Ahh, Christmas...

For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

O come, O come, Emmanuel.
Amen and Amen

Christmas was a space to breathe for all of us today. Physically, spiritually, mentally, individually and as a family, we felt the presence of the Prince of Peace. Praise God.

This fall has been difficult for me. I have felt the strain of trying to do a full-time job, without full-time hours available. I have felt the strain of being over-committed at church and work, a perfect storm of reasonable commitments made that all came unexpectedly due at the same time. The kids and Jeremy have of course felt the strain of all this as well.

I decided to record our schedule here not to complain, but to document to myself what we did. This should on the one hand be an encouragement to me in the future, should we find ourselves in this situation again. More importantly, I hope it will be a warning, to help prevent us from getting in this situation again. Our schedule has been:

7:30 AM - leave the house (Jeremy to work; me to take kids to school)
9:00 AM - Mon-Wed-Fri: drop John at preschool and I join Jeremy at work
8:30 AM - Tuesday mornings - John and me time - usually grocery shopping
9:00 AM - Thursday - I take John to swim lessons and then have a whole day at home with John (laundry, sometimes a nap, sometimes a video for John and work for me) until we pick up kids at 2:30.
12:00 PM - Jeremy picks up John at preschool while I stay and teach afternoon classes (unless it is Tuesday, when we make a running switch at home, handing off the baton and John before I race in for my 12:30 lecture.)
2:30 PM - Jeremy picks up kids at school, followed by piano lessons Tuesday or gymnastics on Wednesday
5:30 PM - Mom gets home from work for dinner (Except Thursdays, when Mom is already home and Dad gets home about this time.)

Then, the evenings. All of these activities are in addition to the work that we so often have to bring home with us - lecture prep, writing and grading tests, committee work, etc. Too many bedtimes after midnight did me in, and would have even had I not been pregnant.
Mondays: I get home after department meeting around 5:30 pm. I have a meeting at 7 PM almost every week (Faculty Senate, Church Council, Church Worship Committee), so I have to eat a quick dinner, hug the kids good night, and leave Jeremy to run bedtimes. (Early in the fall, Jeremy also had to take all 3 kids to soccer practices from 6-8 pm. What a relief when those ended.)
Wednesdays: I teach a lab most weeks at 6:30. Many of the other nights, another church committee meeting at 7:00 instead. Fortunately, they kids have kids' programs at church every other week, so mostly preoccupied and don't miss me as much at bedtime with Jeremy.
Thursdays: Jeremy's turn to be gone, with a 6:30 class he decided to take at the seminary. So, we have a quick, early dinner together, then it is my turn for the solo bedtime.
Fridays:  collapse on the couch after dinner as often as not, leaving poor Jeremy to do the solo bedtime again, anyway.

The kids always ask for "the plans" at bedtime. This is partly a stalling technique to keep us there talking longer. But also, they want to try to keep track of what comes next in their lives. There were so many nights when James or Maggie would say somewhat unhappily, "Mom, why are you always gone to meetings at night? It feels like I never see you." Mommy guilt kicks in easily; I have to check this with some reality. On a Thursday afternoon, when I could be here with them after school, for example, they would be just as likely to instead choose to watch TV for an hour rather than visit with me. But I also realize it from their situation. They don't necessarily want to sit and stare at Mom and have "quality time." Sometimes it is just nice to know that someone is around - there for you whenever you might want to find her. And I wasn't able to give them that much this fall.

But during this Advent, I was waiting on much, and longing for much. I saw the 17th of December, the end of final exams, as a Holy Grail of sorts. The scheduled commitments at work would cease for 2 weeks. The kids would be home from school for 2 weeks. We would all reconnect magically and perfectly.

Of course, things never work out quite like we plan. First, I collapsed, physically, on the 18th and 19th. I pretty much just slept. Felt wonderful, but didn't get much accomplished. My grading was more backed up than I had hoped. Final grades were due at 5 PM on the 24th. (I didn't make it with both courses.) So during the first half of our long stretch of "family time," I sat at the kitchen counter grading while the kids entertained themselves. Or I went into the office and felt even more guilty the whole time. Finally, on the afternoon of the 23rd, I left on my first real Christmas shopping trip. Sure, I had picked up an odd thing here or there while getting groceries at Meijer in December, and had been able to order a few things online. But the rest of the list was accomplished in a whirlwind 2.5 hours amidst the crazy crowds. Fortunately, I had good luck finding what I needed.

A late night (well after midnight) on the 23rd allowed me to submit grades for one course and finish wrapping presents for the party at my Grandmother's on the 24th. I successfully graded the last stack of exams on the drive across the state. That left only 3 big project reports for the big finish. We had a lovely 24th of December, seeing good friends from far away and then all of Dad's family. Unfortunately, I was far too foggy-headed to finish up the reports, which take some actual attention. By 5 PM or so, I was fading fast and unable to enjoy the party anymore. Jeremy kindly drove all the way home as well, allowing me to nap. Thus, when we got home (with sleeping kids) I could stay up late again (this time only to midnight) to finish all the wrapping for the next day.

The kids woke up at 7:30 AM - pretty reasonable, really, for kids excited about Christmas. I was rested enough to get up and enjoy the quiet morning with them. I felt a bit sick - like a cold or the flu, but probably just fatigue, since I felt much better later in the day. Still, it was enough to convince me to not try to make it to 10 AM church. In fact, I didn't even try to get dressed. By 11 AM, I was napping peacefully on the couch.

Christmas morning was just lovely. The kids were genuinely excited and enthusiastic about their presents. Both James and Maggie said several times, "This is the best Christmas ever!" James was happy to have some new Lego sets to assemble, but especially was excited about the arrival of a family computer. (He has otherwise had to beg time on Mom's or Dad's work laptops, which are often unavailable because we are working.) Maggie loved that she finally got the American Girl doll for which she has been begging for well over a year now. She also got some Barbie/Fairy stuff that made her giddy in a way that only a 6-year old girl could be. She kept saying, "I can't believe I got an American Girl doll AND a Barbie AND fairies!" At least she was appreciative. Oddly enough, she seemed nearly as excited by her new Pillow Pet - perhaps the stupidest creation I have ever seen so effectively marketed to kids. It is really just a big throw pillow, with an animal head attached. It is not as if she is short on stuffed toys, or pillows, in her life. (She first saw an ad for these a few months ago at my dad's house, where they are left to watch excessive TV with commercials. She knew she had to have one. I don't know why. Maybe because we only can get in PBS at home, she hasn't had adequate preparation for resisting the onslaught of commercial TV.) John was thrilled with a backhoe, a preschooler's "monster truck" with remote control, a sword, and a cap gun. And yes, if you compare that to Maggie's list, it sounds like we are gender-stereotype-central. I can't defend it. That is what they like. I swear that if I did it to them, it wasn't on purpose. But you know, I really don't think I did it.

Oh, I was thrilled with my gifts, too. Most significantly, Jeremy arranged for a housecleaner twice a month starting in January. I am glad we have the sort of relationship that we both fully understand the gift is in the fact that he arranged it all, since the actual service is a gift to us both. So, while it might seem a bit like "a blender for your anniversary," I think it is a perfect present. And after this fall, I no longer have any mixed emotions about the rightness of using hired help for the cleaning. I saw the alternative and it hasn't been pretty.

The kids played peacefully all day, thrilled with their new things. (Well, mostly peacefully. John's backhoe and truck made a bit of noise that didn't let up until the batteries began to fail. But, he was content.) My dad came over in the late afternoon to share Christmas dinner with us, which turned out to be lovely even though it was almost completely unplanned. (A beef roast from the freezer, roast potatoes, salad, and homemade egg rolls dropped off by a friend.) Then, quite impressively, I finished up the day with yet another nap on the couch. Not so polite to my dad, perhaps, but he is used to it. He even napped a bit with me, to be companionable, before he headed home.

Now, after a quiet, lovely, peaceful day, with TWO naps, I feel quite ready to face the future. I will somehow get those grades finished tomorrow after church. We will get the entire house picked up and put back together before company back-to-back on Monday and Tuesday for Jeremy's family parties. We will even figure out how to get food purchased and made for those events. And I will finish up the abstract that needs to be submitted for a conference next summer, due by the 31st. Anything is possible after a day of peace, with lots of sleep.

