s my educational responsibility to expose her to reading so that the stories of past great leaders, of people who learned to use their leadership not to “boss” others but to “empower” them, will be present in her brain and she can learn from their wisdom.

 

It is not my job to convince others to home school. I don’t know their stories or what they witness in their own families. I can’t compare.

 

It is my job to sacrificially educate our children with the tools needed to accomplish the work God has laid out in advance for them to do. I need to educate and then get out of the way… because this is the task God prepared for me to do!
And when it’s all said and done:

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and I could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.'” — Erma Bombeck

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

Bento Box Bondage

I’ve done something I’ll probably regret forever. I googled “Bento Box.”

 

Stop the presses, folks. There are some lunchbox shenanigans afoot.

 

bento 1
Sponge Bob has always scared me.
Because everyone needs a bunny in their box.
Because everyone needs a bunny in their box.
The music notes add just the right touch.
The music notes add just the right touch.

 

Along with feeling a sense of chagrin about having to literally google a term that apparently the mothers of North America have become creatively familiar (my excuse? We homeschool!), I’m also comically distraught that we are now supposed to exhibit creativity, thematic originality, and consistently entertaining lunch attire to children who do not yet understand why it’s a questionable idea to wear a banana clip and mis-matched knee socks with plaid shorts?!

 

Really?!

 

I’ve previously written about my deep-seated distrust for Family Fun magazine and Pinterest, this discovery has brought all those emotions up to the forefront once again, as it seems like we keep setting completely unimportant standards up for ourselves, just so we can feel like we stink as parents when the ideals are not maintained. #firstworldproblems

 

I know there are some people who are wired to make art with their sandwiches and carrot sticks; strangely enough one of my very best friends has a brain like this and I respect her for it as much as I shake my head in confusion as her creativity. If this is what makes you thrive, so be it and here’s a virtual smack on the back for your awesomeness!

 

But then there’s the rest of us folks, the ones who can appreciate a beautiful sunset but have no idea what shades of colors make it up… these are the ones I think need to be freed from Bento Box Bondage.

 

Someone needs to exercise a dose of common sense, my friends. Every last bite of food, from the simple pb&j to the gourmet hummus and grape leaf will end up in a heap on the down side of the porcelain dumping grounds. Why kill yourself to create autumn leaves out of cheese slices and Rapunzel braids out of egg noodles?

 

Anyone can be perfect for a little while. No one can realistically be perfect all the time. Happiness does not come in the form of a well-cut piece of cheese.

 

Honestly, if our children grow up believing that life is supposed to come decorated stunningly and packaged perfectly, what expectations are we setting them up for as adults? This living of life we have does not come wrapped in beauty and bubble wrap; eventually something comes along like miscarriage or cancer, job loss, or relational disaster. There is always a challenge.

 

With that in mind, maybe we should teach our children to enjoy the nourishment and flavor of the ordinary rather than reach constantly for the spectacular to set them up for overall emotional and physical health success.

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

Can of Boogers

alex27 / freeimages.com
alex27 / freeimages.com

So we’re going to Vegas for Thanksgiving this year.

 

Yes, I know it’s a little non-traditional, but not everyone can aspire to the Eiffel Tower (Vegas) and jumbotron (also Vegas). (Anyone know the movie reference I just made?) Nope, it takes a special sort of family to step away from the traditional and belly up to the buffet, but I think we’re up for the challenge.

 

Nothing was set in stone until just this morning. We’ve talked about getting out of town for the holiday but hadn’t confirmed anything in particular. When Uno asked what we were doing I told her we would be sitting around, picking our nose, and eating our boogers.

 

She looked unimpressed. Then she got a little gleam in her eye.

 

“I don’t think I have enough boogers to fill a platter, Mommy,” she said. “But I probably could fill a can and give it to you to serve everyone.”

 

Yes, folks, she’s my child. It was a proud moment for me. I mean, it really wasn’t that long ago that she couldn’t even string three words together to form a sentence and now, now she’s using sarcasm! Be still my beating heart!

