Our new life in Michigan has opened my eyes in many ways -- one completely unexpected. SAND! When I think of sand, Florida comes to mind instantly, not Michigan. This place is sandy. Even my poor little backyard garden is packed with sandy soil. The van can't seem to rid itself of those pesky little granules no matter how meticulous we are after our beach visits.
A friend introduced to a place called the Bowl Dune. Oh my! It is a series of sand dunes to climb and conquer that eventually leads to a "crater" or "bowl". I can't help but feel like Neil Armstrong sinking my feet into endless sand granules, pretending I'm on the surface of the moon. One particular day we attempted to scale the dune. It is almost completely vertical. The workout is beyond what LIFETIME Fitness has to offer. Strenuous, heart-rate increasing, no-talking, heavy breathing all the way up....only to reach the top and realize there are several more ahead. The view, a breathtaking invitation from Lake Michigan to submerge yourself in cool blue water.
Umm. I had my five year old with me. The one that tires me with his endless energy except when he experts himself with his favorite line, "I CAN'T DO THIS! I'M SOOOOO TIRED!" My original plan, pre-dune visit, was to give BabyBoy a piggy-back ride. After seeing the dune, my plans backfired mentally. This little piggy and momma piggy roll down the dune backwards. Not. Going. To. Work.
Feeling just a touch defeated and desperate for a solution, I huffed a command, "Just put your feet into my footsteps." It's much easier than hollowing out his own sand mold each step. If he can just step in my step, we can make it. We did! We made it! The downhill was exhilarating, easy, fast, and full of joyful laughter.
Isn't that what Jesus requested of his disciples? "Come follow me!" Jesus commanded. He didn't tell the disciples to go out on their own, to choose their own steps. Instead, He asked them to follow, to come after him. In my twisted thinking, I somehow think it might be easier to invite Him along my path as if I know the way I should take. Ha. He knows the journey will be easier if I just put my step into his footprint and follow His path.
Sometimes the path is uphill, dark, hard, treacherous, and frustrating. I can't find my way. Other times are bright, light, and easy. Either way, my role doesn't change. I'm the follower. My way is behind my leader.
Mommyontheboysturf with her three sons
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Two Peas in the Same Pod
Our turf looks starkly different this year. Oldest and Middleson spend their days at a brick and mortar school. Babyboy is still at home with me, on familiar turf. This Fall has included smooth adjustments and transitions for all -- uniforms, a school bus, sack lunches, teachers other than me, and homework.
Yes, HOMEWORK. For the homeschooler, all work is homework but in a different, earlier-in-the-day kind of way. Yesterday, Oldest hopped off the school bus in a panic from head to toe. "I FORGOT MY HOMEWORK! I can't believe this. What am I going to do? I'll have to pull my card!" He squealed. There was confusion at the end of the day about whether he was taking the bus or getting picked up. I'm thankful he so badly wanted to get home. But, in the midst of it all, he forgot his homework. I didn't forget my homework. He doesn't forget his. We don't really forget things. We are responsible and conscientious to a fault.
Oh, I felt his pain. We are two peas in the same pod. That's like me forgetting to do my taxes. Oldest said he would have to "pull his card". I don't know what that means, but that sounds seriously horrible. Is it like a jail for kids who forget their homework? Outwardly, (proud mom moment) I was calm and told him not to worry about. Inwardly, with rapidly beating heart, I was pacing.
Our personality includes traits like getting it done, right away, all the way....as perfect (the dreaded P word) as possible the first time. It is black/white. Work first. Play if there is time. We don't want a blemish on our slate even if it doesn't really matter. Everything matters, right?
Since I could identify with Oldest and his feelings, I suggested going to school early Thursday to complete the assignment. We can go at 4 AM if we need to! We will do whatever it takes. I emailed his teacher and didn't hear back. Truthfully, I forgot all about it.(See I do forget things...I was mistaken, your honor.)
This afternoon I received a reply from his teacher. She let Oldest complete his homework today under the flustered circumstances yesterday. Then she wrote, "I also tried to make him understand that even if there wasn't an excuse it would not be the end of the world....mark your card....get the homework slip signed...bring it the next day. He doesn't have to be perfect. The world is still spinning."
Oh I smiled. The grace. The Love. The Deeeeep Breath. The lack of pressure. She was speaking to me just as much as she was my son. Self induced panic results from expecting perfection. Life includes failure, tardies, mistakes, messes, and blemishes.
