Well, here I am on vacation. This is a relatively unusual occurance (our last vacation was eleven years ago) and I'm reveling in the opportunity! We got bumped on a flight from a work trip last June, which gave us two free tickets to wherever Alaska flies, then my wonderful, amazing sister Sarah offered to watch our kids if we could go during spring break when hers were off. We had only about 5 weeks to plan the whole deal, and would you believe the only warm place Alaska flies that would take our ticket during spring break was Los Cabos, Mexico??? So with a rush to get passports and a million other details, it became obvious this trip was a God thing.
So, we watch the sun rise over the Sea of Cortez, lay in the sun by the pool/ ocean, and two days ago during lunch we saw a whale cavorting with her calf. She jumped out of the water at least nine times. It was spectacular! We went on sunset dinner cruise, compliments of the resort, on which we saw Lands' End, the window to the Pacific, and more whales. Then we watched Mexican dancers and had an amazing meal.
Yesterday we went to Cabos San Lucas on the bus, about 20 miles, with many stops, and part of it we were standing. I had just put on suntan lotion, so I was having trouble holding on. What an interesting experience that was. The resort helped us get these tickets to go on a large catamaran for a three hour tour that included a stop for snorkeling, lunch, and sea kayaking. This was very cool.
Afterward, we did the souvenier thing, still trying to learn how it all works. Tony especially disliked this part, as its tough to figure the dollar/ peso conversion while dickering, and wondering if these poor people are getting enough to stay alive. I learned to treat it like a game, and thought it was kind of fun. We ate dinner in yet another ristorante with one wall and barely a roof, but the food was decent. I must go, so I'll tell you more later.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Beware The Borrowers
The Borrowers
You have to know me. I am the home school mom who shuns the Little Mermaid and Dragon Tales. We turn off Sesame Street in my house if they start talking about witches or sorcerers. But there’s one set of fantasy characters I can’t help believing in with all my heart. In fact, as the mom of thirteen, my faith has grown over the years. I believe in the Borrowers.
You probably read the books as a child. You know, the supposedly fictitious little people who lived under the floorboards of the English country house and later lived in a shoe in the country. Long before Honey I Shrunk the Kids, the Borrowers were doing what they do best, making a living unseen by human eyes by borrowing items we humans thought we had misplaced.
In our first house, my husband and I didn’t have any Borrowers. It was small, and at first there were just the two of us. When I set down a book I was reading, for instance, it would remain in the same place, bookmark unmoved, until I picked it up again. In those days, I never paid a library fine, never spent any time looking for a pencil or a safety pin. My dishes did not migrate around the house. I never found a fork under the computer table, for instance.
But I digress. As a young mom, I had little trouble with the Borrowers. Occasionally they would pop up to take some significant item. The Borrowers in that house really only liked infant socks and an occasional toddler shoe. Oh, and sometimes they enjoyed sifting through my bills and papers when I wasn’t looking. Everything else was carefully managed by one energetic and well-meaning neurotic mother…me. They couldn’t get much past me. I was vigilant. I wanted to set out traps, but when my husband looked at me like I was… inhumane? I gave up the idea, albeit a bit resentfully.
Those missing socks got me though. Every time I would dress the baby he would be missing a sock. The cheeky critters were bold enough to assault my little ones whenever they were out of my sight. Every day I would feed socks two by two into the washer, and every day I would fold the dryer load and find that some were missing. I knew the Borrowers lived somewhere behind the washer and dryer, but I never understood how they got in there and back out safely, what with all the spinning and hot water and such. And what did they do with little socks and shoes?? I had fantasies of moving the washer to find them, wearing completely mismatched shirts and hats Homily had cut and sewn out of infant socks, using the toddler shoe as a child’s bed, perhaps? I often wondered if that missing Christmas card from Aunt Lou was the wallpaper in their makeshift home. I guess now I’ll never know.
That early batch of Borrowers were lightweights compared to the ones who now infest our house. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that our current home is completely inundated with little people who take whatever they want whenever they want. Like a hoard of greedy mice, they live in every crack and corner, ready to pounce on anything that is ever out of our sight, if only for a second. Though these Borrowers still have a penchant for baby shoes and socks, nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) is now safe from their thievery. If anyone in the family lays down a book for any amount of time, for instance, that book immediately disappears. Apparently the Borrowers in this present house are avid readers, because the books usually reappear in the oddest places, such as under the bed, on the porch swing, in the cereal cupboard, or on the trampoline the day after it rains. On more than one memorable occasion, stolen items have been found in our fifteen passenger van in the trash bins or out in the garage. How they do it, I’ll never know, but these Borrowers display creativity that belies their appetite for Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. I hate to admit it, but library fees are common in our household. In fact we now consider fines the price we have to pay for allowing the Borrowers to remain un-confronted for so long. Vigilance is out the window. We now live to make peace with the Borrowers.
