Filed under Sweet Prayers of Children

Tonight as we were doing our singathon and prayers before bed, I asked Isaac and Hannah if they had anything they wanted to thank God for.

Hannah: “Thank you, God, for giving my cold away to Ruthie. Now please take my cold away from Ruthie.”

The logic of her sweet little head. Her mother urged her all day Monday to please use a tissue so as not to spread her cold germs onto her hands and then give her cold to Ruthie. Her cold went away at the same time Ruthie began to get sick. Therefore, Ruthie took her cold from her. She told me that earlier today. Now at prayer time she has attributed the exchange to God. It’s not that she was happy Ruthie had her cold, she was just happy God had taken her cold away from her. Clearly he had given it away to Ruthie because Ruthie now had it. Now if he would please take it away from Ruthie, too. Then we’d be all set.

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” I suppose. AND, she seems to have her theodicy all worked out. Way to go, Hannah!

Seriously, though. Sweet sweet Hannah Girlie and her prayers for her baby sister. She’s too much.

My Boy Isaac

We went to Open House at Isaac’s elementary school last night. This Boy had been turning inside out in anticipation of this event since last Thursday. He very excitedly asked his aunt, my sister, to come along. My poor sister who had left for work at 7AM, nearly had a car accident on her way, had a full, full day, arrived to our house to get her girls at 5:30, looked at this Boy jumping up and down and ever-so excitedly asking her to come to his “Opened House”, slurring his words through his gap-toothed grin. What’s an aunt to do? She had to go. And she did. We all had a fun time watching Isaac flit (jump, bounce, float) about his school, showing his bigger little sister all the places he goes and all the things he does.

Even though it wasn’t a parent-teacher conference, we did get some one-on-one time with Isaac’s teacher and got the skinny on how he’s doing. Yep. It’s official. The Boy is brilliant. No, really, he’s doing just fine, which is good to hear, especially since his birthday is in June, which leaves him on the younger side of his class and especially since you hear all this stuff about boys in school really struggling, etc. etc. etc. Just to have the trained professional say he’s doing fine. It’s a big relief.

What really meant the most to me, what meant more than his academic success, was his teacher’s assessment of his character.  “He’s ambitious.  He does all his work and asks what else he can do.”  That’s my firstborn-son of a firstborn-son of a firstborn-son of a (I think) firstborn-son!  Even better than that:  “He’s compassionate.  He’s really tuned in to the kids around him who are struggling and is quick to help them.  He’s always looking out for the underdog.”  *sniff*  *sniff*  That, for me, matters more than anything else he does in school.  Anything.  That’s my Boy, embodying the Gospel in the First Grade.  Serving His Lord and bearing His love.  All while having an inside-out blast and learning to read to boot.

And that’s the thing.  Above all else, my Boy is a child of God.  God’s Boy.  He’s working for Him.  So while this all may sound like some sort of brag, it’s not.  It’s amazement at discovering what wondrous things my God has done in and through His boy, Isaac.  It’s joy at seeing one of God’s creations really doing his thing.  “his” thing?  “His” thing?  Yep.  Both.  I’m mostly an observer.  Trying my best to do God’s thing with respect to the Boy he’s given me to guide and nurture to His glory.  But if this Boy’s success were up to my abilities to do the right mothering?  Good grief!  We would have had a totally different conversation last night.  I’m fumbling my way through.  But God.  Oh, God is doing amazing things with this Boy.  What a privilege to watch it all unfold.

And as far as what the school’s there to do for him?  To prepare him academically for the future?  If Isaac has ambition and compassion, what can’t he do?

And so it begins . . .

Ugh.

School started 3 1/2 weeks ago. The week before Labor Day, Isaac returned to his studies at our local public school, entering first grade. He’s having a great time. He’s feeling on top of the world, knowing all he needs to know, acquiring green stars and stickers and stamps and jewels for his treasure chest (whatever that is). He’s reading. Oh, how he’s reading. Reading everything he sees. Reading words aloud to me, asking me to read him “just one more story” six times a night. He’s making up math problems to stump his uncle.

The other night Isaac was helping Hannah learn to spell his spelling words: “Hannah, how do you spell ‘ham’?” “Ummm, I don’t know.” “Well, what’s the first sound that you hear? It’s the same as the first sound in your name.” “H!” “Yes, Hannah! Very good! Now what do you hear next? It’s the next sound in your name. . . . ” And on it went for quite some time at dinner Friday night. The Big Brother bringing home new skills and exciting tales to share with his little sister. Wonderful.