Was Jesus "late" when Lazarus died? The healing where Jesus put mud on a man's eyes had to have been messy. Stinky walky traveling disciples' feet. The broken bottle of perfume on Jesus'' feet. Who cleaned up the glass chards? That could have been a safety hazard. She could have been sued in this day and age.
Our failures and shortcomings and imperfections serve a greater purpose. Once again, they point us to a Saviour, who heals our soul brokenness. They cause us to NEED Him. For we cannot save ourselves even if we could somehow present ourselves perfect.
For me and oldest, two peas in a pod, we need to remember the world is still spinning. He has the whole world in His hands.
Celebrating IMperfection,
Mommy on the boys' turf
Yes, HOMEWORK. For the homeschooler, all work is homework but in a different, earlier-in-the-day kind of way. Yesterday, Oldest hopped off the school bus in a panic from head to toe. "I FORGOT MY HOMEWORK! I can't believe this. What am I going to do? I'll have to pull my card!" He squealed. There was confusion at the end of the day about whether he was taking the bus or getting picked up. I'm thankful he so badly wanted to get home. But, in the midst of it all, he forgot his homework. I didn't forget my homework. He doesn't forget his. We don't really forget things. We are responsible and conscientious to a fault.
Oh, I felt his pain. We are two peas in the same pod. That's like me forgetting to do my taxes. Oldest said he would have to "pull his card". I don't know what that means, but that sounds seriously horrible. Is it like a jail for kids who forget their homework? Outwardly, (proud mom moment) I was calm and told him not to worry about. Inwardly, with rapidly beating heart, I was pacing.
Our personality includes traits like getting it done, right away, all the way....as perfect (the dreaded P word) as possible the first time. It is black/white. Work first. Play if there is time. We don't want a blemish on our slate even if it doesn't really matter. Everything matters, right?
Since I could identify with Oldest and his feelings, I suggested going to school early Thursday to complete the assignment. We can go at 4 AM if we need to! We will do whatever it takes. I emailed his teacher and didn't hear back. Truthfully, I forgot all about it.(See I do forget things...I was mistaken, your honor.)
This afternoon I received a reply from his teacher. She let Oldest complete his homework today under the flustered circumstances yesterday. Then she wrote, "I also tried to make him understand that even if there wasn't an excuse it would not be the end of the world....mark your card....get the homework slip signed...bring it the next day. He doesn't have to be perfect. The world is still spinning."
Oh I smiled. The grace. The Love. The Deeeeep Breath. The lack of pressure. She was speaking to me just as much as she was my son. Self induced panic results from expecting perfection. Life includes failure, tardies, mistakes, messes, and blemishes.
Was Jesus "late" when Lazarus died? The healing where Jesus put mud on a man's eyes had to have been messy. Stinky walky traveling disciples' feet. The broken bottle of perfume on Jesus'' feet. Who cleaned up the glass chards? That could have been a safety hazard. She could have been sued in this day and age.
Our failures and shortcomings and imperfections serve a greater purpose. Once again, they point us to a Saviour, who heals our soul brokenness. They cause us to NEED Him. For we cannot save ourselves even if we could somehow present ourselves perfect.
For me and oldest, two peas in a pod, we need to remember the world is still spinning. He has the whole world in His hands.
Celebrating IMperfection,
Mommy on the boys' turf
Monday, May 13, 2013
Mother's Day 101
If I could, I'd gather all my sisters, new-mom friends, and teach a class on Mother's Day. Mother's Day 101. I'm no expert. Yesterday marked a DECADE of Mothers' Days for me. But it was the best one yet. Why? I had no expectations. Not LOW expectations. I wasn't lowering the bar at all. I just didn't have any. I've been to The school of Perfection and it always ends with a failing grade.
Kids wake up on Mother's Day. Therefore, they eat, use the bathroom, perhaps get sick, spill, and act like children. They should. Mother's Day is no exception.
I heard the chaos of too many hands and feet in the kitchen. Trying to find food in foreign territory. My territory. My land where I know where every little thing is. Tiny feet carrying shaky trays up the stairs. Fire alarm ringing. I smile. One boy still rebelling against Daddy's request to help. Middleson joining me in my bed with crumbly toast and pasty oatmeal. I envision bedtime later that night with oatmeal in my hair. But, this is fun. Yes, it really is. The discarded tray on the floor by my bed, the one with leftover ketchup, becomes a perfect target for Babyboy's foot. He smeared the ketchup on my carpet like a farmer with his muddy boots. I laughed. I belly laughed! Ironically the same weekend we tiled the master bathroom floor, the carpet is streaked with red. I couldn't stop laughing. THIS is Mother's Day! The mess. The crumbs. The noise. The pictures that I want so perfect to portray that my boys don't burp, or fight, or complain on Mother's Day. The pictures that show me smiling, never a frustration or ruffle in my feathers.
