The piece our ensemble sang in church this past Sunday had one part that I just couldn't quite get right. So I borrowed Luke's toy keyboard and banged it out as best I could over the course of the week. He listened and joined in with me as I practiced each day (and, incidentally, proved he's a much better soprano than I am).
Then Sunday came. We sang our piece and headed back to our seats, greeted by smiles and head-nods and whispered "good job"s. But Luke's enthusiastic reaction beat them all.
"Mom!" he exclaimed--thinking nothing of the hushed church-voices of everyone surrounding him--as he wrapped himself around my knees. "You finally got it right! I'm so proud of you!"
Finally, indeed.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Thankfulness
I got such a laugh as I listened to my 3 year old little girl pray her prayers of thankfulness last night. My 3 year old little girl who is prone to theatrics, dramatic pauses, extreme nonverbal facial expressions, the works. All snug in her bed, with her daddy knelling beside her, here she goes.
"God, I thank you for all the things you give us that are so fun, (dramatic pause and shrug), except sometimes they're not. I thank you for the light, except sometimes it is dark. (A concealed chuckle from my husband). God, I thank you for all the nice people in our lives, except sometimes they are mean." This went on with some nonsensical stuff until my husband could no longer contain his full out laugh and I was laughing with him. It was so sweet and so innocent and yet so right on the money. I find my own mind doing the same thing as I try (sometimes in vain) to pray my thankfulness out to our good God. I will say that I am thankful for something, only to be reminded that the thing I am thankful for is not really all that great after all. My cynical nature takes over. As I was thinking about this I felt really sad that I always have to see the negative in everything. All the good things just seem so fleeting.
So, I pray that for all of us during this season. That we can learn to be thankful. FOR ALL THINGS. For the things that are nice, and not so nice. For the things that are light and the darkness. For the people in our lives that are nice and the people that are mean.
Philippian 4:11 I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. 12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
"God, I thank you for all the things you give us that are so fun, (dramatic pause and shrug), except sometimes they're not. I thank you for the light, except sometimes it is dark. (A concealed chuckle from my husband). God, I thank you for all the nice people in our lives, except sometimes they are mean." This went on with some nonsensical stuff until my husband could no longer contain his full out laugh and I was laughing with him. It was so sweet and so innocent and yet so right on the money. I find my own mind doing the same thing as I try (sometimes in vain) to pray my thankfulness out to our good God. I will say that I am thankful for something, only to be reminded that the thing I am thankful for is not really all that great after all. My cynical nature takes over. As I was thinking about this I felt really sad that I always have to see the negative in everything. All the good things just seem so fleeting.
So, I pray that for all of us during this season. That we can learn to be thankful. FOR ALL THINGS. For the things that are nice, and not so nice. For the things that are light and the darkness. For the people in our lives that are nice and the people that are mean.
Philippian 4:11 I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. 12I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Consistency, Consistency.
She's not a great eater. She's really not.
Will has always been a great eater, and I don't know if this is because he's just like that, or because we were kind of Nazi-parents there in the early days and nigh-on fanatical about the whole cleanyourplate thing. I honestly don't remember how it developed, but he always cleans his plate-- with the rare exception of some Very Challenging sweet potatoes or butternut squash (I think it's their consistency).
Everett has come along quite nicely in this regard, though I do remember a harrowing evening during which we were trying to implement our Nazi-parenting rules on him, after which he cried unrelentingly and in Absolute Despair for so long that we had to call our pediatrician-friend because we wondered what in the world to do for him. He recovered (I think I haven't), and has gone on to be a really good eater almost all of the time.
But maybe our Nazi-parenting stamina wore out somewhere between children 2 and 3, because Emma just isn't a good eater. What's worse, I am Perfectly Dreadful about attending to this fact and even now will fail to monitor her milk intake for the first half of the meal or her Italian bread ingestion on spaghetti night and so am no help to her Whatsoever. By the time I realize what has happened, she's refilling her milk cup or taking the last bite of bread and her tummy is (surprised?) "so full" and she can't eat another bite. Which results in her not eating her dinner and my (once again) realizing that I Am Not A Very Good Mother.
