Monkey Business

My mother is an amazing seamstress. I cannot imagine how many Halloween costumes she sewed over years of raising four children. Needless to say, she made it look very easy.

Her effortlessness made me think that I could sew a homemade costume for my little boy this year. Oh, I thought this would be a fabulous project. I'd have a chance to learn to sew (yes, learn -- I really have sewed very little in my life beyond reattaching an occasional button) and Evan would have a lovingly made and adorable get-up to don come Halloween.

I started early. I picked out the pattern back in August. Right away, I should have known this whole thing was going to be trouble. I pulled the pattern out of it's paper envelope and realized that I had no idea how to read it. Who knew that sewing patterns don't come with instructions? There is no forgiveness for beginnerhood in the sewing world; a level of skill and knowledge is preassumed.

I called my mom in a panic. And, she talked me through what to do first. Several days later, she talked me through what to do next. And so on...

I had envisioned myself cozily sewing away on crisp fall evenings after Evan was tucked away in bed. Instead, most often, I was staying up way too late trying to decipher how to set my sewing machine to make a zigzag stich, or how to thread elastic properly through a seam. My fingers were riddled with pin pricks, my poor sewing machine suffered several broken needles and mis-threaded bobbins. My husband steered very clear of the dining room, where I had my little sewing factory set up, for fear that he might be the brunt of my ongoing frustration.

And October 31st loomed ever closer. I was beginning to fear that at the last minute, we might be headed for the costume aisle at Target after all. I worked frantically, fabric scraps falling everywhere, my mother on permanent speed dial. And, two nights ago, I finished the last stitch.

My husband hopefully asked, "So, I guess you won't be trying this again next year?" And I -- with all the satisfaction and good will of a finished project -- said, "Oh, I definitely will. It was fun."

On close inspection, this costume is pretty poorly constructed. Any veteran seamstress (anyone who buys a pattern apparently!) would look at it and see multiple errors and short cuts. But, to me, it is a major accomplishment. I tried it on Evan for the first time last evening. He seemed unimpressed and looked at me as if to say, "Mom, I am not your show monkey!"

Ah, but for tonight, just for tonight, he is.

Copy Cat

So, eleven month old Evan is going through two stages simultaneously:

1) He does not enjoy being more than four feet from Mommy.
2) He wants to do, or mimic, everything that Mommy does.

This leads to some very amusing moments throughout the day. The latest and most entertaining came yesterday, on cleaning day. I looked down to see Evan wiping his hand vigorously back and forth across the table I was dusting, in just the motion I was using. In a flash of inspiration, I gave him his own dust rag, and, voila! He dusted intently for several minutes. Who needs a cleaning person when child labor is available?

Now, if we can just work on that attention span.

Out of the Mouths of Kindergarteners

(Conversation with Nana, overheard thanks to speakerphone)

Luke: My dad's going out of town this weekend.
Nana: Oh, that's too bad. But you'll have fun with your mom, right?
Luke: Yeah, my mom is fun. But not as fun as school.

Oh, that these school-loving days could last forever...

(Wait, my days do seem to last forever. Nix that last bit.)

Saturday Soccer

It was not raining when we left home for the soccer game. It had been sprinkling on and off all morning, but it most definitely was not raining as we loaded up the minivan with all the requisite chairs, strollers, snacks, jackets, water bottles, soccer balls, and children it takes for a family of 5 to enjoy a 45 minute U5 soccer game.

I have to admit that part of the reason we signed D up for U5 soccer is that it's cheap entertainment. We have such fond memories of watching the son of our dear friends "play" soccer when he was three, which at the time meant zooming around the field like a superhero, only to be interrupted periodically by a black and white ball whizzing by. Mac is now a respectable athlete, I understand. But there's nothing like watching a group (gaggle? herd? pride?) of four year olds in their first experience with team sports.

Today did not disappoint.

As we reached the field, it began to rain. Rain, not sprinkle or mist or fall lightly. It was really raining, and blowing sideways. Alex and I looked at each other, knowing that we probably should take the girls back home rather than subjecting them to watch soccer in the rain, but neither of us really wanted to be the one to miss the game. Some kind people lent us umbrellas to hold over the girls, and they had jackets and covers on their double stroller. (It was a warm day, Mom, really, they were OK!)

At first, D and his fellow Silver Streaks kept looking at the parents incredulously, as if to say, "Do you know it's raining? And we're out here? With no jackets? Is this really OK?" But then they got into the spirit of it, led by ever-cheerful and dripping wet Coach Huong. It wasn't the crispest play I've ever seen by the Streaks, but some soccer was happening.