Love is messy.
Motherhood is messy.
Therefore, Mother's Day is messy. Noisy. Squeaky. Squabbly. Untidy. Crumbly.
Kids wake up on Mother's Day. Therefore, they eat, use the bathroom, perhaps get sick, spill, and act like children. They should. Mother's Day is no exception.
A 4:45 awakening was the first mis-hap of the day. Mother's Day is a day that I should sleep in! Praying, planning, running, and showering before my boys even stirred in their slumber. Babyboy stumbled into the bathroom, half-asleep, "Mommy, I LOVE YOU! Today is Mother's Day, but I am not eating breakfast in MY bed," he leakily spoiled the first "surprise". Moments later I climbed back into bed like a drama queen pretending I hadn't been up yet. Middleson brought the menu. Babyboy delivered the first of many cards, and Oldest laid in bed next to me, too sleepy to participate in Mother's Day Breakfast in Bed.
*
*
*Please note that I should have checked the box marked, more coffee.
Breakfast in bed = breakfast on the counter, breakfast on the floor, breakfast IN the bed. Breakfast breakfast everywhere.
I heard the chaos of too many hands and feet in the kitchen. Trying to find food in foreign territory. My territory. My land where I know where every little thing is. Tiny feet carrying shaky trays up the stairs. Fire alarm ringing. I smile. One boy still rebelling against Daddy's request to help. Middleson joining me in my bed with crumbly toast and pasty oatmeal. I envision bedtime later that night with oatmeal in my hair. But, this is fun. Yes, it really is. The discarded tray on the floor by my bed, the one with leftover ketchup, becomes a perfect target for Babyboy's foot. He smeared the ketchup on my carpet like a farmer with his muddy boots. I laughed. I belly laughed! Ironically the same weekend we tiled the master bathroom floor, the carpet is streaked with red. I couldn't stop laughing. THIS is Mother's Day! The mess. The crumbs. The noise. The pictures that I want so perfect to portray that my boys don't burp, or fight, or complain on Mother's Day. The pictures that show me smiling, never a frustration or ruffle in my feathers.
Mommy and her boys. Dressed to match. Ready to smile. But, one is sneezing. One is monkeying. Another tantruming. I just want one picture with smiles. We can't seem to pull it off. Finally, we get a few, but not without the threat of frowning on their next Birthday pictures.
Piling into the van for church in a white skirt. Mother's Day white skirts cause stress. When in doubt, when parading in the grass for pictures, always wear the LBD - little black dress. They camouflage mud and spills. Home again, sent back to bed to wait for Mother's Day lunch.
Alarm ringing, part II. This time it doesn't quit. Clinging, clanging of dishes, little boys working hard for me. I hear it all. I picture my kitchen a complete disaster and then I take a deep breath because kitchens can be cleaned. This day is MORE about THEM getting to love me without my rules, and my boundaries, and my lectures.
I came to lunch, alarm still ringing. Loud. Windows opened to release the smoke. I'm cold. I partake the fabulously presented meal in front of me. I prayed the alarm would stop. We talked loud and even on Mother's Day I corrected some less than ideal manners. The alarm finally stopped. After we are done (delicious and beautifully plated, puts my meals to shame), everything in me wants to help with clean-up. Daddy, whisks me out of the kitchen again. My clean-up is quick and thorough. Their clean-up is partial, long, and full of reminding. But they loved me by removing me from my normal routine.
And back to bed again to wait for gluten free sugar cookies, delivered with milk and smiles. A lazy shmazy lay-around afternoon for this always-moving, producing, mommy. It was wonderful!
Mother's Day will only be quiet and clean when those that call me MOMMY are gone. Will I be content with the card in the mail or long for the days of crazy, chaotic, crumbly Mothers' Days of years past? The monkey pictures will mean more than the poised one where life looks serene.
I can't help but think of the women with the alabaster jar. She broke the jar at Jesus' feet. Did she have a Dyson near by to clean up the broken glass. Did Jesus chastise her for making a mess? Was the smell overpowering? And, the waste she was accused of! My, my, my. It was messy. Loving Jesus, her Savior, with everything meant breaking out of normal and causing a scene. The same can be said of the ULTIMATE act of love at Calvary. Surrounded by imperfection, messes, noise, cries, sickness, and sin. Grace covered it all. Love covers messes.