*sigh*
One of our problems is that she invariably returns home from school "starving." This is a Real Hassle for me, as we don't (Ever) eat dinner as soon as we get home and I am not (Ever) ready to cook something as soon as we get home and she is a child with an Iron Will. "Mommy can I please have a snack?" No. "Mommy, I just want a little something." No. "Can I just have three crackers?" And three crackers doesn't seem like so much and I know it's inconsistent and I am Breaking All the Rules by being inconsistent but Oh Heavens I am so tired.
I've tried wising up in this regard. No Snacks At All of late. I've been firm and she has heard me and we're getting along just fine. Empty belly at the dinner table and the careful monitoring of milk intake. And this consistency is good for her. It's good for me. She learns that I mean what I say, and I remind myself (with practice) that I do, in fact, mean what I say. Not so difficult.
Tonight I cooked up something I've been wanting to make for about two weeks. We still have some sweet potatoes left from our delightful CSA, and I found a recipe in my new cookbook called "Sweet Potato and Lentil Curry." I made this tonight for dinner, along with an accompanying recipe for sauteed red cabbage, and I served it with a whole wheat nan. Yum.
I knew she was hungry. I knew we were all hungry. Yes, vegetarian. Yes, containing the (oh, so odious) sweet potatoes. Yes, delicious and Good For You. I served it with a smile.
She touched it not. She drank her milk. She ate her bread (oh, Inattentive Mother!). And she let the rest of it Grow Cold.
But I was steadfast. That meal was it. The congealing lentil curry, the cooling cabbage-- these things sat on the plate, available to her At Any Time, until she was All Tucked In. Bathed, combed, dressed, having read, having been read to, teeth brushed, lights out, Done.
And then.
Down she comes, peering at me over the stair banister: "Mommy, I'm hungry."
Of course she is. And it's her own fault. I gave her a good dinner and she turned it down. These are the repercussions; here are the consequences. You don't eat? You're hungry. That's how it works.
Still, it pulled at me-- the hungry belly rumbling behind her Little Mermaid pajamas. The blond hair, the pale face, the large blue eyes blinking, unaccumstomed to the living room light. Sweet, dinner-rejecting girl.
In the kitchen, the dishwasher hummed its busy tune: that plate is long since scraped. Dinner time was a Long Time Ago.
So I told her. Yes, I did. I stuck to my guns. I delivered the Truth: "There's nothing more until breakfast."
She went back to bed.
I managed to be Consistent.
But it's no small comfort (not small at all) that tonight she drank her milk and ate her bread. All of it.
Will has always been a great eater, and I don't know if this is because he's just like that, or because we were kind of Nazi-parents there in the early days and nigh-on fanatical about the whole cleanyourplate thing. I honestly don't remember how it developed, but he always cleans his plate-- with the rare exception of some Very Challenging sweet potatoes or butternut squash (I think it's their consistency).
Everett has come along quite nicely in this regard, though I do remember a harrowing evening during which we were trying to implement our Nazi-parenting rules on him, after which he cried unrelentingly and in Absolute Despair for so long that we had to call our pediatrician-friend because we wondered what in the world to do for him. He recovered (I think I haven't), and has gone on to be a really good eater almost all of the time.
But maybe our Nazi-parenting stamina wore out somewhere between children 2 and 3, because Emma just isn't a good eater. What's worse, I am Perfectly Dreadful about attending to this fact and even now will fail to monitor her milk intake for the first half of the meal or her Italian bread ingestion on spaghetti night and so am no help to her Whatsoever. By the time I realize what has happened, she's refilling her milk cup or taking the last bite of bread and her tummy is (surprised?) "so full" and she can't eat another bite. Which results in her not eating her dinner and my (once again) realizing that I Am Not A Very Good Mother.