Its cowardly I know, but as an older mom with only so much energy, I have to pick which battles I choose to fight. In fact, my current goal is to purchase enough pacifiers, pencils, earrings, socks, and paper clips that the house actually has a saturation point. Drop a pacifier and can’t find it? No matter. You’ll probably find one the Borrowers are finished with under the couch cushion. It takes all my power of denial to keep from asking where it’s been. In our house, when it comes to the Borrowers, the rule is “Don’t Ask; Don’t tell.” And I would add: “Try not to imagine.”
I used to ask questions when, as vigilant Mom, I felt it was my role to interrogate the last person to see the missing items. Such interrogation was always pointless. Even in those simpler days when less was going on and possessions were fewer, I quickly realized all questioning was essentially futile. My children, of course, were then and continue to be, careful and conscientious about these matters. They consistently put things away where they belong without prompting except in the occasional instance when I happen to be in the room and watching them. At those times, they might forget, and I would remind. But all other times out of my sight they are independently perfectionists about their possessions. Just ask them.
In fact, to hear my honest and trustworthy children tell it, the Borrowers we began to harbor were a dangerous lot, indeed. These aggressive Borrowers have even taken perfectly sharpened pencils out of my dutiful students’ hands as they are working on assignments at the kitchen table. But since I have taken to buying the thousand-pack at Costco, my students only have minor inconvenience in sharpening another from the drawer. Since the stories began to rival the stuff of nightmares, I stopped asking. And I’m a much happier woman for having done so.
I’ve taken to offering a bounty for missing items we need, say a penny for a pencil. In this way, we’ve managed to wrest a few items away from the tiny robbers. But the majority of small possessions remain lost to us forever, or at least until the Borrowers are done with them. The only problem with offering pennies is that the Borrowers are especially fond of taking those also when they get out into circulation. The Borrowers are particularly mean to little children when it comes to pennies, often taking them out of pockets and even hands.
Although I live to make peace with them, the Borrowers still make my family’s life much harder than it needs to be. Many a college homework assignment has disappeared when it was almost finished, and had to be redone in a late-night scurry. Besides library fines, there is the inevitable financial drain they impose. I still hate the thought that I am supporting such a large army of remorseless wastrels, but what else can I do? If only I had the time and courage to call in the fumigators.
Sometimes, I am amazed at the Borrowers’ daring and ingenuity. How do they get inside the refrigerator to eat the half of brownie I brought home from the restaurant? While don’t they eat the leftover chili instead? I can imagine the feast they have, the little buggers, but still it fascinates to think they got in and out without being seen or trapped inside.
These days the sock question is a complete loss. In my house, a person is lucky to have any clean laundry, and two socks that fit (sort-of) even if they are your big brother’s and you found them under the bed. Matching is completely immaterial… and overrated.
And there are still some things I can’t imagine any Borrower would value. What do they do with all the silverware, for instance? Ten years ago, my husband bought me three sets of nice silverware in a pattern I chose. I was so thrilled. But today, I have ten forks, all mismatched, that I picked up from Goodwill. I figure what’s the use having nice things when the Borrowers will take them in a wink? And why do they like forks and spoons best? Every one knows knives are more useful. When we have company or the boys come home from college, somebody has to use plastic, but I don’t care. I draw the line at buying nice silverware if it’s only to be used for weapons and catapults and such and never seen by human eyes again.
And what do they do with earrings? Why do they like the pearls I got for birthdays and anniversary best? Is there some currency in their simple society or are they used as marbles for a child’s game? Who do they call on the cell phone before they return it to my coat pocket or under my chair? These questions could drive me crazy if I let them. Soccer shin guards and jerseys seem to be Borrower favorites, along with brushes and ponytail holders. As the mom of eight daughters, I have spent enough on ponytail holders to shoot a Borrower to the moon. I hope he likes it up there.
I end this confession to get ready for church. You’ll recognize me there. I’m the one with mismatched socks, one earring, and a van load of happy kids.
You have to know me. I am the home school mom who shuns the Little Mermaid and Dragon Tales. We turn off Sesame Street in my house if they start talking about witches or sorcerers. But there’s one set of fantasy characters I can’t help believing in with all my heart. In fact, as the mom of thirteen, my faith has grown over the years. I believe in the Borrowers.