Yesterday, in all their imperfection, I received the wonderful gift of love from the treasures God has blessed me with. In the messes, I saw their love, in the noise, I heard their love. The fire alarm rang loud and clear to remind me that I was OUT of the kitchen and loved loudly.
That's what I'd say to those around me if I could teach Mother's Day 101. Sometimes love is written most powerfully in untidy ways. And that's okay. That's the way to celebrate Mother's Day.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Martha! Martha! Martha!
(Wow, I have not posted since October 1! Unbelievable. Today, though, something was stirring in my heart and I had to write. Once again, it relates in NO WAY to my time on the boys turf. Yet, in another way, it affects my boys in EVERY WAY.)
What about the busyness deep inside my heart, my soul, my mind. Contrary to the external, the internal striving no one can see but me. My clamoring about my spiritual kitchen banging pots and pans. Slamming the cupboards in my mind. Gritting my teeth, I SOS every sin that surfaces. If I can just srub harder. Deeper. Longer. Why can’t I get myself perfect? Earnestly I attempt to clean myself, but the cycle never ends. My spaghetti and meatball stained insides won’t. come. clean. I scrub. I scour. I plan. I prep. To-do lists for Jesus suffocate and confuse.
1. Tell someone about Jesus
2. Memorize this verse and that one
3. Take care of the temple
4. Speak right
5. Live right
6. Do this
7. Don’t do that
8. Don’t think that
9. Don’t you dare say that
10. Give that
I am distracted by the very rules I’ve created to somehow get me “more ready” for Jesus. Rules never bring freedom. Rules always come with chains. But in a sick way, rules bring artificial freedom. They comfort us by allowing us to feel like the victory is in our control. It is for FREEDOM that Christ set me free according to Galatians 5:1. Rules focus on ME everytime. Freedom focuses on Christ and what HE has done. Ever tried to abstain from something and realize that is all you suddenly think about? When my own dirtiness deters me and causes me to see myself as wretched, I tend to look at others in the same way. I see the sins in others like the etched line in my thirteen year old dishes. Scratched. Imperfect. We are all alike. Chipped beyond self-repair. Self-help. Self-control. Self. Self. Self. My striving in my own life for who I want most to reflect, causes me to get agitated with myself and those around me. The washing-machine- self I’ve created can’t handle this heavy load. I can’t do it.
Jesus died once. All of my sins were in the future. I see no date on my scribbled calendar that says, “Jesus death, part II, III, IV, V....” Any straining on my part does nothing. I can’t prepare for Jesus. The preparation has already been done. My own to-do list to clean myself is shredded.
Like
Mary, I can sit. Rest. I can reduce my list to just one thing.
1. Accept His grace -- not bolded or exclaimed. A gentle invitation
When I see myself in Him, I begin to see others in Him.....in need of grace just like me. I begin to feel free. For freedom is the ability to say YES to what is best, not NO. Grace takes the chains and rules OFF. Grace allows me to just soak in His grace. Grace does not equal spiritual
laziness as I have so often thought. Instead grace gives up control and allows someone else to do the work for me. I’ve often let the dirtiest of pots soak for a while. Amazingly, as it sits, the gunk loosens. The same happens when I just submerge myself in Christ. Transformation from dirty to clean. Dark to light. Imperfection to trusting in the PERFECT ONE.
Now that’s not fair! He did it all! For me? He’s okay with that? He doesn’t want my help? He didn’t require me to do the work. Wow! Amazing grace. He just wants me. That’s all. That. Is. All.
Mary
Monday, October 1, 2012
Double Digits
Oldest is TEN! Officially in the double-digits for the rest of his life, unless he lives to be 100. He is a gigantic part of the best decade of my life. It started with marriage followed by boy 1, boy 2, and boy 3...or Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy.
Of course there is much excitement around the birth of your firstborn. All the newness and itty bitty clothes, diapers, and shoes. Oldest started our parenting journey and the cycle of hand-me-downs for his two little brothers. I still can't believe I am at this point -- a TEN YEAR OLD? Wow.
Dear Oldest,
Let me start by saying you are an incredible son. From day one, you bounced out of the womb with energy and an insatiable appetite. Your cry was never cute. It was a full roar! You never needed a lot of sleep and you let us know that from the start. When all the other newborns were sleeping 18 hours a day, you didn't give into peer pressure. To this day, you like to stay up late and read.