Well. Mostly wonderful. The problem is that the skills and the tales are not the only things Big Brother brings home from school. He also brings along some teeny, tiny, microscopic creatures crawling all over his hands and body and bag and books and, I think, floating around him like a haze. He gets them at the little party these creatures surely must be celebrating in the land of “RarelyWashYourHands” and “PickYourNoseAtWill” and “BeSureToTouchEachOtherAsMuchAsPossibleInSevenHours”.

Arrgh. Pobre Hannah. Poor, poor Hannah Girlie. She’s sick. It’s just the sniffles (so far), but she is the most pitiful sick person I’ve ever set eyes on. Oh. *sniffle sniffle* *whimper* *sniffle* Pitiful. And since she and her little sister are being so beautifully sisterly these days (see the sister posts that I was so excited about but that no longer strike me as great), it’s only a matter of time before Ruth adds the sniffles to her teething and then Musical Beds as we’ve been playing it will begin to seem ever-so restful.

Arrgh. And then, given the fact that Ruthie is currently a teething drool machine, can we guess how long it is before the Mommy gets sick? And as has already been covered here: There are no sick days for the Mommy.

Arrgh. We spent all last school year–well, I don’t want to exaggerate, it wasn’t the entire school year, only October through May–with at least one of the five of us sick at all times. At. All. Times. Arrgh.

It’s nearly October.

And so it begins. . . .

What’s the deal with coffee?

You might be asking yourself the same question right now, but for different reasons. As in, “Why, oh why, Lee, do you keep talking about coffee?!”

But really. What’s with it? I held out for so very long. I confess, I probably held out for most of those years simply out of spite as my husband tried so hard to get me to drink the stuff. I held out for so very long. I never got what people’s thing for coffee was. Really? You need it? I call my husband’s ubiquitous coffee-filled travel mug his sippy cup, mocking him. And then there’s the Stay-at-Home (SAHM) crowd. I read on the message boards about their therapeutic drive-thru hits at Monster Coffee Chain. Really? Eighty dollars a cup for a drink?! I just don’t get it.

I mean, I get the therapeutic drive-thrus. I’m convinced it was a mom who dreamed up the Drive-Thru window. Sleeping baby in back–sleeping in the car because she’s teething and she won’t sleep any other way–and mom’s hungry or tired or bored or simply going batty and Gee I could really go for some hot steamy fat right about now, but I can’t wake the baby–or, alternatively, I’d rather pluck my eyeballs out with a toothpick than drag my three crazy kids into that place with the germ-infested play zone–whatever is a mom to do? I know! I’ve got an idea! What if we opened a little porthole to greasy joy that doesn’t require moving my children? Yes. That will work!!

Anyway, back to the coffee. If it’s not clear already, to this point Wendy’s has been my drive-thru drug of choice (french fries with lotsa salt, and a Frosty Float made with vanilla Frosty and Coke [that is, Coca-Cola, for all you Southerners]). But now, now I’m beginning to see. Coffee. Tasty. And really, truly, energizing. My vat o’ fat, while emotionally satisfying, is actually counterproductive as it leaves me sluggish. But coffee. Hmmm. Glorious coffee. Indulgent (the way I [and Monster Chain] make it anyway, even if it doesn’t actually qualify as coffee)? Check. Emotionally fulfilling? Check. Bonus: eegad, I’m shaking like a maniac here, ready to take on a world of people under 4 feet tall.

I am a woman of strong opinions, but never let it be said I can’t admit when I am wrong. I was wrong. I was so very wrong about coffee. I have seen the light. I need it too.

And I just bought myself my very own sippy cup.

I just love this . . .

So I nurse my babies to sleep. You’ve likely already caught on to it. With Isaac I was all quiet about it, fearing judgment from the “You must lay your baby down awake!!” camp. When Hannah was a baby I did all this reading on how babies are designed (well, the book says “evolved,” but I have no problem overlooking that when their conclusions are based on how babies presently operate), and I came to the conclusion that babies are made to fall asleep nursing, so who am I to argue with or work against God’s design? I suppose you could make the argument that their proclivity to fall asleep nursing is a consequence of the Fall, but good luck with that. The fact of the matter is there are all sorts of hormonal things going on–for mama and baby–that put a baby to sleep at the breast. Sounds like design to me. Actually, it sounds like a gift to me.

So, I’m no longer quiet about my nursing-to-sleep habit. It’s easy. It’s nice and cozy. (it allows for lots of internet surfing while NAKing) It’s effective. And, did I mention it’s easy? You just have to sit there and hold a warm, cozy, mama-lovin’ creature, breathing deeply in a darkened room. Sigh. Heaven.