You probably read the books as a child. You know, the supposedly fictitious little people who lived under the floorboards of the English country house and later lived in a shoe in the country. Long before Honey I Shrunk the Kids, the Borrowers were doing what they do best, making a living unseen by human eyes by borrowing items we humans thought we had misplaced.
In our first house, my husband and I didn’t have any Borrowers. It was small, and at first there were just the two of us. When I set down a book I was reading, for instance, it would remain in the same place, bookmark unmoved, until I picked it up again. In those days, I never paid a library fine, never spent any time looking for a pencil or a safety pin. My dishes did not migrate around the house. I never found a fork under the computer table, for instance.
But I digress. As a young mom, I had little trouble with the Borrowers. Occasionally they would pop up to take some significant item. The Borrowers in that house really only liked infant socks and an occasional toddler shoe. Oh, and sometimes they enjoyed sifting through my bills and papers when I wasn’t looking. Everything else was carefully managed by one energetic and well-meaning neurotic mother…me. They couldn’t get much past me. I was vigilant. I wanted to set out traps, but when my husband looked at me like I was… inhumane? I gave up the idea, albeit a bit resentfully.
Those missing socks got me though. Every time I would dress the baby he would be missing a sock. The cheeky critters were bold enough to assault my little ones whenever they were out of my sight. Every day I would feed socks two by two into the washer, and every day I would fold the dryer load and find that some were missing. I knew the Borrowers lived somewhere behind the washer and dryer, but I never understood how they got in there and back out safely, what with all the spinning and hot water and such. And what did they do with little socks and shoes?? I had fantasies of moving the washer to find them, wearing completely mismatched shirts and hats Homily had cut and sewn out of infant socks, using the toddler shoe as a child’s bed, perhaps? I often wondered if that missing Christmas card from Aunt Lou was the wallpaper in their makeshift home. I guess now I’ll never know.
That early batch of Borrowers were lightweights compared to the ones who now infest our house. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that our current home is completely inundated with little people who take whatever they want whenever they want. Like a hoard of greedy mice, they live in every crack and corner, ready to pounce on anything that is ever out of our sight, if only for a second. Though these Borrowers still have a penchant for baby shoes and socks, nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) is now safe from their thievery. If anyone in the family lays down a book for any amount of time, for instance, that book immediately disappears. Apparently the Borrowers in this present house are avid readers, because the books usually reappear in the oddest places, such as under the bed, on the porch swing, in the cereal cupboard, or on the trampoline the day after it rains. On more than one memorable occasion, stolen items have been found in our fifteen passenger van in the trash bins or out in the garage. How they do it, I’ll never know, but these Borrowers display creativity that belies their appetite for Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. I hate to admit it, but library fees are common in our household. In fact we now consider fines the price we have to pay for allowing the Borrowers to remain un-confronted for so long. Vigilance is out the window. We now live to make peace with the Borrowers.
Its cowardly I know, but as an older mom with only so much energy, I have to pick which battles I choose to fight. In fact, my current goal is to purchase enough pacifiers, pencils, earrings, socks, and paper clips that the house actually has a saturation point. Drop a pacifier and can’t find it? No matter. You’ll probably find one the Borrowers are finished with under the couch cushion. It takes all my power of denial to keep from asking where it’s been. In our house, when it comes to the Borrowers, the rule is “Don’t Ask; Don’t tell.” And I would add: “Try not to imagine.”
I used to ask questions when, as vigilant Mom, I felt it was my role to interrogate the last person to see the missing items. Such interrogation was always pointless. Even in those simpler days when less was going on and possessions were fewer, I quickly realized all questioning was essentially futile. My children, of course, were then and continue to be, careful and conscientious about these matters. They consistently put things away where they belong without prompting except in the occasional instance when I happen to be in the room and watching them. At those times, they might forget, and I would remind. But all other times out of my sight they are independently perfectionists about their possessions. Just ask them.
In fact, to hear my honest and trustworthy children tell it, the Borrowers we began to harbor were a dangerous lot, indeed. These aggressive Borrowers have even taken perfectly sharpened pencils out of my dutiful students’ hands as they are working on assignments at the kitchen table. But since I have taken to buying the thousand-pack at Costco, my students only have minor inconvenience in sharpening another from the drawer. Since the stories began to rival the stuff of nightmares, I stopped asking. And I’m a much happier woman for having done so.