One thing I have always loved about you is your passion. Each stage in your life has brought out determined enthusiasm about something/someone. When you were one, you had a fascination with trash cans and trash trucks. Whereever we went, you went straight for the trash can. At two, you loved Curious George and I even caught you constructing skis with hockey sticks and taping your shoes to the "skis" to be like Curious George. We have gone through the military phase, the firefighter stage, the hockey stage (your room still reflects this) and the spy phase. You pour 100% into your phase of the moment in your attire, book selection, Christmas gift list, etc. You learn as much as you can and you aren't afraid to share your knowledge.
Right now, you are surprising and alarming us with your computer skills and knowledge. Even the librarians know what section to take you to -- the adult computer manuals. The head librarian offered you a job a while back when he saw the stack of books you were checking out. Today you started a blog all on your own. You have far surpassed me in your knowledge. Having an in-house tech support is fabulous! No more being "on hold" on the phone.
Oldest, you have such a sensitive heart. You don't like to see others hurting. You want to make sure your heart is "right" before God. It has been so neat to see your desire to read the Bible and memorize God's word. I see growth in you. You have had the opportunity to stand up for what is "right" and I could not be more proud of you.
You are a GIVER of good things. Time and time again, you have sacrificed to give something of great/worth and value to you. You have made lists of what you want to give others. You share your favorite things with your favorite people. Daddy told me just this week about you offering your favorite, rare treat to him. That makes my heart so happy. You have learned to give. What a gift.
If I could give you advice, it would be the same thing I have been telling myself for a few decades. Don't be so hard on yourself. You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to make a mistake or mess up. Just keep trying. And, get back up. Give yourself GRACE just like God gives you grace.
This past decade has been wonderful. You enjoy life. What will the next decade be like? You will enter the tweens and teens. Will I still blogging on your twentieth? If so, I can guarantee, it will even longer and more things to "brag" about. I pray you continue to live a life of integrity and uprightness. I can't wait to see how God uses the gifts and talents He has given you. Continue to be passionate about God and people and life.
Oh, happy double-digits Oldest. I love you so!
Mommy
Of course there is much excitement around the birth of your firstborn. All the newness and itty bitty clothes, diapers, and shoes. Oldest started our parenting journey and the cycle of hand-me-downs for his two little brothers. I still can't believe I am at this point -- a TEN YEAR OLD? Wow.
Dear Oldest,
Let me start by saying you are an incredible son. From day one, you bounced out of the womb with energy and an insatiable appetite. Your cry was never cute. It was a full roar! You never needed a lot of sleep and you let us know that from the start. When all the other newborns were sleeping 18 hours a day, you didn't give into peer pressure. To this day, you like to stay up late and read.
One thing I have always loved about you is your passion. Each stage in your life has brought out determined enthusiasm about something/someone. When you were one, you had a fascination with trash cans and trash trucks. Whereever we went, you went straight for the trash can. At two, you loved Curious George and I even caught you constructing skis with hockey sticks and taping your shoes to the "skis" to be like Curious George. We have gone through the military phase, the firefighter stage, the hockey stage (your room still reflects this) and the spy phase. You pour 100% into your phase of the moment in your attire, book selection, Christmas gift list, etc. You learn as much as you can and you aren't afraid to share your knowledge.
Right now, you are surprising and alarming us with your computer skills and knowledge. Even the librarians know what section to take you to -- the adult computer manuals. The head librarian offered you a job a while back when he saw the stack of books you were checking out. Today you started a blog all on your own. You have far surpassed me in your knowledge. Having an in-house tech support is fabulous! No more being "on hold" on the phone.
Oldest, you have such a sensitive heart. You don't like to see others hurting. You want to make sure your heart is "right" before God. It has been so neat to see your desire to read the Bible and memorize God's word. I see growth in you. You have had the opportunity to stand up for what is "right" and I could not be more proud of you.
You are a GIVER of good things. Time and time again, you have sacrificed to give something of great/worth and value to you. You have made lists of what you want to give others. You share your favorite things with your favorite people. Daddy told me just this week about you offering your favorite, rare treat to him. That makes my heart so happy. You have learned to give. What a gift.
If I could give you advice, it would be the same thing I have been telling myself for a few decades. Don't be so hard on yourself. You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to make a mistake or mess up. Just keep trying. And, get back up. Give yourself GRACE just like God gives you grace.