There’s a moment in this nursing to sleep thing that I absolutely love. Isaac was and Ruth is great at it. Hannah with all her refluxy issues, not so much. The baby or toddler (and, who are we kidding, a toddler is a baby. But that’s a whole nother post.) falls off to blissful sleep, nursing away. You slip her off and pick her up. She stirs a bit, but she’s flat-out asleep. You gently lay her down in her crib. And then she does it. The sweetest thing. She rolls over onto her belly, sticking her diapered bottom straight up in the air. In our house it’s accompanied by scrunching up a blanky underneath the belly. Curled in a hump, blissful sleeep. Sigh. So nice. So so very nice. Look. Isn’t it nice?

Sisters Revisited

Oh my, Hannah and Ruthie are getting so sweet together. Their sisterhood is really blossoming now and it just makes me smile all over the place. Yesterday in the grocery store, Ruth was up in the cart, tired as all get out, and Hannah was standing next to her. Ruth leaned her head over to Hannah, reached her arms around her neck and lay her head on her shoulder. Hannah pat Ruth’s back. Ruth pat Hannah’s back. Then they’d release and return, release and return. Hug after hug after hug. Ruthie reaching out to her big sister for comfort in her exhaustion. Hannah giving sweet words of love. “Aww, I wuv you Roofie. Awww, Roofie, you’re mine best friend.” Oh. My heart. So full. To bursting. Oh that she would be her best friend. As my sister is mine. I love sisters. Did you know that about me?

Sisters, 1974

Sisters, 2008

Musical Beds, Part 2. Where the Musical Beds part comes in.

So I started the last blog by entitling it. Musical Beds. I had a particular trajectory in mind. And then I got to writing. You know, the whole stream-of-consciousness thing. I got to the end of a thought, hit publish and went on my merry way. It was a drive-by blogging. I didn’t have time to do any writing, but I was sneaking some in anyway. And that’s where it got me. A title that has almost nothing to do with the post. I say almost nothing because I do mention the word bed in the post. So I’m thinking I’m sacrificing quantity for quality. The Blog Stats beginning to look less like an EKG report is making me all frantic: must. write. another. post. must write another post, mustwriteanotherpost!! Mustn’t let that little blue line drop back to zero. Must. Not.

So, where does that get me? Posts like the last one where the title is irrelevant because my train changed directions unexpectedly and I never went back and revisited the travel itinerary. It hit me like, well, a freight train while I was on my way home from Ruth’s well-child visit. “I never talked about Musical Beds!!”

Now. Let’s try again . . .

So here’s how our nights have been going around here lately. Hannah’s been getting up again. I think Isaac’s been giving her ideas. Or, his getting up leaves her “all awone” up there, the gravest of tragedies in Hannah’s life. I already explained Isaac’s situation. And Ruthie is now working on acquiring her canine teeth, so she’s been waking up much more too.

This all makes for some interesting nights. Here we go: Ry and I start out in our bed alone. At some point, Ruthie wakes up, Ry goes in and changes her diaper because she will not tolerate my changing her diaper in the middle of the night. She knows The Daddy is not good for much else in the night, so she tolerates him. Screaming all the way, but not writhing and kicking as she does to me, knowing I’m holding out the good stuff on her. Ry gets back in bed as I take Ruth from him to nurse her. Most times she goes right back to sleep, sometimes it takes a little bit. Then I get back in our bed. Unless. Unless Isaac has joined us in our bed in the meantime. Then there’s no room left for me and I head up to Isaac’s bed. Then, occasionally, Hannah goes downstairs and joins Ry and Isaac there.

There are many variations on this. Isaac shows up before Ruthie wakes up, but then there’s no room to return to the bed. Isaac shows up after Ruthie wakes up, he stays with us, unless Ry gets to feeling squished and then he goes up to Isaac’s bed. Then sometimes Hannah has come down and joined Isaac and me and I end up as part of a cozy mommy sandwich, with a child squished up against either side of me. Neither Ry nor I seem very aware of what’s going on through all this. We try to piece it all together in the morning:

“How did I end up all alone upstairs in Isaac’s bed? I thought I went to Hannah’s bed?”

“Well, Hannah started crying, so you went up and lay down with her. A little while later Isaac came down and lay down with me. Then Ruthie woke up and I went upstairs and asked you to go change her, so you got out of Hannah’s bed, changed Ruthie, and then when you went back upstairs you must have lain down in Isaac’s bed. Sometime after that Hannah came downstairs and climbed in with me and made a mommy sandwich.”

“Oh. I just remember getting into Hannah’s bed.”

Musical beds. Last one sleeping when the sun comes up WINS!!

