Falling off the face of the earth . . .

So I’ve disappeared, apparently, from Blogland.  I don’t know why.  And I’m either having deja vu or I’ve written that at least half a half a dozen time in the last month or two or three.  I wonder if it’s because I’ve been preaching more regularly lately.  Don’t know.  But today, which, according to my last post must be tomorrow, I’ll talk about my cute kids.  Cuz I can’t do that too much while I’m preaching.  Though I do have a good story about Ruthie and Communion that will likely show up in a sermon some day . . .

So, on the kid front lately . . .

We have Isaac.  Who is seven.  And I’ve decided seven is my all-time favorite age.  At least that’s my story this year.  He’s just such a neat, neat kid.  He’s really coming into his own and we don’t have to struggle over every request, and his brain can handle some more complex thoughts and conversations . . . it’s just so fun.  And he’s so nice to his sisters.  He really is.  Especially when he’s not yelling at or kicking or otherwise bringing harm to Hannah.  They’ve been playing together so much better, just really being good friends together.  I love that.  They must have spent 4 hours in their bedroom on Saturday morning, just doing some sort of imaginative project together.  Very nice.

Now that it’s November, Isaac’s year-round Halloween obsession has come to an end.  I think he actually finally released enough of his Halloween ideas into the atmosphere that he’s no longer exploding with Halloween.  He’s making a good transition into Thanksgiving.  Which is probably his second favorite holiday.  Because of the food.  And because he love love loooves having guests over and hosting events.  He loves it.  So, he’s planned out how we’re going to have our family over for Thanksgiving dinner and he’s divvied up the dishes:  daddy’s turkey, mommy’s gravy, daddy’s mashed potatoes, Aunt L’s sweet potatoes and homemade cranberry sauce (we need her to make cranberry sauce.  I love Aunt L’s homemade cranberry sauce!!!), Grammy’s rutabaga and parsnips, Grandma’s peas and corn and apple pie, and mommy’s pumpkin pie.  I think that all covers it.  And picture it delivered much faster than you just read and with more enthusiasm than you can imagine, and you’re probably close to the live version.  Isaac is excited! about Thanksgiving.  He’s now talking of buying a giant blow-up turkey for our front yard because we don’t have any Thanksgiving decorations.  He’s also started planning for upping our Christmas decorations from last year’s additions.  Think Clark Griswald.  “Christmas Vacation.”  Except his father and I are more the simple all-white little lights and candles in the windows sorts.  If we were actually motivated to decorate at all, that is.  I’m not really sure where this boy came from.

Hannah.  Hannah girlie.  Hannah girlie’s birthday is right around the corner and is she ever excited.  We wrote out her invitations for her friends this morning.  This is her first birthday party with friends invited, not just family.  She was jumping up and down and wiggling with excitement.  Which means, when you do the conversion, if Isaac felt that same level of excitement he would, quite literally, be through the roof and out in space somewhere.  Hannah is giggly and excited and wrote everybody’s names on the envelopes along with a drawing of a stamp and an I <3 U for every one of her classmates.  She’ll be five.  FIVE!  And if she saw you on the street, she would invite you to her party.  She’s just sweet as can be.  And I need to start making some plans.

Her “best friends” in her class are the kids who are in most need of early intervention and/or special education.  I’m not exactly sure why, she can’t explain what she likes best about them, but knowing Hannah, it just seems to fit.  She sees the people most in need of love and care and attention and she lavishes it.  Of all our kids, we can most easily, very easily, see Hannah following in the family business.  Of course, Lord knows what he’ll really call her to, but she has the kindest, gentlest heart and a passion for caring for people.  She’s precious.  Simply precious.