This past decade has been wonderful. You enjoy life. What will the next decade be like? You will enter the tweens and teens. Will I still blogging on your twentieth? If so, I can guarantee, it will even longer and more things to "brag" about. I pray you continue to live a life of integrity and uprightness. I can't wait to see how God uses the gifts and talents He has given you. Continue to be passionate about God and people and life.
Oh, happy double-digits Oldest. I love you so!
Mommy
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
rOlLeRcOaStEr
Four years into homeschooling and we are still on a rollercoaster. Up and Down. Around we go.
Each week is a series of highs and lows. I can't do this. I can do this. I love this. I _ _ _ _ (insert a four letter word that starts with "H" and rhymes with late that we try not to use.) I tempt myself with thoughts of a brick and mortor school. I daydream of waving good-bye to the bright yellow bus and actually having TIME. Then I realize that homeschooling GIVES me time to do what matters most to me. Sure, some days I feel like I have been dragged through the day, while others, I have the proverbial "bull by the horns". Busy. Bored. Well, no not bored. Never ever bored. Dirty. Clean. Organized to dis-organized in minutes flat. A cycle of opposites that is never mundane.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, stomach tingling, and exhilerating. Just ponder the names of the top roller coasters -- The Beast, The Intimidator, Goliath, The Terror, and Desparado. Have you ever heard of a coaster with a name like, Peace, Lazy River, or Princess? No! The big name promotes a bit of fear in and of itself. I'm thinking of a name change for our school -- Adrenaline Academy. It fits. Like a real coaster, sometimes I just want off the ride! They are scary and dark especially when I can't see what's around the corner. Other times I am left feeling a little sick to my stomach and I just want to park myself at the nearest bench. The adrenaline rush is over.
Homeschooling brings about those same emotions. The thrill of teaching Middleson to read. Watching Oldest soar right past me in technology is amazing. Babyboy's desire to mimic his big brothers tickles my tummy. And, all this togetherness brings about an unexplainable joy. But, what about tomorrow? Am I doing enough? Have I covered all the bases? Am I forgetting something? Weariness sets in like a fog despite my efforts in being prepped and ready to go. I want to "retire" and put my kids on the nearest bus.
All in all, (for us) homeschooling is a gift. It's hard work. Anything with worth takes work. I think of training for a long running race. Sometimes the run is effortless and enjoyable. Sometimes I drag my legs around forcing them to take another step. But, when I cross the finish line it is ALL VICTORY and NO REGRET for the hours of training, the pain, or the early mornings. Homeschooling is more thrill than shrill. More ups than downs. Worth the price of admission. Ready to roll....let's go for another ride.
Each week is a series of highs and lows. I can't do this. I can do this. I love this. I _ _ _ _ (insert a four letter word that starts with "H" and rhymes with late that we try not to use.) I tempt myself with thoughts of a brick and mortor school. I daydream of waving good-bye to the bright yellow bus and actually having TIME. Then I realize that homeschooling GIVES me time to do what matters most to me. Sure, some days I feel like I have been dragged through the day, while others, I have the proverbial "bull by the horns". Busy. Bored. Well, no not bored. Never ever bored. Dirty. Clean. Organized to dis-organized in minutes flat. A cycle of opposites that is never mundane.
Rollercoasters are thrilling, stomach tingling, and exhilerating. Just ponder the names of the top roller coasters -- The Beast, The Intimidator, Goliath, The Terror, and Desparado. Have you ever heard of a coaster with a name like, Peace, Lazy River, or Princess? No! The big name promotes a bit of fear in and of itself. I'm thinking of a name change for our school -- Adrenaline Academy. It fits. Like a real coaster, sometimes I just want off the ride! They are scary and dark especially when I can't see what's around the corner. Other times I am left feeling a little sick to my stomach and I just want to park myself at the nearest bench. The adrenaline rush is over.
Homeschooling brings about those same emotions. The thrill of teaching Middleson to read. Watching Oldest soar right past me in technology is amazing. Babyboy's desire to mimic his big brothers tickles my tummy. And, all this togetherness brings about an unexplainable joy. But, what about tomorrow? Am I doing enough? Have I covered all the bases? Am I forgetting something? Weariness sets in like a fog despite my efforts in being prepped and ready to go. I want to "retire" and put my kids on the nearest bus.
All in all, (for us) homeschooling is a gift. It's hard work. Anything with worth takes work. I think of training for a long running race. Sometimes the run is effortless and enjoyable. Sometimes I drag my legs around forcing them to take another step. But, when I cross the finish line it is ALL VICTORY and NO REGRET for the hours of training, the pain, or the early mornings. Homeschooling is more thrill than shrill. More ups than downs. Worth the price of admission. Ready to roll....let's go for another ride.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Treasure Hunt
"Mommy, where is my puppy with the pajamas on?" Babyboy pleaded. For clarification's sake, it is a stuffed bear with a real-baby-boy sleeper on.