Musical Beds

*yawn*

We were soooo close to sleeping through the night, Ry and me. Soo close. We kicked Ruthie into her own bedroom and she’s been sleeping great ever since. Hannah had stopped getting up in the night for the first time ever. But Isaac. Poor Isaac. He who had slept so well, so long. No longer. I fear it’s the scary attic. Last time I wrote about it I made it sound all sweet. And it was all sweet. Was being the operative word there. Now. Now it’s just exhausting. And mildly frustrating.

Frustrating on two levels. On the one hand there’s the fact that we used to be able to just leave him after singing some songs and praying. His eyes would be opened, he’d be in the nice relaxed zone to just drift off. He’s never been good about falling asleep with someone in the room with him. But now. Now we need to stay with him until he’s completely asleep. Totally asleep. In fact, two nights ago I came downstairs after his eyes were closed and he was all twitchy and five minutes later he comes down saying, “Where did you go? I wasn’t expecting you to be gone already.” GAH!

On the other hand is the mere fact that he’s afraid of something that doesn’t exist. Last night he told me the monster in the storage space melts into the floor when the light goes on, but comes back up when the light is off. I just want to screech out: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MONSTERS!!!! But I know that doesn’t help. Poor, poor boy. I’m trying to be patient. I am. But last night I failed miserably.

Praise be to God, today is another day. A day to face it fresh. To come up with a new solution. And to remember that the poor boy is only six. He’s still so little. Even if he is so huge, especially compared to his sisters. He’s only six. And he’ll only be six for such a short time. Ry and I really should relish the extra snuggles we’re getting out of it, because they’re only going to diminish over time. We really should. And we will try.

And thankfully. Thankfully, I have my new best friend. My new love. My new addiction. Yep. Back to the coffee. And it almost really is coffee now. Just some sugar and half-and-half. Ok, 3 sugars and a bunch of half-and-half. But less sugar this week than last. But not BLACK like my curmudgeonly friend insists.

What do a couple of church geeks do to celebrate?

So these are a big couple of days for us around here. Sunday was the anniversary of our first date and today is my birthday. The date’s proximity to my birthday is probably the real reason we remember it and celebrate it every year. They just go together in our minds. So, what wonderous celebration do we have planned for this year?

We’re going to a presbytery meeting together. (Here. Have some presbyterian polity fun. My treat.) Now, some may scoff. Some may feel bad for me. Some may simply say, “Are you kidding me?” But we . . . We are excited. Ok, well, I’m excited because I get to go to a presbytery meeting. Ry is excited because he doesn’t have to go to a presbytery meeting alone. But we are excited. I’ve been looking forward to it all week, since I got the bright idea and lined up my parents to watch our children.

The romantic part is that it’s an hour drive to the meeting, so we’ll get to hang out and chat all by ourselves. Unless, of course, the elder who is set to drive up with Ryan does indeed drive up with us even after we tell him I’m going too. That will be less fun. But, there’s still the meeting. I love presbyterian polity. And there’s some big stuff coming before our presbytery over the next couple of months–coming out of the General Assembly, our denomination’s largest governing body (I was serious about that link up there)–so I really want to be there. And then there will be the whole post-game show, when Ry and I get to talk it all over. That’ll likely be the best part.

It’s official. We’re church geeks. A pastor and his seminary-trained wife. We’re just as boring as you feared we would be.

This is where the meeting is:

See? It’s romantic, right?

Eighteen Years Ago Tonight

Eighteen years ago tonight, Ry and I had our first official date. It’s a date we’ve always remembered and celebrated in one way or another. We had four anniversaries of our first date before we were married, and I really think that sealed the date in our heads for all time. That and we were just kids when we started dating, so I think that left us more prone to flights of sentimentality.

We met in sixth grade. We became friends in ninth, beginning with my singing solfege into the back of his head in Algebra II (I had choral class immediately prior) and continuing with my classroom habit of shooting off snide comments under my breath that happened to bounce off the back of his head. Both of these things prompted him to turn around and look at me funny. Eventually, though, he stopped looking at me funny and started laughing. Then he started talking back. And then we became friends. *sniff*

Two introverted people can take a while to get their romantic acts together. We were no exception. We needed a mutual friend to set up our first date, despite the facts that we were both immensely interested in each other, that we spent practically every minute of school together, and that we both talked more to one another at our junior prom than we spent talking to our dates. Even our homeroom teacher asked us if we were dating. But alas, these silly kids were both too shy to make a move. So our friend set us up for a group thing after a Friday night football game. (Wow, is this a cheesey story!)

And so it began. On September 14th, 1990, during our senior year of high school, Ry and I had our first date, at a Friendly’s, eating ice cream sundaes together. And I knew. I knew the moment he ordered a hot fudge sundae. This. This was the man boy for me. 35 million gallons of ice cream later (I kid you not), I know. This. This is the boy man for me.

Ry and Lee, circa 1990