I’ve taken to offering a bounty for missing items we need, say a penny for a pencil. In this way, we’ve managed to wrest a few items away from the tiny robbers. But the majority of small possessions remain lost to us forever, or at least until the Borrowers are done with them. The only problem with offering pennies is that the Borrowers are especially fond of taking those also when they get out into circulation. The Borrowers are particularly mean to little children when it comes to pennies, often taking them out of pockets and even hands.
Although I live to make peace with them, the Borrowers still make my family’s life much harder than it needs to be. Many a college homework assignment has disappeared when it was almost finished, and had to be redone in a late-night scurry. Besides library fines, there is the inevitable financial drain they impose. I still hate the thought that I am supporting such a large army of remorseless wastrels, but what else can I do? If only I had the time and courage to call in the fumigators.
Sometimes, I am amazed at the Borrowers’ daring and ingenuity. How do they get inside the refrigerator to eat the half of brownie I brought home from the restaurant? While don’t they eat the leftover chili instead? I can imagine the feast they have, the little buggers, but still it fascinates to think they got in and out without being seen or trapped inside.
These days the sock question is a complete loss. In my house, a person is lucky to have any clean laundry, and two socks that fit (sort-of) even if they are your big brother’s and you found them under the bed. Matching is completely immaterial… and overrated.
And there are still some things I can’t imagine any Borrower would value. What do they do with all the silverware, for instance? Ten years ago, my husband bought me three sets of nice silverware in a pattern I chose. I was so thrilled. But today, I have ten forks, all mismatched, that I picked up from Goodwill. I figure what’s the use having nice things when the Borrowers will take them in a wink? And why do they like forks and spoons best? Every one knows knives are more useful. When we have company or the boys come home from college, somebody has to use plastic, but I don’t care. I draw the line at buying nice silverware if it’s only to be used for weapons and catapults and such and never seen by human eyes again.
And what do they do with earrings? Why do they like the pearls I got for birthdays and anniversary best? Is there some currency in their simple society or are they used as marbles for a child’s game? Who do they call on the cell phone before they return it to my coat pocket or under my chair? These questions could drive me crazy if I let them. Soccer shin guards and jerseys seem to be Borrower favorites, along with brushes and ponytail holders. As the mom of eight daughters, I have spent enough on ponytail holders to shoot a Borrower to the moon. I hope he likes it up there.
I end this confession to get ready for church. You’ll recognize me there. I’m the one with mismatched socks, one earring, and a van load of happy kids.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
You've Come A Long Way Baby!
I was asked my thoughts on turning 43 (which is almost 45, which is almost 50, as Jazz says).
My mom gave me a card with a picture of my kindergarten graduation. She had a nostalgic moment, to which my dad added “You’ve come a long way baby!” and she and I had an interesting conversation about appreciating children while they are still young and with you. I am reminded that this is one of the advantages of having children continuously for 20 years. You realize that what everyone in the grocery store tells you is really a universal truth- Enjoy it; it goes so fast. I still look at pictures of my oldest ones as babies and I am in awe of how quickly they became adults, or at least adults-in-training out of my home and never to live here again. In a way I get the grandparent view with little ones still in my home. Well-meaning strangers tell you that the enamored looks will end, but with the optimism of a first-time parent I hoped that it would be different for me. I will be such a wonderful mommy that my children will be loyal and enamored with me forever. Back then I didn’t understand that this teen pulling into his or her own world thing is a process of growth and development, and that one of the signs of success is that they now strike out on their own. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I do have relationships with my boys that make many parents envious. But I so miss those times of dependence when they needed me and I was their whole world. Being an older mama makes me treasure these baby and toddler moments so much more. I remember days when the utter tediousness of my life, coupled with the perfectionism with which I approached it, often brought me to despair. It was so overwhelming at times I had no idea how I was going to make it through one more diaper change, let alone one more day. And now the days fly past and I can almost envision Keturah waving goodbye as we leave her at the dorm even as I currently kiss her damp curly head and rock her to sleep.
I look back with awe at all that God has done in me, and forward with anticipation of all in the new era ahead.
My regrets?
I stressed about money instead of investing wholeheartedly in the ventures the Lord directed.
I used to make parenting much more about me than the children.
Because of this, I didn’t laugh enough, didn’t have enough grace for mistakes.
I feared that every little misdeed was unsolvable.
My prayer life suffered as I worked and worked.
I missed the treasure times because I was washing windows or folding clothes.
I missed some tiny attitudes that grew into ugly weeds.