Instantly, my mind mentally rewinded the day trying fo find the last glimpse of Babyboy's favorite stuffed animal. Bike ride. Outside. Nap. Late lunch. Post office. Library. Bank. Kroger. Thrift store. SCREEEEEEECH!
Our first "pop" was into the thrift store to find some gently used books. Since we were "popping" in, I decided NOT to take the stroller and nodded in agreement to taking puppy in. That was my first mistake. You can't look through used books at a thrift store quickly. There is no rhyme or reason to the way books are shelved. You don't take a stuffed animal into a thrift store because like finds like. Babyboy's puppy suddenly multiplied to stuffed ducks, bears, and frogs. All I could see was a deep scour in the shower upon arriving home. Oldest and Middleson also did their fair share of sliding around the cement floor while I found some wonderful books on my treasure hunt. We found a 1969 copyright of "Around the World in Eighty Days". Cha Ching!
After seeing the time, we popped out of the thrift store as quickly as we popped in. I can vividly see NOW that puppy did not exit with us. At the time I was more concerned about keeping my three boys alive and into the van safely while carrying an armload of books, my keys, my wallet, my phone, and my sunglasses. Note to self: Take the stroller anyway even when you don't need it for a child. It acts as purse with wheels.
Then a myriad of errands took us all over our little town and back home for a very late lunch. Naptime. Bike ride. Dinner. Bedtime. Puppy is missing. Emergency.
I 9-1-1 the thrift store. "We were in the store this morning and we left my son's very special stuffed puppy. Well actually it is a bear that we call a dog, wearing a sleeper." I rambled giving way tooo many details. "What is a sleeper?" Miss Clerk asked. She clearly never had a baby that came with a registry checklist that says you need 8-10 sleepers. "It is like a full body suit with arms and legs and snaps." I described. "Let me check." After what seemed like a long time, she gave me the terrible news. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything like that."
Babyboy sobbed. It was sorrowful. "Puppy is my best friend. I know. I have an idea. Maybe next time we go back he will be there for me." Dagger in the heart. There would be no more puppy to go with us everywhere.
Supermom to the rescue. Already pajama-ed and ready for bed (yes at 8:30 pm), I threw on my clothes and left the house on a mission. Daddy and I even prayed before I left that we would find this prized possession.
I entered the store like it was the emergency room, desperate for help, and racing with the clock. The store closed in minutes. I was ready to pull bear/puppy from the arms of anyone who dared try to buy him. With the meanest face I could muster I searched every nook and cranny. I still saw the evidence of our visit earlier that day. Our stack of rejected books still lay neatly. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BEAR???
Next I headed to the stuffed animal bin, clawing my way through every stuffed thing I told my kids NOT to touch. Suddenly. My heartrate increased. My breathing quickened. Those black eyes and the cute little nose. Surely there isn't another one with a red bow. That's right. THIS was the bear that Daddy sent to me back in the days when he was trying to get my attention. This wasn't just any bear. I FOUND HIM! With a whoop of victory, I headed to the infant clothes to solve the rest of the mystery.
Like Inspector Gadget I reasoned that a store clerk found the animal shortly after we left. Obviously they thought a child found a sleeper from the rack and cutely attired the bear while mommy or daddy was shopping. WRONGO. That isn't the way it happened. Hmmm....the stuffed animals do not have a pricetag, but the clothing DOES have tags. I bet the sleeper got sent to the backroom to get tagged. I pleaded with Miss Clerk to go to the back and look for a sleeper.
"What is a sleeper?" she asked for the second time. I described it in full detail ADDING that it was very sentimental because Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy ALL came home from the hospital in that article of clothing otherwise known as a sleeper.
12 verylongminutes later she emerged with THE sleeper!! Whooo Hoooo.
I left the store singing praises and speeding just a touch. For someone who is a full abider of the speed limit, this shows my exuberance and excitement in getting home. I pressed the pedal to the metal and went 37 in a 35mph.
A grand reunion was celebrated upon returning home! Today puppy/bear and his sleeper are laundered and heavily doted on by all! Babyboy's prayers were answered.
Oh the love of a parent for their child.
Oh the love of God for me. He'd do anything for me. He did everything for me.