So, I better not get off on the wrong foot again. To bed now, so I can stay caught up on sleep. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night.

Contentment

Is it perhaps a truism that growing up is really just about growing content? And if that is so, do we ever get there?

At bedtime tonight, James was in his reflective Eeyore mood. ("Why does nothing ever quite go my way in life?") He began our conversation with, "Mom? Sometimes it seems like as the oldest I have extra responsibilities and can never be quite good enough for you and Dad." That's it, James. Go right for the gut.

I decided a direct approach was best this time. "You know, James, you're right. We are harder on you. We have higher expectations. Some of that isn't fair, but you know, with you, Mom and Dad are just learning, too. We haven't figured out how to be good parents to a 9-year-old yet. Maggie and John benefit from our experience. I'm sorry that sometimes we are too hard on you."

"But you know, James, on the other hand, you do get extra privileges as the oldest, too. It works both ways."

"Like what?"

"You can't think of a single thing that you get to do that your siblings don't?"

"Well... I guess... I can go on rides at the amusement park that they aren't big enough for."

"Yes...And you can ride your bike on your own up to the pool for swim team in the summer. And when you and I were in Meijer yesterday, you could go on your own to another aisle to find something." (Okay, I am reaching here. But surely there are better examples out there. Maybe I will have a future blog post listing these, so I have a more ready arsenal.)

Fortunately, James was feeling forgiving tonight. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Mom. Every spot in the family has its advantages and disadvantages."

"Yes, that's so, James. You know, John gets frustrated by being the youngest. Every day when I you and Maggie off at school, he gets upset and asks why he can't go to school with you, too. 'I'm big enough!' he insists to me every time. And then, when I try to tell him that he gets to go to his own school, that isn't quite good enough for him.

You know, last week, when I took him to his preschool, he got really insistent that I 'just drop him off.' At first I didn't realize what he was asking for, but I didn't pay much attention, because the preschool has a rule that a parent has to walk in the child and get them checked in. But he got very upset when I tried to park. I finally agreed to drive right up to the curb, next to the door, and 'drop him off.' He went in by himself and felt very grown up and satisfied. But he would rather be big and go to school with you."

[BIG ASIDE: Dropping John off is a story in itself. I will finish that at the end of this post. ]

James thought this story was funny. He grudgingly agreed that being older wasn't always the worst. But clearly, he still thinks he is overworked and underappreciated. Probably so. And we make him wait for all kinds of privleges that the younger kids get right along with him at the time, like watching certain movies or hearing certain books. On the other hand, the books that Jeremy reads to the kids at night are almost always most interesting to James (and Jeremy). John and Maggie are left to like it or lump it if Mom won't or can't read concurrently. (Even then, poor Maggie gets caught in the middle because she wants to hear both Narnia and John's picture books.)

So the take home message for me? Back to the opening paragraph. Do we ever learn to be content with our lot in life? It seems mostly not. We are wired to see the injustices of our position, not the privileges and gifts. I suppose a big part of maturing, for adults as well as kids, is learning to be less grumbling and more grateful. I'll make a note of that for myself this week. No promises to post on how I am doing, though.

[And now, the other story. Dropping John off at preschool:

For the record, I did park after dropping him on the curb, and I followed him in, just to be sure he got in okay. It is a small lobby and not too much trouble for him to get into, but rules are rules, right? I was a bit startled by the astonished (disapproving?) looks from the other mothers as I came in, not 60 seconds behind him. 'Oh!' they said, 'we asked where his mom was and he said you just dropped him off and we couldn't quite believe someone would do that!' (Nervous laughter.)

No, I didn't actually leave my 3-year-old to check himself in. Although, it turns out, I could have. He really is big enough. By the time I got in, he had removed his coat and backpack and hung them on a peg, with his boots tucked neatly underneath. He was pulling open the big door to go into the gym and join his class with nary a backward glance. And, I find it ironic that this group of mothers might judge me for it if I did, since one of this crew had left her infant alone in the car for over 10 minutes in the parking lot a few weeks earlier. I noticed the little feet kicking in the seat as I brought John in. I stood there waiting for someone to go right back out, but no one dropped the conversation and headed out during the time I waited. Finally, I left, and the baby was still there. I turned around and headed back in, because by now I was thinking, "Surely  she can't belong to any of those moms because they wouldn't leave her that long. Maybe someone working in the office had one of those nightmare mistakes where they forgot to leave the baby at daycare on the way to work." Now the other moms were on the way out and, seeing me return, asked if I had forgotten something. "No, I was just checking to see who that baby belongs to." I got a very breezy reply from one of them, "Oh, she's mine. Is she awake now?" Creepers! Given that it is now illegal to leave your kids in the car alone in Michigan, did I just aid and abet a crime, not to mention support highly questionable parental judgement? So anyway, being judged by these moms for letting John walk in alone is a bit irritating. I decided not to take that to heart. ]

Never say die

John's energy level tonight after dinner was even higher than usual. As the rest of us finished eating, he ran 10-yard dashes back and forth across the kitchen. When that got boring, he switched to handstands. He can't stay up for long, but he is persistent. He jumps off both feet simultaneously and flips onto his hands for a moment, before springing back onto his feet. And repeat.

After a few minutes (and several dozen flips), during which I was genuinely impressed with his balance development, Jeremy interrupted him.

"John, if you are going to do that, then go into the living room where there is carpet, and where you are away from the stairs."

Surprisingly, John obeyed immediately. On his first attempt over carpet, he fell and crashed into furniture. I tried to assess his level of injury from his crying - not too serious, but real. I suggested that he stop jumping now.

He came towards me, whimpering, looking like he might seek comfort. Just before he got to me he stopped, seemed to shake himself off, then turned back to the living room and announced bravely, "I don't need a kiss. I can do that again."

Aspirations

We were watching Prince Caspian with the kids tonight, in lieu of a bedtime story. (Jeremy has been reading through the Narnia books with the kids at bedtime for some weeks now.)

I didn't think John was getting much of the plot of the movie, really. Apparently he gets the important parts. As Jeremy tucked him in tonight, he said,

"Dad, when I grow up... I want to be a beast. With long ears. And something to fight with. Can I have a sword for Christmas?"

Signs of the season

I noticed recently that I rarely post photos to my blog. That is mostly because I think of stories I want to share, not pictures. It is also related to the transfer issue. I only get photos off my camera and onto my computer every few months, by which time they all seem woefully out-of-date for posting to a blog.

But tonight, I have a whole slew of December photos, and it is still December. Seems like the perfect opportunity to branch out into a photo essay. So, here goes.

December 2, 2010
Look at them boots!

Winter has arrived. No one should be caught without their most fashionable boots on. (Except Mom, who will have to fight to get any of her boots back.)

December 4, 2010
Time to get the tree!
Don't worry; John will bring the saw for us.

We cut one from our now "traditional" place - someone's front yard up in Rockford. Well, a particular someone's yard, and they are selling the trees. It is $10 a tree, any size you can find. You cut, you haul. Not a bad deal, overall. After all, we do have lots of free labor for hauling.

December 5, 2010
Christmas Music
It is the Children's Christmas Program at church. John sang with the other preschoolers. Margaret sang with the other first graders. James sang with the 2nd-6th graders. More or less. And all were blessed.


John is there in the red sweater. He is pantomiming "Sleep in heavenly peace" like a pro.



Maggie is thrilled to have another place to wear her "Santa" dress. She was also excited to sing on a stage. They sang "Emmanuel" and "Go Tell [SHOUT] It on the Mountain" - a good fit for Maggie.
The "fuzzy effect" is not actually my photography; it is the hair of the elderly woman in the pew in front of me. Just think of it as snow on the windowpane.




Not certain if James actually opened his mouth to sing at all during the program, but he seemed content enough to stand with the rest of the chorus.


December 11, 2010
Picking out a tree, Act II.
We drove east to help Dad pick out his tree. The place he went, near campus, is a bit more of an "industry" than our spot. There we encountered:

• a tractor and wagon ride back to the warming hut
• a reindeer is kept roaming about his pen
• a roaring bonfire around which to enjoy food purchased from the warming hut (doughnuts, hot cider, and more)
• an oversized, Christmas-tree-shaped photo op
• not only are the handsaws provided, but so are the big wheeled carts for hauling your prize back
• tree shakers to remove the dead needles, and a bundler to send it all home in a tidy package



Uncle Jim joined our family to help Grandpa find his tree. Not much snow that day, but it was bitterly cold. The snow came the next day, causing the kids to get snowbound at Grandpa's for an extra 24 hours.