 

The funny thing about rearing these children is that you’re never really sure how they’re going to turn out. You’re not even certain they’re going to make it out alive! So when they do something that warms your heart and makes you proud, my, oh, my, those are the moments to savor!

 

So that’s our big news of the day. We’ll be praying for reasonable water and the ability to splash in a pool, and I’m not actively seeking input on great (cheap) things to do with a passel of kiddos on a national holiday. Thanks in advance for your advice!

 

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I DON’T Look Down On Women with a Husband and Kids and I’m Not Sorry

What does feminism resemble?
What does feminism resemble?

Earlier this evening I read a blog post titled, “I Look Down on Women With Husbands and Kids and I’m not Sorry.” My first impression involved an assumption that the blogger was using a play on words to create a scandalous headline for more hits.

 

Boy, was I wrong.

 

Let me throw out a few of the statements I found remarkably bold:

 

“Every time I hear someone say that feminism is about validating every choice a woman makes I have to fight back vomit. Do people really think that a stay at home mom is really on equal footing with a woman who works and takes care of herself?”

“You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids.”

“I hear women talk about how “hard” it is to raise kids and manage a household all the time. I never hear men talk about this. It’s because women secretly like to talk about how hard managing a household is so they don’t have to explain their lack of real accomplishments.”

“Doing laundry will never be as important as being a doctor or an engineer or building a business.”

 

My initial response was to shoot off some crazy, hot-headed comment about how ridiculous her perspective is and that it’s incredibly insulting to the entire gender from the perspective that I’ve lived as a full-time professional and I’ve lived as a full-time wife and mother. I’m able to address both perspectives from first-hand experience.

 

Right now I land somewhere on the fence between both working full-time from home and home schooling our children and I can testify… beyond a shadow of a doubt… that parenting is actually hard work! (Can I get an Amen?!)

 

Being a Mommy is harder than my hardest day in a professional career that included periods of manual labor, emotional turmoil, conflict management, and long range visioning. I believed my professional decisions had the potential to change the world, but now my parenting decisions literally change the world of these four children who occupy my life.

 

It’s a shame to run across a person who doesn’t see the value in freedom of choice. Freedom of choice, liberty of action, these are things we’re willing to die for when it comes down to it. The American Revolution was largely about the desire for people on the North American soil having the privilege to make decisions for themselves. (Freedom of choice.) Feminism? Largely about the ability for women to have a chance at equal footing in a world immune to disparities. (Liberty of action.) These are two simple examples from a list that could be as long as Rapunzel’s hair.

 

Yet when I think about my insane desire for freedom, I have to also acknowledge this blogger’s freedom to have a firmly held opinion, no matter how offensive I find it myself. (I’d also like to state for the record no one has ever come up with a professional sense of accomplishment quite as rewarding as the first time your toddler tinkles in the toilet. Just sayin’.)

 

 

I support her freedom to choose a philosophy I find insulting. And I support my choice to disagree vehemently.

 

While Ms. Glass is  spewing venom toward gals who follow the traditional path and invest in a world that is perhaps outlined by four walls and a laundry room (and possibly tiny toes and fingers), I’ll be over here investing in something I’ve intentionally chosen because I believe it has an eternal significance.

 

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll still be able to find the time to be exceptional.

 

No promises.

 

I’ve blogged about this Mommy War before. If you’re interested in more of my opinions on which lifestyle is harder, check out Working Mom vs. Stay-at-Home Mom and  More Thoughts about Working Mom vs. Stay at Home Mom.

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

I Just Can’t Love Them Like That Anymore

1funny.com
1funny.com

I know you’re supposed to love your children unconditionally.

 

All the parenting guides talk about how important it is for children to feel they have a safe space to be fully loved, and fully known. The experts agree that a happy child is one that is respected and considered with warm regard in all circumstances.

 

But I can’t do it.

 

I just can’t love them unconditionally anymore.