He pursues me when I don't know I am lost. He puts me back together and He cleans me. He reunites me to Himself. He celebrates who and whose I am.
The Greatest Treasure Hunt I know.
Instantly, my mind mentally rewinded the day trying fo find the last glimpse of Babyboy's favorite stuffed animal. Bike ride. Outside. Nap. Late lunch. Post office. Library. Bank. Kroger. Thrift store. SCREEEEEEECH!
Our first "pop" was into the thrift store to find some gently used books. Since we were "popping" in, I decided NOT to take the stroller and nodded in agreement to taking puppy in. That was my first mistake. You can't look through used books at a thrift store quickly. There is no rhyme or reason to the way books are shelved. You don't take a stuffed animal into a thrift store because like finds like. Babyboy's puppy suddenly multiplied to stuffed ducks, bears, and frogs. All I could see was a deep scour in the shower upon arriving home. Oldest and Middleson also did their fair share of sliding around the cement floor while I found some wonderful books on my treasure hunt. We found a 1969 copyright of "Around the World in Eighty Days". Cha Ching!
After seeing the time, we popped out of the thrift store as quickly as we popped in. I can vividly see NOW that puppy did not exit with us. At the time I was more concerned about keeping my three boys alive and into the van safely while carrying an armload of books, my keys, my wallet, my phone, and my sunglasses. Note to self: Take the stroller anyway even when you don't need it for a child. It acts as purse with wheels.
Then a myriad of errands took us all over our little town and back home for a very late lunch. Naptime. Bike ride. Dinner. Bedtime. Puppy is missing. Emergency.
I 9-1-1 the thrift store. "We were in the store this morning and we left my son's very special stuffed puppy. Well actually it is a bear that we call a dog, wearing a sleeper." I rambled giving way tooo many details. "What is a sleeper?" Miss Clerk asked. She clearly never had a baby that came with a registry checklist that says you need 8-10 sleepers. "It is like a full body suit with arms and legs and snaps." I described. "Let me check." After what seemed like a long time, she gave me the terrible news. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything like that."
Babyboy sobbed. It was sorrowful. "Puppy is my best friend. I know. I have an idea. Maybe next time we go back he will be there for me." Dagger in the heart. There would be no more puppy to go with us everywhere.
Supermom to the rescue. Already pajama-ed and ready for bed (yes at 8:30 pm), I threw on my clothes and left the house on a mission. Daddy and I even prayed before I left that we would find this prized possession.
I entered the store like it was the emergency room, desperate for help, and racing with the clock. The store closed in minutes. I was ready to pull bear/puppy from the arms of anyone who dared try to buy him. With the meanest face I could muster I searched every nook and cranny. I still saw the evidence of our visit earlier that day. Our stack of rejected books still lay neatly. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BEAR???
Next I headed to the stuffed animal bin, clawing my way through every stuffed thing I told my kids NOT to touch. Suddenly. My heartrate increased. My breathing quickened. Those black eyes and the cute little nose. Surely there isn't another one with a red bow. That's right. THIS was the bear that Daddy sent to me back in the days when he was trying to get my attention. This wasn't just any bear. I FOUND HIM! With a whoop of victory, I headed to the infant clothes to solve the rest of the mystery.
Like Inspector Gadget I reasoned that a store clerk found the animal shortly after we left. Obviously they thought a child found a sleeper from the rack and cutely attired the bear while mommy or daddy was shopping. WRONGO. That isn't the way it happened. Hmmm....the stuffed animals do not have a pricetag, but the clothing DOES have tags. I bet the sleeper got sent to the backroom to get tagged. I pleaded with Miss Clerk to go to the back and look for a sleeper.
"What is a sleeper?" she asked for the second time. I described it in full detail ADDING that it was very sentimental because Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy ALL came home from the hospital in that article of clothing otherwise known as a sleeper.
12 verylongminutes later she emerged with THE sleeper!! Whooo Hoooo.
I left the store singing praises and speeding just a touch. For someone who is a full abider of the speed limit, this shows my exuberance and excitement in getting home. I pressed the pedal to the metal and went 37 in a 35mph.
A grand reunion was celebrated upon returning home! Today puppy/bear and his sleeper are laundered and heavily doted on by all! Babyboy's prayers were answered.
Oh the love of a parent for their child.
Oh the love of God for me. He'd do anything for me. He did everything for me.
He pursues me when I don't know I am lost. He puts me back together and He cleans me. He reunites me to Himself. He celebrates who and whose I am.
The Greatest Treasure Hunt I know.
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