Does it involve buying junk food? Then it is a hit with the kids. James, Maggie, and John liked it pretty well, too.

  Of course, none of this fancy accessorizing prevented Dad's tree from falling over on top of him that night as he and the kids slept in the living room in sleeping bags. This just about made Maggie's whole trip, since it reminded her of one of her favorite stories, from "when Mommy was a little girl" and the Christmas tree fell over. (The rest of the story involves a Santa suit, a vacuum cleaner salesman, and other oddities that you have to ask to hear in person sometime. Unless you were there, like Jeff.)

Excitement ensued!

As I was heading up the stairs to chase the children into bed, I heard sudden chaos erupt above me. I couldn't sort out the cause; I could only discern that Maggie was somehow hysterical. I turned the corner and looked up to the top of the steps to see a look of stunned, excited, horror on her face as blood dripped down her chin into her hand.

Now, chaos is nothing new around here. Hysteria doesn't really cause ripples either. But the blood was a bit unusual. And, given Maggie's newfound squeamishness over blood, the fact that she wore only a bemused expression added to my confusion. She wasn't staring accusingly at either brother, either.

It took some time to sort out that she had apparently "whammed her face into the wall." (Don't ask. I don't know. There may have been two wrestling brothers involved.) Doing so seemed to have knocked out one of her front teeth. Fortunately, it had already been loose. In fact, it has been the subject of her complaints for several weeks now. She has been very excited and anxious to lose her first tooth.

We wiped the blood up off the carpet, then proceeded to hunt, but that tooth was nowhere to be found. (I have my suspicions.) It was bedtime, but Maggie was not at all sure about going to bed without that tooth under her pillow. I assured her repeatedly that the tooth fairy will find it in the dark, wherever it is. After all, how does she usually find a small tooth under a big pillow in the dark of night, anyway? The fairy's chemoreceptors for lost teeth are obviously exquisitely evolved for this task. So, what's going to stop her from finding that tooth in the hallway (or in a stomach?)? Hopefully I told the truth about that. It has been my experience, actually, that the tooth fairy has much greater trouble with remembering to retrieve a tooth than with finding it.

Kids' sizes - for my own failing memory

Here is a true sign of my aging. I can't recall the kids' sizes at all these days. Maybe I just have too many kids? Anyway, we just ordered boots for all, so I have this receipt with current shoe sizes for all. But I need to clean off my counter. What to do?

Then, I realized, I live in a digital age. I can record their shoe size here for all time. Not very interesting to you, my reader, but very useful to me. :)

So, as of November 2010:

James - shoe size 7
Margaret - shoe size 3 (closer to 2 but we rounded up for boots)
John - shoe size 12 (closer to 11 but again, we rounded up)

Hey, I like this way of clearing paper from my life. Maybe I will start recording all kinds of vital statistics on the kids here. Height and weight? Blood pressure? Cholesterol level?

Daddy's Boy

Today the 3-yr-old John totally dissed me in the car.

"Mom, will you turn on some music?"

I obliged with cheesy Christmas music on the radio - my favorite at this time of year. A few seconds later, "Mom, will you turn on music that Daddy likes?"

Hop on Pop

As happens somewhat frequently at our house, John was overly energetic tonight after dinner. Jeremy laid down on the floor, just "minding his own business," which is his signal to John that they can wrestle a bit. As soon as John noticed, he ran over and jumped onto Jeremy's stomach, feet first. He then proceeded to jump up and down a bit before hopping down and repeating the process.

After checking Jeremy's face to be sure he wasn't actually getting a hernia from the treatment, I playfully intervened with a quote from a book that John likes. "Stop! You must not hop on top of Pop!"

John giggled and replied, "That's not Pop. That's my dad! ...  He likes it when I do that." John then returned to his Hop on Pop jumping routine.

Parent-Teacher Conferences

Another fall, another set of conferences at the kids' school. Oddly, this year I just wasn't in the mood. Maybe it is the "canned" nature of these that I finally find so wearisome. I always attend; it seems like a sacred parental duty. But after 5 years of these, I am coming to see that very little actually gets accomplished there. The teachers flip through a stack of saved work from the kids, talking about their strengths. We smile and nod. Of course our kids are perfect, yes thank you.

Still, I should be thankful that there is generally so little to report. That is actually a good sign, that all is going well for the kids. And that is probably useful to have confirmed now and then.

This year, perhaps the meetings were more useful than usual. And the kids were more anxious than ever to get "a report" of what their teachers said about them, so it is good that I went and had something to say.

Margaret in 1st grade:
Jeremy irreverently pointed out tonight that Mrs. G is like a good fairy Godmother, on drugs. Too true, but then, who else would you wish for to teach 1st grade? She is all smiles, all love, all positive vibes. She adores Margaret so much that it makes her tear up. So, you can pretty much guess the kind of critique she gave of Maggie's progress. Still, that doesn't necessarily make it untrue, so we will still be very proud of our 6-yr-old.

Maggie's reading is "amazing" to her teacher. She also loves her writing. We got to read through her "Weekend Reports" from the first 9 weeks of school. Quite entertaining. She can't confine herself to the few lines allowed, and often had to continue on the back of the page. She isn't shy about spelling - she just makes a guess andn plunges on to get the story out. Oddly, though, while she might murder the spelling of more common words like friend or home, she nailed other words spot-on like Pochahontas, Minnesota, Spartans.

Her teacher reassured us that Maggie's reversals of letters and numbers (writing them backwards) is nothing to worry about, all the way up through 3rd grade. She did wonder a bit about Maggie's pennmanship, which is generally atrocious. She speculated it might just be delayed fine motor development. On the other hand, there were examples of her work that were quite neat. Perhaps it is just that we have not ever really encouraged her to spend time practicing, like so many girls do in play time.

Her math on her report card is all marked "meets expectations" which looks like a failing grade compared to the "far exceeds expectations" for all the reading skills. Mrs. G. assured us that her math skills are fine and that she rarely gives any mark above "meets expectations" for the 1st quarter. So, we shall see.

The only negative thing Mrs. G mentioned was that she sometimes seems to have difficulty approaching other kids, socially. Sometimes, Margaret gets rebuffed, perhaps because the other kids misunderstand her, and she is easily intimidated by that and backs off alone and upset. Sad to hear, but it fits with the stories we occasionally get from Maggie about "No one would play with me today on the playground." Fortunately, these stories are the exception rather than the rule. Perhaps social butterfly Maggie is just coming to terms with the fact that she lives amongst the bizzarre West Michigan Dutch culture but will never be a real part of it herself (which is okay with me).

James in 4th grade
I had my severe reservations about Mrs. M for James this year, but I decided to see how it went, since that was the strong recommendation of his 3rd grade teacher. Thank goodness I tried it out. From what I can see in a 15-minute interview, she is perfect for him. She is the height of organization, rules, order. At the same time, she does not appear to be inflexible.

I came right out at the beginning with my biggest concern about James - his noticeably increased inability to keep up with homework/assignments. I told her we are quite certain that he has ADD, but are very reluctant to pursue treatment (which as far as we have seen in Grand Rapids, is medication, take it or leave it). She was highly supportive of this. In fact, she looked concerned that we might even consider medicating James (which we won't, at least for now).

"James is such a bright, creative child. He has great ideas and big thoughts. I would hate to see any of that curtailed by a medication," she told us. Wow, a teacher supporting us in this?

"Well, his pediatrician told us several years ago that we would know it was time to address the issue when James's teachers started complaining that he was driving them nuts, so we just wanted to see if he was, and if you are seeing the same things we are seeing at home."

Yes, she is seeing the same things, but it isn't driving her nuts. Bless her heart. In fact, we discovered, when James leaves for the Gifted/Talented pullout program 2 afternoons a week, he misses the regular classroom work. She had at first been sending it home with him to get finished. When it didn't come back, or not in any timely fashion, she decided to find other times to have him finish it at school rather than set him up in a habit of missing homework. (We hadn't known he had these things to finish, as they weren't listed in her list of homework for the week.)