*sigh*
One of our problems is that she invariably returns home from school "starving." This is a Real Hassle for me, as we don't (Ever) eat dinner as soon as we get home and I am not (Ever) ready to cook something as soon as we get home and she is a child with an Iron Will. "Mommy can I please have a snack?" No. "Mommy, I just want a little something." No. "Can I just have three crackers?" And three crackers doesn't seem like so much and I know it's inconsistent and I am Breaking All the Rules by being inconsistent but Oh Heavens I am so tired.
I've tried wising up in this regard. No Snacks At All of late. I've been firm and she has heard me and we're getting along just fine. Empty belly at the dinner table and the careful monitoring of milk intake. And this consistency is good for her. It's good for me. She learns that I mean what I say, and I remind myself (with practice) that I do, in fact, mean what I say. Not so difficult.
Tonight I cooked up something I've been wanting to make for about two weeks. We still have some sweet potatoes left from our delightful CSA, and I found a recipe in my new cookbook called "Sweet Potato and Lentil Curry." I made this tonight for dinner, along with an accompanying recipe for sauteed red cabbage, and I served it with a whole wheat nan. Yum.
I knew she was hungry. I knew we were all hungry. Yes, vegetarian. Yes, containing the (oh, so odious) sweet potatoes. Yes, delicious and Good For You. I served it with a smile.
She touched it not. She drank her milk. She ate her bread (oh, Inattentive Mother!). And she let the rest of it Grow Cold.
But I was steadfast. That meal was it. The congealing lentil curry, the cooling cabbage-- these things sat on the plate, available to her At Any Time, until she was All Tucked In. Bathed, combed, dressed, having read, having been read to, teeth brushed, lights out, Done.
And then.
Down she comes, peering at me over the stair banister: "Mommy, I'm hungry."
Of course she is. And it's her own fault. I gave her a good dinner and she turned it down. These are the repercussions; here are the consequences. You don't eat? You're hungry. That's how it works.
Still, it pulled at me-- the hungry belly rumbling behind her Little Mermaid pajamas. The blond hair, the pale face, the large blue eyes blinking, unaccumstomed to the living room light. Sweet, dinner-rejecting girl.
In the kitchen, the dishwasher hummed its busy tune: that plate is long since scraped. Dinner time was a Long Time Ago.
So I told her. Yes, I did. I stuck to my guns. I delivered the Truth: "There's nothing more until breakfast."
She went back to bed.
I managed to be Consistent.
But it's no small comfort (not small at all) that tonight she drank her milk and ate her bread. All of it.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Not My Thoughts Exactly
You'll want your speakers on for this one...or maybe not, depending on your taste in music.
The following does not depict my opinion of the day at 7:30 this morning. Fortunately, my opinion doesn't count.
The following does not depict my opinion of the day at 7:30 this morning. Fortunately, my opinion doesn't count.
(The spin move is new. Very fancy, if you ask me. Don't know if I can say the same for the fist-flailing. Hmmm.)
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Good Night, Gorilla
I love this book. It doesn't have many words, but the pictures are lovely and the story is cute. On the pages without words, I would narrate the story based on the pictures. Today before naptime Benjamin requested "Good Night Gorilla," and for the first time I didn't have to tell the story, but a sweet little 2 1/2 year old voice did. And it is the best story I have ever heard.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Focus
When I had two kids, the prospect of a weekend without Daddy struck panic into my heart. I would do just about any amount of traveling or begging to find a way to have help for the weekend. It seems kind of silly now, but in defense of my silliness, my first two were pretty rotten sleepers and pretty intense little people, not to mention that their mommy is on the intense side. Or so I'm told.
But since the advent of the third, my perspective has changed. I certainly don't relish a weekend without Daddy, and I would never choose one, but I feel confident in my ability to get through the days and even to enjoy the kids along the way. I think perhaps my expectations and the reality of parenting have finally collided. I don't really expect to be rested or that the kids will follow my plan for their napping schedules or that the weather will be perfect or that friends will be available, and so I'm freed to just enter into the weekend, not sure what it will hold.