My life was completely absorbed by my family.
My Gratitude?
That I’ve grown to love God’s investment opportunities.
That my parenting is all about the growth of the child.
That I can laugh and have fun, forgive and forget.
That I’ve become more approachable and can share my life.
I’ve really learned not to sweat the small stuff, and (how much of it really is small stuff).
Prayer is my life, and prayer works.
I delegate more, treasure more moments as they happen, have dirty windows and perpetual laundry.
I can see now how much attitude is everything, and how attitudes grow into fixed character.
My personality is separate and unique from my family: I am a wife, mama, tester, children’s ministry director, friend, but those are only facets of who I am and who I am becoming.
Tony preached about God’s favor Sunday. It occurs to me that he and I have had an abundance of favor from surrendering our family size to our Lord. The children no one else wants to have are truly the blessing, as the Word says. They have been the catalyst for the most amazing amount of growth in our lives. We have not been allowed to remain static or comfortable. Through his plan, we have been raising them, and they have been raising us, as the Word says, “from glory to glory” 1
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”
So, through the beautiful pendant and roses from my beloved, lunch with my mom and sister, the unique dinner and the cake my girls made with amazing cream cheese frosting, the touching calls from my boys who are out of town, and a scary/funny game of Yahtzee when the little ones were in bed, I celebrated this birthday with much gratitude and a heart full to bursting with all the Lord has done.
My mom gave me a card with a picture of my kindergarten graduation. She had a nostalgic moment, to which my dad added “You’ve come a long way baby!” and she and I had an interesting conversation about appreciating children while they are still young and with you. I am reminded that this is one of the advantages of having children continuously for 20 years. You realize that what everyone in the grocery store tells you is really a universal truth- Enjoy it; it goes so fast. I still look at pictures of my oldest ones as babies and I am in awe of how quickly they became adults, or at least adults-in-training out of my home and never to live here again. In a way I get the grandparent view with little ones still in my home. Well-meaning strangers tell you that the enamored looks will end, but with the optimism of a first-time parent I hoped that it would be different for me. I will be such a wonderful mommy that my children will be loyal and enamored with me forever. Back then I didn’t understand that this teen pulling into his or her own world thing is a process of growth and development, and that one of the signs of success is that they now strike out on their own. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I do have relationships with my boys that make many parents envious. But I so miss those times of dependence when they needed me and I was their whole world. Being an older mama makes me treasure these baby and toddler moments so much more. I remember days when the utter tediousness of my life, coupled with the perfectionism with which I approached it, often brought me to despair. It was so overwhelming at times I had no idea how I was going to make it through one more diaper change, let alone one more day. And now the days fly past and I can almost envision Keturah waving goodbye as we leave her at the dorm even as I currently kiss her damp curly head and rock her to sleep.
I look back with awe at all that God has done in me, and forward with anticipation of all in the new era ahead.
My regrets?
I stressed about money instead of investing wholeheartedly in the ventures the Lord directed.
I used to make parenting much more about me than the children.
Because of this, I didn’t laugh enough, didn’t have enough grace for mistakes.
I feared that every little misdeed was unsolvable.
My prayer life suffered as I worked and worked.
I missed the treasure times because I was washing windows or folding clothes.
I missed some tiny attitudes that grew into ugly weeds.
My life was completely absorbed by my family.
My Gratitude?
That I’ve grown to love God’s investment opportunities.
That my parenting is all about the growth of the child.
That I can laugh and have fun, forgive and forget.
That I’ve become more approachable and can share my life.
I’ve really learned not to sweat the small stuff, and (how much of it really is small stuff).
Prayer is my life, and prayer works.
I delegate more, treasure more moments as they happen, have dirty windows and perpetual laundry.
I can see now how much attitude is everything, and how attitudes grow into fixed character.
My personality is separate and unique from my family: I am a wife, mama, tester, children’s ministry director, friend, but those are only facets of who I am and who I am becoming.
Tony preached about God’s favor Sunday. It occurs to me that he and I have had an abundance of favor from surrendering our family size to our Lord. The children no one else wants to have are truly the blessing, as the Word says. They have been the catalyst for the most amazing amount of growth in our lives. We have not been allowed to remain static or comfortable. Through his plan, we have been raising them, and they have been raising us, as the Word says, “from glory to glory” 1
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”
So, through the beautiful pendant and roses from my beloved, lunch with my mom and sister, the unique dinner and the cake my girls made with amazing cream cheese frosting, the touching calls from my boys who are out of town, and a scary/funny game of Yahtzee when the little ones were in bed, I celebrated this birthday with much gratitude and a heart full to bursting with all the Lord has done.