She did wonder why his spelling tests were so uneven. I told her that was simple. If he studied the list just once the night before the weekly tests, he would get 100%. But sometimes, getting him to spend that 15 minutes studying was like pulling teeth and I just decided it wasn't worth it that week. Then, he would miss a number of words. She obviously doesn't like this approach, but we all cope as we have to, right?

She also mentioned that he works incredibly slowly, often being the last one done with seatwork. I told her that doesn't surprise me at all. He struggles to complete his homework, and not because it is hard. A task like writing 4 sentences seems insurmountable to him. He can't stay on task. (Maybe he should ask Maggie if she would loan him a few sentences.) She seemed to react well to our reports that he is actually worse at home. Instead of sending us packing for medication, she told us that she will be more vigilant in keeping him on task in the classroom with verbal reminders. We'll see - it doesn't work for me, but...

On the other hand, she raved about his reading ability. She was impressed with his reading comprehension, higher order synthesis, and factual recall. (No surprise to us there, but nice to hear from her.) She also sees a brilliant math mind, though one currently hampered by an inability to stay focused/attentive to any type of drill problems.

Further, she was very forgiving of his shortcomings. For example, she said she had been excusing his slowness all month because he has been on an antibiotic and she knew that might make him sleepier. Wow, that was thoughtful of her. It actually hadn't even occurred to me, that he might feel just lousy being hit by multiple medications, including one that he is still reacting to (allergic). Maybe she taught me a bit about backing off my own expectations. If so, I guess that was worth the whole evening of conferences this fall. So, I guess I will be going again in the spring.


Thanks to God for the kids having great teachers this year. It is nice to know they are in good hands.

Look what I can do!

Okay, okay, I am sure that James and Maggie went through this stage, too. But either it wasn't nearly as extreme, or we really do block out bad memories. Because I am sure I would be completely nuts by now if they had both done this to me.

There are no longer any conversations at our house. They are all drowned out by the constant one-way shouting from John:

"Look what I can do!"

Don't misunderstand me. It isn't all repetivite. Often, there is variation - John will start with someone's name. As in, "Mama, look what I can do!" This is a direct command to a selected prey. If the intended should fail to provide full visual surveillance of John as he performs his feat, the demand will be repeated, with increasing volume and ferocity. He is not above whacking his intended audience to get their cooperation.

Sometimes, the variation comes in the form of John extending his sense of self to his toys. Then, it becomes, "Mama, look what my plane can do!"
"Yes, John, I see it can drive sideways up the stairs."
"Mama, look what my plane can do!"

"Yes, John, I see it can drive backwards up the stairs."
"Mama, look what my plane can do!"

"Yes, John, I see it can still drive up the side of the stairs."
"Mama, look what my plane can do!"

"Yes, John."
"Mama, LOOK!

Much to his consternation, I have drawn the line firmly at car trips. Nothing will stop him from describing what he (or his toys) can do, but I have at least managed to convince him that I will not LOOK at the feats, except at red lights. Mostly convinced him. He needs regular reminders.

So I am left to wonder which will happen first:

1. John will win a trip to the E.R. with one of his feats (which most often include large jumps from or to high places).
2. Mom will go certifiably insane from this form of torture, something akin to sleep deprivation.
3. John will actually outgrow this phase.

A nice weekend

What I needed to do this weekend:

• grade 30 tests
• solve a design project that I assigned to students a month ago, to be sure I have covered necessary material before the semester ends
• grade 90 lab reports
• prepare lecture notes for 2 different classes on Monday
• prepare a meal plan for the week and grocery shop
• dig out the kitchen counter from the mound of accumulated papers (kids' school work, medical bills, church committee notes, and random junk mail)
• laundry
• rake and bag leaves
• clean the cobwebs from the corners of the house, where they are taking over

What I actually have done so far this weekend (Saturday night at 9:50 PM):

• spent all of Friday evening visiting with good friends we haven't seen since summer
• took a long nap in the recliner Saturday morning
• folded 2 baskets of laundry
• watched the 3 kids play a new make-believe game together that involved all of them getting dressed up in headphones and safety goggles and carrying around foam swords or plastic light sabers as they moved piles of toys around the house and negotiated which ones were in their "store" and which they were keeping
• sorted through all the baby clothes up to size 3T, collecting 3 bins full (18-gallon size) of boy-only clothing to pass along the new Harrison cousin due to arrive next month and making room for a few girl items that they are sending our way
• packed away, in the correct storage bins, a mountain of too-small clothing that has been pulled out of the kids' drawers and closets in the past few months and stacked on the laundry table, driving Jeremy and I nuts
• cheered Jeremy on as he finished raking and bagging all of the back-yard leaves and hung up all the bikes in the garage for winter
• got three kids bathed and ready for bed
• sat on the couch under a blanket with the whole family to watch a 1-hour documentary film about a family's 6-month trek across Canada via canoe, van, train, plane, sailboat (Finding Farley). We actually all found it pretty interesting, except maybe not John, who fell asleep instantly and kept me content by snuggling his sleeping, drooling body up next to me.
• caught up both of my blogs a bit
• oh, yeah! I also grabbed a kleenex and wiped up the dust over the boys' bedroom doorframe where it had collected into a long cobwebby thing hanging down to eye level. That almost counts as dusting the entire house, right?

So, some of my list got accomplished. Notice how little of it is Calvin work, compared to my "need to do" list. Oh well. Some semesters are like that. I canceled my first class of the semester on Friday afternoon. I had good reason - I am ahead in the syllabus, and the students used the day to stop in and talk to me individually about two big assignments they are working on. But still, it felt so good that I am in danger of wanting to just keep doing it until the end of the semester. Four weeks of classes to go and it seems to stretch out impossibly long right now. I have two more tests to write and grade before the end. I have another lab to conduct and then 35 more reports to grade. I have 12 design project reports coming in to grade. All before I can turn to writing final exams. But then, maybe I can finally make some progress on my research? Ahh, well.

So, if I don't think so much about the paid work that needs doing, I can focus on the good stuff I did get done at home this weekend. Tomorrow, I think I will read to the kids a while, and maybe bake cookies. That sounds like a lovely ending.

Warning...somewhat off-color post

Just now, as I was sitting in the kitchen, I heard John's cheerful voice, in a tone of discovery, calling to me from the bathroom upstairs.

"Mommy! Did you know that if you point your penis up the pee will shoot all over the house?"

Thank goodness this appears to have been a thought experiment only. Please, John, stick to simulations rather than labwork for your research.

John the lyricist

Jeremy has been playing a You-Tube video quite a bit for the kids lately. They like it because it is a long series of death-defying sports feats, set to an up-beat, catchy tune (Hadouken: Mecha Love). [EDIT: Jeremy suggests that I post the video with the sports, rather than the original video for the song:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vo0Cazxj_yc&feature=related )] Well, apparently, the tune is catchier than we knew.

Jeremy reported to me that he overheard John singing this tune to himself, but with new lyrics of his own making:

When I was 2
I fell down and couldn't get up
'Cause I lay there 4 billion years
My name is ... "Wah" ... "Wah" ... "Wah"

You know, it makes about as much sense to me as most pop lyrics - maybe John has hit on his career future.

Proud of James

We got a note in the mail this week that warmed our hearts. It was from the new principal at the kids' school (she started in July).

Dear Mr. and Mrs. VanAntwerp,

Your son is amazing! I have had opportunities to welcome him mornings or say hi now and then, but today I had the chance to talk briefly one-on-one with him ... what a delight! He is so articulate, reflective, sweet, sincere, and is being such a great friend to a classmante. I know you must be proud of him, but wanted to let you know that I am, too! He's doing great!

Sincerely,...

Yes, James, we are very proud of you. Keep up the good work, of working to become the person God has in mind for you to be.

Photo Shoot

Took the kids to Sears Photos today for portraits.  (View the online album from Sears)  It has been a while. I have, perhaps not surprisingly, been less diligent with each successive child about the "milestone" photos. The last studio shot I have of John is his 2-year birthday, and now he is 4 months past his 3rd birthday. It seemed like time.

I also decided to forgo the school photos this fall for James and Maggie, since I decided I could get as good a price with my coupon at Sears but then pick my favorites shots. While this was all true, I unfortunately did not give enough weight to my emotional weakness in buying photos.