And Ruth.  Ruthie Ruthie Ruthie.  Ruthie’s big project this last week and a half is starting to use the potty.  I’ll save you the gross details.  Suffice it to say, she’s been so easy about it.  She just decided to do it and now she’s doing it.  It’s thrilling.  It’s the end of an era.  And there isn’t an ounce of bitter in its sweetness.  I’m thinking of opening a special savings account where I can squirrel away the money we’ll be saving on diapers.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I might just know the real reason I’ve been absent from blogland.  Ruth has been two-and-a-half.  And if you’ve ever met a 2 1/2 year old, you know what I mean.  Holy moly, Ruth is doing 2 1/2, like she does everything else:  with GUSTO!  Full bore!!!  Yesssireeebob, I am toddler, hear me roar!!!  Wow.  And I’m getting a little old for this stuff.  Finally, finally she seems to be mellowing out some.  Some.  She’s getting a grasp on taking turns.  She’s gaining a little bit of patience.  She’s developing better language skills and that seems to diffuse some of the intensity.  But at the end of the day, this toddler is positively hysterical.  When she’s not screaming at me, she’s saying and doing some of the funniest things and I find myself laughing at her all day.  What a joy!  What a blessing!

There ya have it.  My three kids and where they’re at and what they’re doing.  Meanwhile, I’m watching them grow and learn and be, and am, in many ways, simply along for the ride.  These years are far too fleeting.  I don’t want to miss a second.

Seven?! Seriously?!

My Boy. He’s seven. As of this past Saturday. Seven. Seven. I’m having trouble wrapping my head around that. At the moment it seems so . . . Old. Mature. Big. I know the day will come when I will look at Ruth, see her as seven and say, Wow. She’s still so little! But in the meantime, my firstborn is hitting a new milestone and I can’t believe how old he’s getting to be.

He is simply great. In so many ways he is exactly the Boy who greeted me seven years ago. With these intense eyes, darting about, determined to figure this place out. “I don’t know where I am, and so far I can’t seem to be able to move much, but I. will. understand and conquer this place. Whatever it is.”

He’s still the Boy who would get excited from his toes to his nose and flap his arms up and down breathlessly when we would put his blankie over his face while he lay on the floor. His blankie is currently a tangle of waffle-weave knots.

He is still the Boy who as a toddler was surely a liquid as he expanded to fill every square millimeter of space available to him.

He is still the Boy who at barely three could walk into a room of grown-ups and assert himself, ask them what they were doing and how he could help.

He is still the Boy who moved non-stop from sunrise to sunset and slept and slept all night long.

Yep. He might be seven. And he might be getting awfully old. But he’s still my Boy. My sweet, sweet Isaac Boy.

My Boy. Husband-in-training.

I don’t know how much I’ve thought about this before, but we had an incident here this morning that got me thinking about how my son’s life with two little sisters will affect him long-term.  And I like what I’m thinking.

Lately I’ve been very excited to see how well Hannah and Isaac hve been getting along.  For the most part, they really have found a rhythm where they enjoy one another’s company.  Hannah is happy to see Isaac home at the end of the day; Isaac is wondering where Hannah is if she’s not right there.  Off they go, playing their imaginary roles–the latest come from 3-2-1 Penguins and I generally have no idea what they’re talking about.  So engrossed with one another do they become that I am often driven to madness (you decide which kind) trying to break into whatever little game/story they’ve got going on in order to tell them it’s time to do something else–like get ready for bed or have dinner.  The other day at the grocery store I was ready to leave them there at the dairy case to live happily-ever-after as I had hit the wall from their giggling their way through the store with pushing and shoving as they were playing out some sort of story that involved captures and the defeat of enemies.

I’m half elated and half enraged at their new-found fun.  Mostly I’m elated.  Only sometimes do I wish they would never speak to one another again.  I know a great deal of this development in their relationship stems from Hannah’s recent jump in maturity, but I still hold their room-sharing to be a vital part of the revolution.  Whatever the reason, I truly, truly am thrilled to see it.

This morning I started contemplating a different facet to this relationship.  What prompted my new musings?  Overhearing this:

Thud! Thud! Thud!  (someone with inner rage coming down from the attic/bedroom Isaac and Hannah share)

Thudthudthudthudthud!  (someone coming quickly after the enraged)

“Hannah?  What did I do wrong?  I don’t understand!  What did I do?  I didn’t do anything!!!”