And then they saw it. The water was running in a rushing stream down a little concrete culvert at the end of the field. Oh, the joy of running water! It is time for a throw-in, but where are the Silver Streaks? Two of them were wading in the brook, happily splashing and kicking a ball with gusto. From then on, the game depended more on how many children could be coaxed out of the stream and back to the field. At one point, the normally 4-on-4 match-up was 5-on-2. I think those Orange Tigers were definitely trying to take advantage of the situation.

Suddenly, it was just like in the movies...cue the music...the rain stopped, the sun came out, the world was fresh and dripping wet. The umbrellas came down, jackets were stripped off, everyone was so glad they had not run for the minivan after all. Time for the second half. Time for some soccer.

Well, it's hardly fair to expect a bunch of four year olds to concentrate on a silly game when a pair of fighter jets appears from behind the trees, roaring overhead. The game was halted for a moment to allow the entranced children to watch. The whistle blew. Now we're ready. But wait, here come the jets again, circling the field. There goes the ball...where are the players? Two have wandered back to the stream, three more are completely oblivious to anything but the powerful aircraft in the sky. The jets continued to circle the field for the remainder of the second half. Some soccer was played intermittently. Coach Huong's whistle blew to end the game, but that second half was a suspiciously shorter than the first.

Another game in the books for the U5 Silver Streaks. See you next Saturday!

Very brave

All moms have to go through the dreaded shots with their kids. It's a necessary evil, really. We got flu shots for ourselves and our 2 1/2 year old the other day. The parents went first, one at a time so the other could distract our son so he wouldn't know what we were up to. Then it was Benjamin's turn. I sat in a chair holding him (and keeping his arm still) while he held onto his dearest friend (a very well-loved stuffed turtle). I was armed with treats in my pocket. The nurse quickly stuck a needle in my precious boy's arm, making him jump, but no tears. She put a band aid on, and Benjamin's little face crumbled and he cried. I opened the package holding the treats and hugged my baby. Before we left the clinic he had stopped crying and I told him he was very brave. He proceeded to talk about his band aid and ate his snack all the way to the car. I blinked away tears behind my sunglasses. We both were very brave.

A Hypothetical

What would it say about a person--I mean, if it happened to a friend, for example--if her laundry pile were so high that every time she noticed it out of the corner of her eye, she thought there was a person standing in her bathroom corner? Hypothetically, of course. I mean, really, if it happened to a friend...or something.

Hide-a-Key

I got locked out of the house today. While Eliana was reaching the end of her naptime. While Ben was giving a voice lesson at someone’s house and thus unreachable. While 6 ½ months pregnant and already ridiculously emotional. While all the neighbors I have met so far were not home. While dressed in the always flattering pregnancy drawstring pants, hoodie, and fleece vest.
So, being a mother and therefore having no choice but to humiliate myself in front of a stranger in order to save my child from undue stress, I knocked on an unfamiliar door and met a retired fellow named Gerald. He somehow understood my plight through a flood of tears and offered to drive me to the nearby neighborhood where Ben was teaching. Once there, he chauffeured me around until I spotted Ben’s car and retrieved the key. I unlocked the door and found Eliana…still asleep.
Thank the Lord for small miracles.

Do you see it? The missing button? Who knew that a missing button on a sweater could bring back a flood of memories? Well for me, it did. I was gathering all of our "junk" and kids clothing for a garage sale we had today, and came upon this sweater, and in an instant, Amaleah was 18 months old again. I was getting her ready for bed, unbuttoning her sweater on the changing table, and I saw that her 3rd button was missing. I asked her, "Where did your button go?" And of course she looked at me like "how in the world am I supposed to know?" We talked about it for a few minutes, and then forgot it and got her into her PJ's and plopped her in bed. Fast forward to the next morning, after breakfast, early morning diaper change..."Oh, Mommy found your button...did you eat it, Amaleah? And wow, it made a little button mark on your bottom!" I have told Amaleah that story several times and she laughs so hard. I think that sweater goes in the memory box.

That memory led me to many more little snapshot memories of my kids as I rummaged through the mounds of clothing. Like the little 3/4 length shirt trimmed in red with dragonflies all over it...Amaleah climbed all over our bricks in front of our daffodil garden in NC in that shirt. The little tie-dyed shirt she wore and wore until Daddy said maybe her belly shouldn't be poking out of her shirt anymore. Oh and the red and white pin stripe pants that Am wore at the McNay Art Museum during a visit to Texas. Or the "Durham Rocks" shirt that Julia just has to wear, even though it is soooo stained that any rational Mommy would get rid of it during the night!

I realized that clothes play an intrinsic part in solidifying my memories. It's like I can always remember what happened when she or he or I was wearing that. It's weird how something so "material" can affect me so deeply, and yet it does. All of these nostalgic feelings come rushing over me! So, here's to the missing button...(which, by the way, I threw in the trash immediately.)

Lawlessness

There were a lot of five-year-old boys at my house today.