In the past, I have begged Jeremy to attend at least the end of the photo shoots, when you have to sit at the studio computer and pick out the shots to buy. He has no trouble saying, "This one. Not that one. This one. This size, this many, no more, let's go." I, on the other hand, agonize over the shots. I almost always like at least two poses of each kid. Now, I don't need two poses. I only have one frame on the wall for each of them. But I hate the idea that I might get home and change my mind and wish that I had picked a different shot. So today, I got sucked into buying about $40 and 10 portrait sheets more than I really needed. Oh well. I have blown $40 on sillier things in my life. And they are beautiful kids, if I do say so myself. :)

John's first birthday party invitation

John got an invite to a friend's birthday party for this afternoon. It was his first such outing, and he was quite excited. He really had no idea what a party was before he went, but he knew that he wanted to go, if only because his older brother and sister made such a big deal out of the event on his behalf. "John, it will be really fun!" "You'll get to play and eat cake!"

It was the 5th birthday of his closest age-mate among our family friends who have so far obligingly had a boy-girl-boy at approximately the right ages to provide a playdate all in one family.  John was certainly the youngest kid at the party, but apparently didn't mind too much.

He came home proudly clutching his treat bag. He marched straight up to me and announced, "Mom, look what I got!" His chubby paw dove into the bag and emerged with ... a plastic soccer ball on a key chain! From the way his face beamed, I thought it might be pure gold. Or a working motorcycle. :)   He then spent the next 20 minutes engrossed in one of those hand-held plastic pinball toys, also from his bag. You know, the freebie kind that show up around the house as plentiful as hangers, but that no one every plays with. Well, apparently, I had just never found the target audience before.

Catching up on the kids

I carry a small notebook in my purse. It feels so matronly of me, maybe because my mother always did it. But I am now a "woman of a certain age," and I understand why she did it. I hate carrying a big purse around, but now I really need room for things like a notebook, because I can't remember a thing.

My notebook is a hodgepodge - Christmas shopping lists, websites a friend mentions, contact info for the person we are headed to visit, questions to ask at the next doctor's visit. But my favorite, and definitely most important, use for the notebook is to write down what the kids say. I forget things so quickly, and some of this I really prefer to capture.

Now, the trick is finding time to ever translate those treasures from the kids to this blog, my more permanent memory. So, the point of this entry is to catch up on a number of those. Therefore, I have included approximate dates, if I have them.

The Logic of Youth (December 28, 2009)
We were driving on a long car trip. James  (age 8) says, out of the blue, "Mom when I grow up, I want my license plate to say "I-BE-APE."

"Oh. Um, okay." [Long pause, then I continue.] "Um, why?"

"Because that's what I want to be. And I couldn't fit, 'I want to be a gorilla.'"

John, Out of the Blue...(March 25,2010)
"Mom? When I grow up, I'm going to be a superhero. With a cape."

Maggie Works Out the Ways of the World (March 25, 2010)
"Mom, are boy captains and girl captains on ships called different names?" (I have no idea. Either as to the answer, or as to why you would ask the question.)

A short time later, Maggie chose to explain some things to me instead of query me. Maybe she decided I wasn't much good as a source of info after I blew the last one.

"Mom, I think I know what started World War I. The pilgrims were slaves and came here on the Mayflower and the people who were slaving them followed and started fighting." (Ahh, now that reassures me that all that school tuition has been well worth it.)

Life is Hard (September 2010)
"Mom?" It is John's voice from the back of the van, in a plaintive, even whiny tone.

"Yes?" I respond.

"I ... I ... I wish I could get more bigger."

"You will, soon," I reassure him soothingly.

He replies in a near panic, "But I can't wait that long!"

(Maybe this is related to being left behind when the older kids get out of the car for school. More likely, it is about his frequent questioning about how old he has to be to drive a car. Or a motorcycle.)

Negotiations (September, 2010)
Maggie and John love to play pretend together, now. We were driving in the car, and Maggie was proudly (vainly?) wearing a very fancy dress - red velvet with white fur trim. I overheard this exchange between them.

Maggie: John, let's pretend that I'm Mrs. Santa and you're little Santa, and Dad is ... Ho Ho Ho... Santa Claus.
 John:  NO! (Pointing at Jeremy and with a tone of "I've got a better idea") Let's say he's a bad guy. He's a storm trooper. But he's on our side. He won't hurt us, but he has a missile.

First day of preschool

Speaking of underwear...

John had his first day of preschool today. He was actually nervous about it. I hadn't prepared myself for that possibility.

James and Margaret never gave preschool a second thought, since they had been going to daycare (which we always called "school" for them) since about 18 months, each. When other parents would talk about the "trauma" of the first day of school (preschool or kindergarten) I never really got it. Were they just over-dramatizing? No big deal at our house.

Well, I won't say it was a trauma for John, by any means. But it was a big deal. He asked questions all evening and through the bedtime routine. ("Mommy, will I go with no grown-ups? Why won't you be there? Will I get to play outside in the rocks? When will you pick me up?") He couldn't get to sleep last night. Even when I lay down with him (which usually puts him out within a few minutes), he tossed and turned next to me, muttering to himself about school. I was glad that I had given in yesterday at Meijer's with a small "school present-" a new package of underwear for the newly potty trained boy. (They were Star Wars Clone Wars, which he recognized himself though I am certain he can't yet read the words "Clone Wars" printed around the top band.)

Still, despite all his angst, he was happy to go this morning. He popped out of bed and dressed himself in the new underwear. (After that, who cares about clothing?) He asked Maggie to get him a bowl of cereal because he couldn't wait for Mom to get to the kitchen. When we arrived at preschool, he dashed into the gym with hardly a goodbye. As he had requested, I stayed to watch through the window for a few minutes, but he never once looked around for me. I watched the scene in pantomime through the glass, astonished that my Human Tornado was standing in his place in a circle, eyes riveted on the teachers, following every instruction for their "warm up exercises." Okay, once he did run off and swing on the Tarzan rope on his own. But mostly following instructions. Was this really my boy?

James, Maggie, and I took advantage of our morning alone to shoe shop. Amazingly, much easier without John along. 2.5 hours, 2 stores, 5 pairs of shoes (James-soccer; James-school, Maggie-gym, Maggie-school, Maggie-church) and 1 pair of socks (James-soccer), and less than $150. I felt like my world was once again manageable. In a certain way. (That 18-gallon tote of old shoes is finally starting to come in handy. Found soccer shoes for Maggie and tennis shoes for John for "free" from our hand-me-downs. At this rate it should only take one extra mortgage, not two, to keep all four kids clothed as they grow.)

We rushed back to pick up John at noon. Sadly, we discovered he was apparently the only one of the approximately 15 kids who had used his backpack (change of clothing). Ack. So much for the potty-training progress. At least we only came home with wet clothing, not dirty. Maybe they won't kick us out yet. :) 

Back on Friday morning for more glee and giggles. I am encouraged that this will work.

Proud parental moment?

I overheard today, coming from the back seat:

6-yr-old: "Hey, is that your shoe?"

3-yr-old: "Where?"

6-yr-old: "Under there."

3-yr-old: "Under where?"

6-yr-old: "I made you say 'underwear!'"

Two little voices utterly collapsed in giggles.

Now I confess, I am not usually one to get amused by potty humor, or any such sort of elementary-school nonsense. But the pure joy and delight these two shared over this joke (?) was completely infectious. I found myself laughing out loud as I waited at the stoplight. Ah, the warm fuzzy moments of parenting.

Pursuit of completion

The other day, James picked up the first Harry Potter book and began reading.

"James," I asked, "haven't you already finished that book?"

"Well, Uncle Jim read it to us, so I have heard the story, but I haven't read it myself. So now I am going to."

A day later he asked what the date was. When I told him, he did some quick mental calculating, and then said, "Well, then, I read all seven Harry Potter books in 24 days."

"You are done already? You just started that book."

"Well the first one is one of the shortest," he explained, matter-of-factly.

Check. Mission accomplished.

Things that make you say "Hmm..."

I overheard John (3 yrs) say today, "Daddy, if I were not a person, I would want to be an astronaut, like you."

Margaret is reading

It is just so much fun, as a parent, to watch this light come on. It has seemed like she has been ready for ages. Even a year ago, as she started kindergarten, I thought she would be reading "any day." But she seemed reluctant. She loved to read the little memorized poems that she brought home from school, but otherwise, wanted to be read to.