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Wheels on the Bus...
We went to Salem's Gilbert Discovery Village and Portland's OMSI on the same day Saturday to give Tony time at home to work on his sermon, as he filled in for our pastor today. I'm not sure how I thought it was going to work, but we had a terrific time. That was even despite Jewel-Anne not feeling well and crying at many new junctures. When she looked at the water room, she started sobbing, "Oh, no! I can't get wet!!!" She is a bit of a drama queen, and as I said, not feeling well, so we administered Tylenol and took it all in stride.
We were able to meet our Ferrier cousins at Gilbert House for a rousing game of hide-and-seek in the play area, and then on to OMSI, where we became really glad we had purchased our membership down south. (It was cheaper to do it that way, too.)There were about 75 people jamming the entrance hall, waiting in a line that didn't seem to be moving. We were able to walk right into the exhibit hall, which is two floors of special displays about Leonardo DaVinci, including actual working tools made according to DaVinci's designs and prepared for the exhibit in Italy with authentic period materials. The children worked the ball bearings, mechanical wings, and archimedes screw for themselves, and learned quite a bit about the Mona Lisa and the Last Supper.
My favorite at OMSI is the younger children's area, as it is so well designed and fun. There is a sand area, a water/bubbles area, and a place to play with balls and pipes and air pressure, among many other activities. I never tire of watching the light-bulb moment in learning, and places like OMSI give so many opportunities for our kids to grow their brains. I love it! It never gets old.
Aside from the 45 minute wait for AAA on the way home when we ran out of gas just north of Salem's Market Street exit, it was an exciting and adventurous day for Mama and the crew. That particular part got a bit unnerving when Keturah had had enough of all the stimulus and wailed for a while. We sang songs to pass the time, just like we used to do on the bus to day camp when I was a kid. Come to think of it,I guess I've got my own bus full of day campers.
We paid dearly for our long fun day when the time change saw us dragging the entire family out of the house in time for first service at what used to be 7AM. Ouch! But the sermon was great and a dear Sunday School Mommy brought us breakfast, so we got through it with much grace.
We were able to meet our Ferrier cousins at Gilbert House for a rousing game of hide-and-seek in the play area, and then on to OMSI, where we became really glad we had purchased our membership down south. (It was cheaper to do it that way, too.)There were about 75 people jamming the entrance hall, waiting in a line that didn't seem to be moving. We were able to walk right into the exhibit hall, which is two floors of special displays about Leonardo DaVinci, including actual working tools made according to DaVinci's designs and prepared for the exhibit in Italy with authentic period materials. The children worked the ball bearings, mechanical wings, and archimedes screw for themselves, and learned quite a bit about the Mona Lisa and the Last Supper.
My favorite at OMSI is the younger children's area, as it is so well designed and fun. There is a sand area, a water/bubbles area, and a place to play with balls and pipes and air pressure, among many other activities. I never tire of watching the light-bulb moment in learning, and places like OMSI give so many opportunities for our kids to grow their brains. I love it! It never gets old.
Aside from the 45 minute wait for AAA on the way home when we ran out of gas just north of Salem's Market Street exit, it was an exciting and adventurous day for Mama and the crew. That particular part got a bit unnerving when Keturah had had enough of all the stimulus and wailed for a while. We sang songs to pass the time, just like we used to do on the bus to day camp when I was a kid. Come to think of it,I guess I've got my own bus full of day campers.
We paid dearly for our long fun day when the time change saw us dragging the entire family out of the house in time for first service at what used to be 7AM. Ouch! But the sermon was great and a dear Sunday School Mommy brought us breakfast, so we got through it with much grace.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Flood, Mud, Crud
I have had one of those days. People never believe me that every day is not one of them. I guess its hard to imagine that someone with eleven children at home and two others off into the world (but close enough to pop in needing help with their taxes) would actually love her life. I do.
No really, I do.
Most days.
But today I was ready to change course and become... what?? a nun? a Mongolian sheep-herder? Either would do as long as the new profession involved silence and rest.
For starters, I haven't been feelimg well. The baby is two months old and I can only remember three days during that time when I have had no pain. I was in a car accident, then had trauma-induced pancreatitis, and now I have residual nerve pain which must have been exacerbated by giving birth. The specialist I saw yesterday who was supposed to have some answers said, essentially, that the pain was here to stay, and she offered no remedy. It was discouraging.