 

I think if it were a moral failing I’d be able to recover from this. If it was poor decision-making or youthful indiscretion, I could manage it. But this.

 

This…

 

… I’ll never recover.

 

I cleaned the back of the Suburban this afternoon. I will be haunted by the experience for the rest of my days.

 

Stella has been so good to us over the years. That beast of a burly vehicle has carted us across the country, literally from coast to coast in her almost 200K miles. She has been privy to laughter, secrets, arguments, and many, many viewings of Elf and Tinkerbell. Stella the Suburban has carried our children home from the hospital after their births.

 

And yet she’s been treated so poorly.

 

I found decaying slime of some sort in the cup holders, nacho cheese affixed to the seat, an entire bag of Honey Nut Cheerios scattered across the floorboards! Underneath the seats I discovered the remains of chicken nuggets, water bottle lids, juice box straws, and miscellaneous bits and pieces of toys, crafts (I HATE CRAFTS!), and love notes.

 

There were forks with broken tines, spoons still sporting oatmeal, and knives once used for good left to decompose in solitude surrounded by gray pleather and black acrylic carpeting.

 

I gained a yellow paper clip and 46¢ but lost my lunch.

 

What on earth could exhibit such appalling behavior?! What magpies of destruction could have come to kill and destroy our Stella?!

 

My children. The ones that sprang from my innards. I housed them, tucked in my very own guts and they, they have repaid that kindness with a trashy hatred of their own.

 

Based on their vehicular living quarters, I’m scared to even image how they left my uterus.

 

I am so very saddened by this event. I am scarred for life. What has been seen… can never be unseen.

 

I can no longer accept my children unconditionally. My love for my children, tempered by my defense of Stella, must now be offered with a trash bag and a threat.

 

This day will live in infamy as I pledge my intention to never… Never, never, never see such a thing again.

 

The End.

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Tapestry of Normal

Baby Prince Charming sporting his leaf helmet.
Baby Prince Charming sporting his leaf helmet.

My son just found me.

 

I’ve been all over the house this morning starting loads of laundry, washing dishes, making the bed, wiping down the table after breakfast – I don’t sit down much.

 

Bubby has followed me from room to room, generally making trouble everywhere he goes. The dishwasher, it’s like baby crack. He can’t stand it. If it’s open he begins to climb and I begin to screech. We play this little game of him wandering out of the kitchen to see what his sisters are doing and me quickly dropping the dishwasher door and loading what I can before he rounds the corner again, sees it open, and makes a beeline for the lowered door. I, in return, slam the door shut and he hits the closed door at full speed and slides down the front of it to an unhappy, crestfallen heap on the floor in front of the dishwasher.

 

Second verse, same as the verse. Repeat 12 times.

 

I caught him off guard when I went into the bedroom to make the bed, however. I watched him sail through the living room, search the kitchen, and bang on the bathroom door. He’s in the stage where his walking balance is better when he has something in his hands – today it was a wiffle ball and wooden block – and he lumbers like Lurch as he walks.

 

When he found me in the bedroom he literally cackled with glee. I looked down at him, his snot encrusted nose, his dimple, and his joy… and I melted.

 

This season is so short.

 

In the room next door I have a girl pushing 8-years-old who is almost too big to fit on my lap – and it happened in a heartbeat. The days felt like eternity, like I was being pushed beyond any possible endurance, but there she is, growing into a real person with hopes, dreams, desires. It happened so fast.

 

I have agonizing years in front of me with this little boy, but the reality is he’s already far from the precious nugget of life I held against my chest July two years ago. He was all hope at that point. Hope and tears and pooping and eating.

 

And now, a breath later, he’s dimples and “mama” and verbal excitement at the sight of me. In another six gray hairs he’ll be all t-ball, tie shoes and, “Can I chew gum?”

 

All while I’ve been loading the dishwasher, matching socks, and cooking meals day in, day out. Oh, the tedium of it all! And yet…

 

It’s so fast, so precious, and so significant. We’re weaving a tapestry of normalcy over here, a picture of laundry and peek-a-boo and find your toes, school work and reading clocks, cooking and laughing. That normalcy, while terribly boring in the moment, is incredibly significant in the long run. It’s creating a home.