One thing I do notice about single parenting, though (and man, do I respect single mothers more every time I do it!) is that I can become more stern and joyless as I have sole charge of all the chores and transitions of our days from morning to night. I forget to laugh sometimes because I'm so focused on the preparing food, serving, cleaning it up, dressing, diapering, pottying, tidying, maintaining order.
This afternoon was classic. We were trying to get out the door to go get favors for Davis's upcoming birthday party and then hit Chick-Fil-A for some playland action and dinner. I'm feeling pretty magnanimous for providing such fun, and the kids had been enthusiastic about the plan until some sort of disagreement broke out between the oldest two. Now Davis is sulking and complaining, refusing to put his shoes on, and I'm delivering this classic lecture about how "this whole trip is for you and if you don't have a good attitude about it, we really don't have to go." I mean, cue the Charlie Brown adult voice: "wah, wah, wah, wah, wah wah." I'm even annoying myself.
Then I realize that Zoe, aged 2 1/2, is behind me, also delivering some sort of lecture. I've been tuning her out but as I pay attention to her little voice, here's what she's saying: "Focus, Davis. Focus. Focus, Davis. Focus."
Her lecture not only propelled all of us into hysterical laughter, but it reminded me to chill out a little. As Charlie Brown would say, "Good grief!" Lord willing, Daddy will be home tomorrow. We'll be just fine until then. And if I can remember to laugh, we might even enjoy ourselves until he comes home.
But since the advent of the third, my perspective has changed. I certainly don't relish a weekend without Daddy, and I would never choose one, but I feel confident in my ability to get through the days and even to enjoy the kids along the way. I think perhaps my expectations and the reality of parenting have finally collided. I don't really expect to be rested or that the kids will follow my plan for their napping schedules or that the weather will be perfect or that friends will be available, and so I'm freed to just enter into the weekend, not sure what it will hold.
One thing I do notice about single parenting, though (and man, do I respect single mothers more every time I do it!) is that I can become more stern and joyless as I have sole charge of all the chores and transitions of our days from morning to night. I forget to laugh sometimes because I'm so focused on the preparing food, serving, cleaning it up, dressing, diapering, pottying, tidying, maintaining order.
This afternoon was classic. We were trying to get out the door to go get favors for Davis's upcoming birthday party and then hit Chick-Fil-A for some playland action and dinner. I'm feeling pretty magnanimous for providing such fun, and the kids had been enthusiastic about the plan until some sort of disagreement broke out between the oldest two. Now Davis is sulking and complaining, refusing to put his shoes on, and I'm delivering this classic lecture about how "this whole trip is for you and if you don't have a good attitude about it, we really don't have to go." I mean, cue the Charlie Brown adult voice: "wah, wah, wah, wah, wah wah." I'm even annoying myself.
Then I realize that Zoe, aged 2 1/2, is behind me, also delivering some sort of lecture. I've been tuning her out but as I pay attention to her little voice, here's what she's saying: "Focus, Davis. Focus. Focus, Davis. Focus."
Her lecture not only propelled all of us into hysterical laughter, but it reminded me to chill out a little. As Charlie Brown would say, "Good grief!" Lord willing, Daddy will be home tomorrow. We'll be just fine until then. And if I can remember to laugh, we might even enjoy ourselves until he comes home.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Oh, Daddy...
My daughter looks forward to her Daddy coming home every day because this means lots of chasing, rolling around on the floor, and, her favorite game, "Jump to Daddy", which entails her leaping from a chair into his arms and them falling down to the ground in a giggling heap. Last night, as this evening ritual was taking place and I was enjoying a few moments of independence, my husband looks up at me and says in an incredulous voice, "Elli is going to be three soon!". "Yeah, she is," I replied. "If by soon you mean a year and 2 months." "Oh yeah," says my man. "It just seems like we've had her for longer than that."
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