And then two year old Ezra woke up ready to challenge the status quo. He went in to the bathroom when no one was looking and by the time we heard him he had filled the sink with water, and soaked a roll of toilet paper in the toilet and another in the sink. I opened the door to find the bathroom floor under a half inch of water and both sink and toilet plugged. He smiled at me and said "Mama, I'm wet!" It took every towel we could find to soak up the water.
Our laundry system has been backed up all week and this was a resounding blow to our forces of maintenance in the "Mom's our of commission survival mode" we've all been managing.
We got a new dog. His name is Rusty and he's a 2 year old purebred golden retriever that our friends were not able to keep. He's so smart he figured out immediately how to get out of our fenced yard.
He's also a mud-magnet.
While he's been exploring the new neighborhood, he comes back soaked to the bone and spreads mud everywhere. We already used all of our junk towels and many of our good ones drying him off the last two days whenever he goes out and comes back in. I know there was some reason we wanted a new dog, but when I look at the extra mess, I can't seem to remember what it was.
So then 15 year old Micah, who before now has never been sick in his life, and yet has spent a week and a half lying on the couch with a fever, woke today to announce he was having trouble taking a deep breath. He was better yesterday, and now can't breathe? My Mommy radar went off, so I drove him to urgent care.
He really didn't want to go, came up with excuses, thought I was overreacting. We waited an hour to see the doctor, during which Keturah was hungry. I knew better than to nurse her, because I'm having to give her a bottle or she gets colic since I've been detoxing. But she was fussy, so I nursed her to keep her quiet while Micah went to get the bottle. And then she really began to scream. I ended up spending the waiting time doing the colic dance up and down the sidewalk outside while she screamed. Did I mention I'm not feeling well?
So when they didn't hear anything in his lungs, Micah gave me the look that said "I knew you were a hypochondriac, Mom." But then the X-ray showed his left lung is half full of fluid.
He has pneumonia.
Our routine has been disturbed again.
I realized tonight that part of why we're having so much trouble with Ezra is that Micah is always connecting with him, watching him, encouraging and helping him. He feels cared for and gets immediate accountability for his actions. But since Micah and Mom are sick, he is feeling at loose ends and bored, perhaps a bit neglected, a bad combination unless you're trying to grow rebellion.
Something I did not know as a young mom was that it takes more than vigilance to create a happy obedient child. Unless there is the reinforcement of good behavior, punishing bad behavior will create a sullen obstinance, and a determination to get away with the behavior as soon as Mom's back is turned.
So I had Ezra "Help" make dinner when we got home from the doctor. He got me a spoon, cutting board and boullion, washed the celery, put the veggie pieces into the soup pot. And all the while I praised him for being such a big helper. Then he emptied all the wastebaskets into the large trash can in the kitchen, with constant direction and praise. This is his usual job in the morning, but it has been hit and miss lately.
We had a nice family dinner, with plenty of laughter, and I tried to help him be his most polite self with constant positive feedback. Daddy tickled and wrestled him tonight before bed. I'm hoping tomorrow will be better than today.
Days like today I need a time out to remember and be grateful. What an amazing big brother Micah is, for instance, and what a difference he makes in our endeavor to care for so many little people.
My parents come on Wednesdays, and that is something for which I am so grateful. Grandma Mary teaches preschool with the little ones, and Grandpa John teaches catechism with the older five. What would our family do without their constant encouragement and support? And today my Dad cleared the stopped up sink and toilet for me. What a blessing that was!!
I got to talk with my friend Jazz today. She always listens and understands. God has given me a priceless treasure in her faithful camaraderie for 25 years since we were college roommates. She genuinely cares, and she always points me to Jesus.
Another thing for which to be grateful is the song that's been stuck in my head all day. I sang it to Keturah when we were doing the colic dance:
Oh, how I love You, Jesus,
I know You love me too
I love Your Word that tells me
To You I belong
When I am weak, You make me strong
Your hands so strong they carry me
True You love me so much
True, You love me so
True You love me so much
My heart just overflows!
I guess I'm a bit like Micah. I tend to be skeptical in tough times that God knows what is best and I don't.
Maybe I'm also a lot like Ezra. I need some praise and encouragement to keep me on the right path, especially when things get harder than usual.
No really, I do.
Most days.
But today I was ready to change course and become... what?? a nun? a Mongolian sheep-herder? Either would do as long as the new profession involved silence and rest.