 

These chores that chafe, the way I groan every time I see the pile of socks waiting to be matched, they are significant. The load won’t always be so heavy, and the years will fly. My son, the one that giggled when he found me and has dimples on his knees… he will exchange his all-encompassing love for his mama over time but I will always have his heart because I put in the work to make normal… normal. I’m building the base for his comfort.

 

That, to me, is good stuff.  Make that the BEST stuff.

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Lead Pooper Scooper

The face says it all...
The face says it all…

There are so many things I have found unpredictable about parenting.

 

The hearing your child laugh and feeling like your whole world just brightened? Never knew that was coming.

 

That feeling in your chest when you see them sleeping and they look so, preciously, dang perfect? I suspected it might exist but until it happened to me it was an unsolved mystery.

 

Finding your kid pooped in the bathtub when you wonder what’s all over his hands? That’s another little gem I would never have expected even a split second before it happened!

 

And yet, there it was, the evening activity: scooping poop from the bath. It was such an exhilarating experience I’m considering adding it to my resume:

Mom. February 2006 – present. Demonstrates problem solving techniques and visible desire for best hygienic practices, particularly when confronted by situations where the poop literally hits the fan. Exhibits flexibility and exceptional management skills while supervising a four-person team prone to sudden mood swings and emotional outbursts. Proven ability to work under pressure with limited resources and minimal rest periods.

 

What would you add to your resume if parenting skills seemed relevant?

 

 

 

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It’s the End of My Rope as I Know It

End of Rope
End of Rope

I’m on my second cup of coffee and today is looking like it may very well require multiple pots of that precious elixir.

 

Here’s the snapshot so far:

 

Tres is standing on the table in her underwear “showering.” She has commanded no one can look at her or talk to her while she “washes her hair.” I just told her to take the nail file out of her Dora underpants before someone ends up hurt.

Bubby is in the high chair emitting high pitched squeals in practice of his sonar tracking system. I believe he got the inspiration for this super sonic invention during his time communing with bats in the wee hours of the night because sleep is for the weak.

Uno is badgering me to assume ownership of a rabbit that’s half her body weight. She is more concerned with ownership and her rights than Lewis and Clark and the U.S. Government.

Dos is still complaining of “grumpy legs” – which I think are a way of her telling me she’s having growing pains – and wants to see pictures of all her friends on Facebook. This means she lets out a huff worthy of a howitzer blast every time I take my phone away from her because I’m under the crazy impression the phone belongs to the person who pays for it and is least likely to put Pop Tart smeared fingerprints on the screen.

 

 

I am, without shame, now hiding with my laptop and a cup of coffee while my husband, the versatile gem that he is, attempts to pull the kid off the table and complete farm animal needlepoint at the same time:

 

He makes a lovely stitch, does he not?!
He makes a lovely stitch, does he not?!

 

All of this makes me think about how I respond when people ask what it’s like having four kids and also homeschooling them. Chaos like this morning and pain of it all are the images that flash into my mind and I groan and say, “Let us be your cautionary tale! Don’t do what we do!”

 

But then I think again and remember the pure joy I felt when I met each of these children moments after they emerged from the womb; how just hearing their laughter makes my heart lift; I have a flash of excitement when they are able to read street signs and sound out words — even our showering beauty on the table this morning was hilarious in the midst of complete disregard of all societal norms that encourage us to stand on the floor instead of the location we place our victuals.

 

When I lump the bad and  the good all together (and pray… lots of prayer), I realize I have the courage to try again; to leave the my hidey-hole, and take up the privilege of teaching, mentoring, stewarding these little lives.

 

So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a table to Lysol and a pig needing some needlepoint completed. I’ll catch you in awhile.

 

(But feel free to pray for us. It’s gonna be a looonnnnnnggggggg day.)

 

 

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