Over the summer, I saw her grow bolder. If I read a simple picture book to her a few times, then she would proudly volunteer to read it back to me. After that, she started volunteering to read these books to John. The repetition seemed to build her confidence quickly. Still, she was not willing to venture into "new" material.

Then, this week, she turned 6, and everything changed. I woke up one morning this week and found her already awake. Instead of slipping down and checking out the TV, like she would usually do if first awake, she was lying on her bed amidst a pile of picture books. She proudly announced to me that she had been reading them all.

I was really surprised in church today. I always try to get the kids to follow along with the service in the printed bulletin, and to sing the songs with the printed words (either in the bulletin or the hymnal). Each week, I use my finger to trace along in the hymnal with the words, in the hopes that James or Maggie will decide to pay attention and try to read the words.

I have almost never gotten any response from James, so I was almost about to abandon this endeavor, deciding kids just weren't ready until they could do it all on their own. (Then again, James the "child of many thoughts" doesn't really sing along in school choir programs either. He knows the songs, as evidenced by practices at home, but at the concert he just gazes about the room, in his own world.) 

Still, I often forget that each child is different. So I was stunned today when Maggie joined in - loudly. She entered into a hymn she didn't know, in the middle of a phrase, singing lustily if not remotely in relation with the melody. She was beaming and my heart was soaring. Keeping up with a song while reading unfamiliar words was truly a new reading milestone, and she and I both knew it. We were both aware that this opens up a whole new level of participation for her at church - and I am as excited about that as she is. Now, if she could just teach James to read the hymns.  (wink)

P.S. James has become a bit of a reading maniac himself. His Uncle Jim read out loud to the kids while we were all on vacation - the first Harry Potter book. Since we returned 3 weeks ago, James has plowed through the next Potter books, almost non-stop. He is almost done with number 6. Thank goodness for fencing camp in the afternoons last week or he might have molded himself into the recliner by now.

Margaret is 6

Margaret's sixth birthday was quite an extended celebration. Several months ago, I learned that I would need to travel for work right around the time of her birthday. The first proposal had me getting home too late to see her on her actual day. I asked her about this, and she bravely said that she would understand if I had to be gone, and we could celebrate when I got back. Thank goodness I trusted Mommy instinct on this one rather than her words, and also that I have some understanding and accomodating co-workers. Through some finagling, I managed to arrange flights to arrive home Sunday evening, just before her Monday birthday.

Then, shortly before the trip, Jeremy decided to throw a "family" party on Sunday, when those from out-of-town could visit. The list quickly grew, to perhaps the biggest gathering we have ever hosted: his parents, grandparents, sister & 3 kids, my dad, brother, aunt/uncle, aunt, and grandmother. With Jeremy and our 3 kids, that made for a full house. Unfortunately, Maggie now felt that this was a key part of her birthday and so felt betrayed that I wouldn't be there. (Sometimes you can't win with the mommy guilt.) Fortunately, having 18 people in the house seemed to keep her distracted enough when the day finally arrived.

I made it to the tail end of Jeremy's bash (the younger guests were still here). Then on Monday, Margaret wanted to have friends over. I had invited her friends before I left. Another example of Mommy guilt, I think, because she had been begging all summer to have a sleepover party. I had been saying, "Probably not" all summer, telling her she was too young still. But then, as I prepared for my trip, and she was acting clingy about my departure, of course I relented. After all, I hadn't been much older when I had my first slumber party, had I? (I don't actually recall. Which is why I need to use this blog to document the age of Maggie's first slumber party, so that I can talk her into letting her daughter have one someday!)

I was surprised that of the 3 girls who could come to the party, 2 wanted to stay over (and 1 RSVP'd that they would take us up on the offer to go home at bedtime). I was even more surprised that when her dad showed up at 8:00, that girl begged to stay after all. I was even more surprised that the evening passed without major incident. One girl got teary during a sad part of the movie ("Babe, Pig in the City") but the other girls were very caring and helpful, and she soon recovered with a hug and change of movie (to "Cinderella"). Other than that, there were no tears, no bed-wetting, no generally unpleasant consequences. And the only vomit came from James, who overate pizza, cake, and ice cream, and was asleep long before the younger girls.

The next morning the girls were still cheerful and playing together great. In fact, they all begged to extend the day beyond the 11 AM party's end. Here, I did put my foot down, knowing that the inevitable meltdown was coming (it did, around 4 PM for Maggie), and knowing that I didn't want it multiplied by other little girls. All in all, a rousing success. I might even try it again sometime. :)

What is a church?

Warning: This post is a random, unrevised roaming of my thoughts. I would say a work in progress, but I don't know if I will ever make progress on it. Still, I needed to put shape to some of these ideas. Read at your own risk.

Tonight I met with our church's Worship Committee and Liturgy Team to view a video: Ancient Future Worship by Robert Webber. We only made it through about half of the video due to engaging discussion. We got really stuck on the section about "hospitality." It was interesting to hear the differing experiences of the 9 people gathered.

We revisited a concept that has stumped our Worship Committee many times in the past. Some people relay the glowing reports they have heard from visitors, about how our church is an incredibly welcoming church. Others, like myself, express a profound dismay at the lack of true Christian fellowship available even to long-time attenders, let alone newcomers.

The issue of post-church coffee time always is a focal point of such discussions. Our pastor relayed a tale that saddened him, that a family left our church after 7 years because they still didn't feel as though they had ever really been invited to become part of the body. One long-time member (40-ish, single, male) replied in some astonishment, "Oh, come on. You have a directory and a phone. Reach out yourself if you need to meet someone. I don't want to be cornered at coffee time and queried about my week. I just want to run. I am ready to leave." Now, to be fair, this man (who I have come to cherish during our 2 years of work together on this committee) is a lover of hyperbole and enjoys playing the curmudgeon. So he may have been overstating his case a bit. But, he goaded me all the same into a response.

"I totally disagree with you. We have had the same experience here In our first year in town, we probably visited a dozen churches. This was perhaps the least friendly. Then, after we were here probably about 5 years, we still had made no significant or lasting connections. We tried to find ways to get involved, but felt rebuffed at every attempt. Small groups we tried to join were full. Nobody asked us to serve in any way - we didn't even know what service opportunities were available. So, we started shopping, for nearly a year. Even now, after 11 years, I find it extremely uncomfortable during coffee time, because I rarely find a conversation, and if I do, it is painfully brief - so little to discuss."

A woman about my age piped up that she doesn't always feel up to a conversation after church herself. She is glad now to have a "job" of supervising her kids as they peruse the library, since it relieves her of a sense of duty to engage in chit-chat. Well, I could identify with that. Since John became mobile, coffee time is certainly less awkward for me. I am always too busy finding John to worry about whether I am standing dumbly and alone in the corner again. But I still long for the fellowship of the church we attended in Illinois, where we could hardly make it into the service or home for lunch because of all the "chit chat." I confess that I longed for that connection with our Christian family as much as for the time of worship itself.

After my various stories, the pastor looked at me in some bemusement and asked, "I must admit, I find myself wondering why you are still here after these experiences with our church." (Thankfully, this was asked in a welcoming tone implying that he was, in fact, glad that we are still here.) And I have to admit, I often wonder this, too. From all outward appearances, we are now firmly ensconced in this body. There is much here to love. And yet, I find that I have a roving heart.

I voted yesterday, in the church just down the street from us. I lingered after casting my ballot, gazing at the "family" photos all over the walls of this church. I found myself longing for what I saw captured there. So, on top of the pastor's comment, I had to wonder, what is it that I am really looking for?

Well, I think I have to go back, and trace our various decision points, many based on gut instinct. We first chose this church because it was the closest one to our house - we could walk to it. I couldn't explain why at the time, but I had always wanted to belong to a church that I could walk to. We liked the preaching, but the pastor soon left. I was uncomfortable with the lack of any apparent leadership roles for women. But, we kept coming back to the church closest to home. We couldn't be sure anything else was better, so why drive far away to get it? So, we stayed and trusted that the fellowship would follow.

It didn't. Eventually, after years, we looked around again. But now, we found we were comparing the welcoming hospitality of strangers at new churches to the friendly indifference of familiar faces. I suppose leaping from the pain you know to the unknown was just too intimidating. As I wrestled with the decision to leave, I was struck by an overheard comment: "If you find the perfect church, don't join it. You will ruin it." Convicted, I decided that I should stick it out and make it work at our current church. If I didn't feel fellowship, I could work to fix that. But jumping ship would be the equivalent of spiritual consumerism, not Christian fellowship and maturity. So, in that pivotal time, we committed. Finally, for the first time, though we had been members for years, I had decided in my heart that I was staying and would make it work.