For starters, I haven't been feelimg well. The baby is two months old and I can only remember three days during that time when I have had no pain. I was in a car accident, then had trauma-induced pancreatitis, and now I have residual nerve pain which must have been exacerbated by giving birth. The specialist I saw yesterday who was supposed to have some answers said, essentially, that the pain was here to stay, and she offered no remedy. It was discouraging.
And then two year old Ezra woke up ready to challenge the status quo. He went in to the bathroom when no one was looking and by the time we heard him he had filled the sink with water, and soaked a roll of toilet paper in the toilet and another in the sink. I opened the door to find the bathroom floor under a half inch of water and both sink and toilet plugged. He smiled at me and said "Mama, I'm wet!" It took every towel we could find to soak up the water.
Our laundry system has been backed up all week and this was a resounding blow to our forces of maintenance in the "Mom's our of commission survival mode" we've all been managing.
We got a new dog. His name is Rusty and he's a 2 year old purebred golden retriever that our friends were not able to keep. He's so smart he figured out immediately how to get out of our fenced yard.
He's also a mud-magnet.
While he's been exploring the new neighborhood, he comes back soaked to the bone and spreads mud everywhere. We already used all of our junk towels and many of our good ones drying him off the last two days whenever he goes out and comes back in. I know there was some reason we wanted a new dog, but when I look at the extra mess, I can't seem to remember what it was.
So then 15 year old Micah, who before now has never been sick in his life, and yet has spent a week and a half lying on the couch with a fever, woke today to announce he was having trouble taking a deep breath. He was better yesterday, and now can't breathe? My Mommy radar went off, so I drove him to urgent care.
He really didn't want to go, came up with excuses, thought I was overreacting. We waited an hour to see the doctor, during which Keturah was hungry. I knew better than to nurse her, because I'm having to give her a bottle or she gets colic since I've been detoxing. But she was fussy, so I nursed her to keep her quiet while Micah went to get the bottle. And then she really began to scream. I ended up spending the waiting time doing the colic dance up and down the sidewalk outside while she screamed. Did I mention I'm not feeling well?
So when they didn't hear anything in his lungs, Micah gave me the look that said "I knew you were a hypochondriac, Mom." But then the X-ray showed his left lung is half full of fluid.
He has pneumonia.
Our routine has been disturbed again.
I realized tonight that part of why we're having so much trouble with Ezra is that Micah is always connecting with him, watching him, encouraging and helping him. He feels cared for and gets immediate accountability for his actions. But since Micah and Mom are sick, he is feeling at loose ends and bored, perhaps a bit neglected, a bad combination unless you're trying to grow rebellion.
Something I did not know as a young mom was that it takes more than vigilance to create a happy obedient child. Unless there is the reinforcement of good behavior, punishing bad behavior will create a sullen obstinance, and a determination to get away with the behavior as soon as Mom's back is turned.
So I had Ezra "Help" make dinner when we got home from the doctor. He got me a spoon, cutting board and boullion, washed the celery, put the veggie pieces into the soup pot. And all the while I praised him for being such a big helper. Then he emptied all the wastebaskets into the large trash can in the kitchen, with constant direction and praise. This is his usual job in the morning, but it has been hit and miss lately.
We had a nice family dinner, with plenty of laughter, and I tried to help him be his most polite self with constant positive feedback. Daddy tickled and wrestled him tonight before bed. I'm hoping tomorrow will be better than today.
Days like today I need a time out to remember and be grateful. What an amazing big brother Micah is, for instance, and what a difference he makes in our endeavor to care for so many little people.
My parents come on Wednesdays, and that is something for which I am so grateful. Grandma Mary teaches preschool with the little ones, and Grandpa John teaches catechism with the older five. What would our family do without their constant encouragement and support? And today my Dad cleared the stopped up sink and toilet for me. What a blessing that was!!
I got to talk with my friend Jazz today. She always listens and understands. God has given me a priceless treasure in her faithful camaraderie for 25 years since we were college roommates. She genuinely cares, and she always points me to Jesus.
Another thing for which to be grateful is the song that's been stuck in my head all day. I sang it to Keturah when we were doing the colic dance:
Oh, how I love You, Jesus,
I know You love me too
I love Your Word that tells me
To You I belong
When I am weak, You make me strong
Your hands so strong they carry me
True You love me so much
True, You love me so
True You love me so much
My heart just overflows!
I guess I'm a bit like Micah. I tend to be skeptical in tough times that God knows what is best and I don't.
Maybe I'm also a lot like Ezra. I need some praise and encouragement to keep me on the right path, especially when things get harder than usual.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)