Here's what I found when I was cleaning up:


A small tattooed man with a big sword in a police car.

I'm not sure what to think:

• Thank goodness he's not the driver?


• I'm taking 911 off speed dial?


• Where is the driver, anyhow? Has anyone checked the trunk?


• Is this some sort of sign? Threat of mutiny?
  

Car Conversations

Does anyone feel like some of the most profound conversations always happen in the car? Usually on the way home from the grocery where we have just spent a grueling hour of looking for bargains and whining. You are in no mind set to answer some of the questions that are rolling around in your children's head. Dad, of course, is not around. So, it is left to you, the mom, and what few brain cells you can pull together to answer.

In the car is where I have explained heaven and hell, why there is sin in the world, how to ask God and others for forgiveness, what it feels like to die, how men should treat women (brothers their sisters), and lots of other "big" things.

We had another one of those moments today. Coming home from Wal-mart where the littlest one cried for most of the trip until he went to sleep from exhaustion, brother and sister pushed, pinched and whined until I was doing the same thing, my mind was shot and I see the contemplative look start on my son's 4 year old face. Here it comes...

On the way home from a friend's house last night we were seconds behind a young girl who crashed her car (pretty bad crash but she was fine). So, first he wants to know why cars crash, why we have to be careful when we drive, why people sometimes die in car crashes. Normal stuff. I can handle this. Then... why does every one have to die, and if we are going to heaven should we be sad to die. Still holding my own. Then he ask why would someone kill you for loving Jesus. Oh Lord. Isn't he too young for this stuff? Can this question wait until daddy gets home? I want to say that no one would kill you for loving Jesus. Loving Jesus is something that will bring you joy and peace here on earth. I want to promise him a life of security in this world where Jesus will protect him from all harm. But, I can't.

So, instead I tell him the truth. From our conversations about hell, he knows that there are people that do not love and follow God. So, I tell him that there are people in the world that do not love God, that in fact hate Him so much that they kill the people that love God. That he may someday meet people that will not be his friend because he loves Jesus. Not quite so brief and to the point but that was the general message I gave him. I had to give him. So, I watch in my rearview mirror the furrowed brow as he tries to take this in. We have a few more follow up questions as he tries to grasp the concept that someone could not only not like him because he loves Jesus, but that someone could actually want to kill him because he loves Jesus.

Then the sweet, innocent face comes back and he says in his loud, 4 year old boy voice, "Whoever loves Jesus, raise your hand!" After just telling him that he could be killed for it I had to wonder what would happen. Praise God, he raised his hand!

Kindness

Every once in a while, I get a glimpse that the hard work I put into training our kids is really paying off.

We recently checked out a library book called, "You Don't Always Get Everything You Hope For." In it, the protagonist wakes up hoping to have eggs and toast for breakfast. He likes eggs and toast. Instead, a tornado whisks him away to a castle on a hill where a king forces him to eat an ice cream sundae for breakfast...and if he refuses, the king threatens to cut off his head.

Zoe's response: "Oh, Mama, it's not kind to cut off ANYONE's head."

No, indeed, Zoe. Not kind at all.

What can I say? I think my job as a parent is about done here.

Nothing To Do

I am decidedly an introvert by nature. I do love people, but I need regular solitude to keep myself energized to love the people I love. When solitude is hard to come by (say, for example, the last 4 1/2 years), my internal world becomes very skewed and everyone who matters suffers the consequences.

However true this is, sometimes I parent like an extravert. I get intimidated by long stretches of un-spoken-for time when it's just me and the kids. I start making phone calls around town: "Are you free?" "What are you guys doing this afternoon?" "Want to meet at the park?" I feel a little panicky-- what are we going to do for the next 2/4/6/whole-weekend-while-Daddy-is-gone... hours?

My best understanding of this in myself is that, since I can't get solitude with 3 kids-under-5, the next best scenario is to share the hours with a kindred spirit and her kids. And it's true that sometimes sharing the parenting journey with a friend is absolutely the best way to go. The kids are happy and entertained and the mommies have company and an extra set of hands to share some tasks.

But sometimes it's so much better for me to push through my impulse to get on the phone and plan something. When we're forced to just be together for long stretches, the kids and I find all kinds of things to do. We're not in a hurry to get somewhere, so we enjoy the luxury of time. Sure, I can read that book again. What could we do with all those acorns on our driveway? What if we try to build a block tower taller than us? (No, we are not going to watch a video. Not just yet. Talk to me in an hour.) Should we take a walk in the neighborhood? Let's see what old "new" toys I have stashed away. Should we call Nanny on the phone?

I'm sure I'll still be calling you this week (and you know who you are) to see what you're up to and if you want to meet at the park.

And I hope I'll remember to not call sometimes too, and to discover the unexpected treasure of some time spent with my kids with "nothing" to do.