Interestingly, and perhaps or perhaps not coincidentally, I think this is when things started to change, if slowly. I was asked to join the Nursery Committee. A terrible fit for me, but I took it. It was a start. At least I learned a few names and invested a bit of time. Then, Jeremy was asked to be a deacon. Now, our names were known, at least. I was invited to join Worship Committee. As part of Council, Jeremy was instrumental in changes that allowed for women to take on more substantial leadership roles. Women elders had been "allowable" for some time, but it never practically occurred. So, as Jeremy's term ended, I found myself selected as the first ever female elder at this church. Suddenly, I was charged with spiritual and practical leadership of the church I had been only ambivalently attached to for so long.  We have begun not merely inhabiting this church, but shaping it and forming it as we also grow and mature in Christ. My commitment is now made in the form of official vows, which I do not take lightly. We are here. So, yesterday, why did I still look longingly at the photos of the church family at the church just down the road from our new home?

Ultimately, I think I cannot underestimate the role of community in a church. Church is not a place to "drop in" and sing a song and hear a sermon. Church is a living body. It is organic as well as spiritual as well as physical.  As a child, my family belonged for some time to a church in the next town, a 15 minute drive from home. Most of the other families were from the church's town, and the kids attended school together. The kids might walk together to visit at someone's house while their parents stayed late for an adult education session. They belonged. Even as I made an occasional friend, I never felt that I did belong there. My invitations were rare, and left me feeling like a fish out of water as I didn't know the neighborhoods or routines. A middle schooler has so little tolerance for these feelings.

The first church I picked "myself" was our church in Illinois. We went there the first week and never went anywhere else. We were embraced immediately. We knew people and they knew us. We visited, in and out of church. It was still a 15-minute drive, but I was content. And bereaved when we left. I think as we came to our new town, I was looking to fill this hole.

Perhaps that is why I so longed for a church that I could walk to. I didn't want a church to visit on Sunday mornings. I wanted to place ourselves in a place and be a part of it. I wanted to belong fully to a community, to be part of the "in crowd," even.

Now, 11 years later, I am part of the in-crowd, in many ways. Jeremy and I have both held leadership roles.  We are known by more people than we know in return. We love and are loved by many in our church. So why do I still sometimes feel a wandering heart? Is it physical? We have moved to a new neighborhood. Do I just long to again be able to walk to our church? Or perhaps I suffer from a deep-seated inability to commit? Am I still, at some level, more interested in what church can do for me than in what I can offer? Or perhaps, I am in love with a fantasy. The photos of the nearby church showed a true family - folks sharing their lives. I may claim to want that, but am I willing to give up something I already have to make room for that?

In the end, I have raised more questions for myself than answers. But I think the questions are important. And I think the answers are things that I should seek to find in community - my church community. Whatever that might mean.

Life lessons

The kids always want to hear "the plans" at bedtime. This means, in addition to stalling on sleep, hearing all that will happen in their lives in the next few days.

Tonight, I was explaining things to John. "Tomorrow night, Grandpa Tom will come stay with us. In the morning, Mom and Dad will leave very early, before you are awake, so Grandpa will be your babysitter all day until we get back."

"Where are you going?"

"We are going to visit our friend who is very sad."

"Why is she sad?"

"Because her husband died."

"And can I go?"


"No, it is a very long ride in the car. You stay with Grandpa and we will see you when we get back."

"I would wipe her tears away," John said plaintively. Only a 3-year-old's offer could be so poignantly pure.
 
"Mommy, are you sad?"
 
"Yes, honey, I am very sad, too."
 
"Will you hug her?"
 
'Yes, I promise."

Our family expands

John may understand more about the new baby than I gave him credit for. I didn't think he was really aware at all. But he at least understands enough to mimic Maggie.

Tonight at dinner, he said, "Can I have a baby, too?"

"No, honey, only mommies can have babies. You can have a baby doll, though."

"No, I want a baby in my tummy."

"Well, only mommies can do that, not little boys. But when the baby comes, he or she will be part of the family, and be part of all of us, including you."

"I can't wait for the new baby. When will the new baby come?"

"Not for a long time, still. After Christmas."

"No! Not Christmas! Valentine's Day."

"Yes, you are right, Valentine's Day."

"Is he ready now? Is he packing his bag?"

I couldn't answer this one - James and Maggie were laughing too loud.

Kids at play

You can legitimately suspect that your family bedtime stories have involved too much J.R.R. Tolkien when you overhear this from the (almost) 9-year-old as the kids play around the sandbox:

"Okay, let's call this chain of islands 'Ordroon' which in the language of the people who live here means 'Fire Mountain.'"

John takes Mom for a walk

John was in a rare form today. He couldn't wait to get home from swimming so that he could get outside on his scooter. I figured it would be a short walk, since the swimming lesson usually wears him out a bit. Off we went.

He took off at breakneck speed toward the main road, 1/2 a block away. He had been hearing fire trucks leaving the station around the corner all morning and I expected that he wanted to go see them. John, of course, had a different agenda. He turned the other direction and headed in toward the college.

First, I was impressed that he remembered the way so well. (We had walked/scootered in together last week when Jeremy and I had to make a quick changeover at the office.) Then, I was surprised that he wanted to make the entire 0.5 mile-trip in. But, he made a beeline, then turned in at the door to my building, waiting expectantly for me to open it.

I explained that we weren't actually going in to switch with Dad this time, since I (unfortunately) hadn't planned to be here and so wasn't dressed in work clothes and hadn't brought any lunch. John was not impressed with my logic. He marched me inside the building. He set off at a run for my office. He couldn't remember which door it was, but helpfully stopped at each one and either peered in or asked in a loud voice, "Is this your office, Mommy?" So much for an incognito walk through my "workspace" while dressed convincingly in my bedraggled Mommy outfit. Where is a phone booth these days when a SuperMom needs one? I caught up to him and explained that I didn't even have my office keys with me, so we couldn't go in my office. Not a deterrent to John.

He came instead to Daddy's office, and began banging on the door to be let in. Turns out he remembered writing all OVER the wall in Mommy's office last week (nice big, clean white board) and was not going to be denied the repeat experience by something so trivial as Mom forgetting her keys. (I continue to live in the vain hope that he absorbed the repeated instruction that writing on the wall with a marker is only allowed at the office. And not on the concrete block beneath the white board.)

Mission accomplished, he then took me on a walk of the building (we dropped off some mail and other errands) then returned to pick up Daddy and walk him home.

By the time we got home, he was ready to dig in the garden. I, however, was tired.

I later in the day saw a woman running, with a dog on a leash trailing behind. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her poor dog was being dragged along behind her, appearing barely able to keep up. The dog kept skipping a step or two to increase his cadence and avoid strangulation by the leash. Somehow, after my walk led by John on his scooter, I felt oddly sympathetic to that dog.

Odd coincidence

On Monday mornings, I take John (2 yrs) to swim lessons at the local health club. While he swims for 30 minutes and then plays in the hot shower for 30 minutes, I try to catch up a bit on work. Today, I was reviewing the textbook section that I would be teaching from later in the day. It seemed like standard enough poolside reading to me:
Transport Processes and Separation Process Principles (Includes Unit Operations) 4th edition

First, a friend (fellow mother from James's original Lamaze class playgroup) walked by and commented that the reading didn't look like much fun to her. She kept on walking.

Then, a woman I didn't know edged closer and closer, staring at me. This was a bit more unsettling than it might otherwise have been because of all the social mores involved in the fact that I was sitting fully clothed outside John's shower stall while she was fully nude as she approached me after her own shower.

When she realized that I had noticed her staring at me, she spoke. "What class are you reading that for?" she asked with some incredulity.

"I am teaching at ______ College. In engineering."

"Oh, I am teaching a class using the same book right now. At WSU."

Sure, why not. There are probably at least 5 women in the state of Michigan teaching a chemical engineering course right now. Why not have two of them be using the same text and meet over a public shower? (Never mind that this requires her to have a 2.5 hr commute to work, which she has apparently been doing for the past several years.)

Lesson learned? Mixing work time and Mom time in my profession tends to be a bit of a hindrance to my meeting and getting along smoothly with other women. But never discount the possibility for the random statistical event.

Do you hear what I hear?

"The first duty of love is to listen."



The pastor this morning used this quote to open his sermon on the sense of hearing in our relationship with God. The quote struck me this morning in how Mom reflected God's love to me throughout my life.



When I heard the quote this morning, it resonated throughout me. First, as a reminder to me that God is always listening, and always understands, even better than we do and are able to communicate. Then, it struck me that this also was Mom's gift - her personal brilliance in parenting. She wasn't perfect, by any means. I don't wish to fall into the trap of idolizing the dead, flattening them into a dreary character of all black and white. But Mom had love for us (and for so many others in her life), and she showed it by listening.


I have always admired my Mom as a parent. Even as a preteen, I longed for the day when I could become a mom myself, because of two main reasons. First, I felt both Mom and Dad were good parents and would be even better grandparents, and I was anxious to get to share that experience with them. Second, I was eager to enact myself the lessons in mothering that I had lived each day with my own mom.






(Mom making Easter Eggs with Maggie, 2007)


So, of course, with these motivations so strongly involved as I went into parenting, I feel it all the more keenly when I see myself falling short of what I have learned from Mom. I find that I have two main struggles: Attention and Patience.

I live in a cluttered mind. My attention is so often inward, where there are stories and scripts always running - both looking forward and into the future. Jeremy and I joke about it as we once heard this perfectly described as having "an active inner life." I am generally comfortable in this - it is who I am. Jeremy has gotten used to the fact that I might be miles away even when I appear fully present. (It was the effects of this personality trait that led me to bow out of serving with our church's preschoolers - I found I could contentedly watch a 2-year-old unwind an entire cassette tape, one finger turn at a time - and never really process that I should intervene.) Yet, of course, much more significantly, it can interfere with my ability to really listen to the people I am with. One place I feel this shortcoming is in my parenting.

I also am a bit of a hothead. I guess the most classic example of this is from my college days. As a senior, I should have developed enough self-control to at least pretend to be polite to my professors. But I had one particularly irritating instructor, at least in my mind. It wasn't just the fact that I felt that he wasn't helping us in the ways I was sure we students we deserved; it was that he seemed to know that and take gleeful pride in it - some sort of smug superiority that he knew the better way to teach us for our own good. So I can still shamefully recall, more than 15 years later, how I one day shouted at him in class, "And where did that number come from? Did you just pull it out of your butt?"

So, this feistiness serves well in some contexts, actually. I can be the one to say that the emperor has no clothes. But parenting does not seem to be one of these beneficial contexts. How often I find myself being impatient (and unkind) with my children. I can snap and yell all day long, alternating with remorseful over-kindness. I sometimes feel like the classic abusive spouse, storming and raging and then trying to make up for it the next day with a shower of presents and affection. Oh, how I have wrestled with myself and with God to forgive me and to grant me greater patience for the next day.

Mom, on the other hand, seemed to be made of patience. She must have gotten angry - she was human, after all. But I recall only a few instances of her anger showing, and those times stand out to me as being almost comical, as if a rabbit suddenly decided to rage ineffectually against a wolf. Rather, Mom greeted most things with a deep breath, a long pause, a slow chewing on her bottom lip. And then, she got to work. She started solving things. Because that was what she did.

But how did she know the right solutions? Well, as it hit me this morning in church, I think she so often knew because, out of love, she listened. She listened well, and she listened all the time.

As the Bible exhorts, she was quick to listen and slow to speak (James 1:19). Thus, I have no memories of her yelling in the way that I so often snap at my own children. She was busy listening to us instead. If my kids are slow to carry out my instructions, I yell. Mom listened, and figured out what was distracting us, and gently removed that first. If my kids disappoint me with their whining or selfishness or thoughtlessness, I yell. Mom listened, and heard that we needed a nap, or food, or a hug after a difficult day. If my kids express angst about the world and how it works, I struggle with wanting to jump in and take away the hurt by just erasing it. Mom listened, and just let us be sad for a while before the inevitable problem-solving session began.

I recall Mom listening this way with my own child, James. He is a child who feels things deeply. Even at five, he was given to bouts of despair over a situation. Unfortunately, at five, he wasn't always able to articulate exactly what it was that was upsetting him. (For that matter, how many adults are able to do this?) He was one night in a self-pitying funk that quickly dissolved into tears, shouting, a declaration of "I wish I didn't live in this family," and a retreat to his bed. I was feeling fed up with the tantrums and quite happy to leave him to his own medicine. Luckily for James, Mom was staying with us that night. She quietly went in and just rubbed his back. When he was calmer, she started asking him questions. And she just let him talk. And perhaps most importantly, she took his answers seriously. I wish I had saved the piece of paper she wrote on that night. As she listened to James, she wrote for him in two lists - "Reasons why I should leave this family," and "Reasons why I should stay." (Grandma Di's cooking as a reason to stay is actually the only item I still recall. That still makes me smile.) Mom later handed me the list as if she were giving me the Rosetta Stone to James. I know at the time, I pooh-poohed it. James was in a funk. Kids do that. He would get over it. But perhaps Mom, better than I, understood the truism expressed by author Orson Scott Card in his introduction to the novel, Ender's Game. (Card had been criticized for writing about a young boy using the voice of an adult. Card responded that this had been deliberate: as he thought back over his life, he could not remember a single moment when he felt anything less than a full human being, with less than full needs and wants and emotions. A child's thoughts and emotions are not child-sized to the child.) So Mom really listened to James, then took him seriously enough to write down what she heard to try to pass it along to those who could effect change for him. We didn't ever hear from James again about wanting to leave the family, and we never discussed it again. Perhaps knowing that someone, in this case his Grandma Jean, had really heard him was all he needed.

(Mom reading to James, 2003 )





I have one beautiful adult memory of Mom's listening to me. Some months after losing my first pregnancy, I recall Mom saying some things that hit me as cruel. She just didn't seem to get it, how I was feeling. For a while, I held my tongue and simmered, feeling wretched that even my own mother couldn't seem to empathize with me. One day, I finally tried to explain to her, tearfully, one small piece of my pain. I explained how it was hard for me that the world had moved on before me - I had faced the due date of my baby and besides Jeremy, nobody else cared, or even knew. Now, I don't think I was very gentle with Mom. It has never been my style, after all. (Remember how kind I was to the irritating professor?) But she didn't respond in anger.

Rather, Mom, as usual, was slow to speak and quick to listen. I remember her simply apologizing to me that day that she hadn't understood. But it was months later when she proved her apology to me. I knew that she really had been listening, when the anniversary of the due date of my first child again arrived, along with a card from Mom. She remembered. And she remembered every year after that - with a card, a small gift, something. Even after my heart had healed enough to move on, to not face that day with dread each year, I still could count on Mom remembering.

Mom is two years gone now, and my heart feels as if it will never heal from this blow. For when she was on the earth with us, Mom demonstrated her love to me through attention and patience, which allowed her to truly listen.

Mornings with John

It is Wednesday, 8 AM. James and Maggie left half an hour ago with the carpool for school. John, as he occasionally does, slept in through the noise of the big kids getting ready, and has just stumbled out of bed.

He stands at the top of the stairs for a few moments, staring sleepily. He often does this on waking, as if in these first quiet moments of the day, he would prefer to have the world come acknowledge him than for him to have to go engage the world. I don't mind, as this is a sign that he will be amenable to snuggling, which is getting more rare.

I hug John tightly and carry him down to the kitchen to sit on my lap. He rests contentedly for a minute. Then, over my shoulder, he spies the table and what it holds. "Mommy, I want to go eat that cereal." Suddenly, he is fully awake.

"That cereal" is the what remains in the bowl that James had to leave behind when carpool arrived. I give John a look and he giggles. He and I both know that he would rather eat James's or Maggie's leftover cereal than his own new bowl, anyday. Perhaps it is his innate personality - the independent streak, the boy who wants to make his own way in the world. Perhaps it is the 3rd child personality - he is used to taking what he can get when he can get it. Perhaps he just likes the connection to his older siblings, whom we misses while they are away all day.

Whatever the reason, there is no surer way to get him to eat a good breakfast. He wolfs down half a bowl of corn chex (which he would never ask for or eat on his own), then is grinning and ready to start the day.