More and various thud-thud-thudding down to the first floor.

I have no idea what happened.  I’m as clueless as Isaac, apparently.  But I know I’ve had this conversation before.  Well, there was no real conversation, simply befuddlement prompted and responded by furious thudding.  The girl is mad.  The boy has no idea why or what he did or what he could do to change it.  Maybe it’s just me, but this scenario sounds ever-so familiar to me.  And I’m not talking about a couple of kids here.

While I was completely, utterly amused, I also found myself grateful.  Grateful that my boy can encounter such perplexity while he’s young, in the safety of his own home, where the stakes are low and his expectations are lower.  That way when he grows up and he encounters the same bafflement:  “What did I do wrong?  I don’t understand.  I didn’t do anything!” followed by thud thud thud, he will have learned it’s not the end of the world, that there may not actually be an answer to the question, and to wait for it if there is.  He will have learned to work through the thudding, knowing that it’s worth wading through in order to continue playing your fun game.

My boy, big brother to two little sisters, is learning the ways of women before he even knows it.  I think he’ll be blessed because of it.  Moreso, I think his wife will.

I love my kids . . .

and the God who gave them to me.

God knows what he’s doing and he gave me these three crazy, silly, completely unique kids . . . he gave me these kids.  Not the lady down the street.  He gave Ry and me these three kids, and for that I am so very grateful.  I love these kids.  The Boy and his intensity and non-stop verbiage and big schemes and dreams and passion for food and life and breath and the universe.  The Girl with her inborn empathy and compassion and soft and tender heart who will love anyone into submission and peace and who will lull people into complacency but with her sharp mind and wit take them completely off guard.  And that Other Girl with her spunk and her fire and her tenacity and her temper and her humor and her stubbornness and her own non-stop verbiage.  All three of them.  So very different, such wonderful gifts.

We’ve spent some time reflecting on their birth order, how they came in such a good order. Having our Boy first was perfect.  He’s just so very intense, he requires so very much energy, perseverance, and patience.  But because he was our first, we just figured that was the way our babies were made. We simply met him where he was and went from there; there was no point of comparison.  Then Hannah came along and I still remember vividly Ry and myself looking at her, wondering what was wrong with her because she just sat there.  In one place.  With one toy.  And she was so, so, very quiet and required next to nothing.  As long as she had her mommy and her milk, she was AOK.  I can’t imagine if Isaac had to follow her, if we were asking ourselves, “What is wrong with him?“  I’m afraid we would have pushed until we did find something “wrong” with him and then we never would have grown to have this great appreciation for who he is, for his qualities that will lead him to take over the world.

And then came Ruth.  Who is so interesting.  She split the difference between Isaac and Hannah as we all predicted, because, really, there was nowhere else to go:  Isaac and Hannah are so very different.  What she required of us that her birth order provided is our mellowed attitude.  We’ve been around the block a few times.  Go ahead, throw your head back into the oak molding, you still have to come with us.  Sure! fling yourself to the ground kicking and screaming, you just let me know when you’re done and we’ll carry on with our day.  Oh dear, you seem to have flung yourself into a support beam and split your face in two, I think we need to go the emergency room now.  She needed to be third.  We needed her to be third.

Sometimes I worry about Hannah in the middle.  Worry that she’ll disappear in her quiet, subdued way in the middle of these two loud, boisterous lunatics.  But then I think, No.  She’s so completely connected to the ones on either side of her; she looks out for them, she seeks them out to hug and kiss (or poke or jump on).  She worries about them when they’re sick, she lifts their needs before us, urging us to care for them.  Above all else, she hates to be alone, always has.  So I’m happy for her that with an older brother and a younger sister, she likely won’t be left alone.  When we’ve suggested time out with just her and her two parents, she’s disturbed at the thought:  what about Isaac?  What about Roofie?  And when she’s sick of her brother or sister, when she just needs someone to love on her and take care of her, she just climbs right up on our lap, or into our bed, or between our hug.  She’s not only aware of the love and care others need, she’s aware of her own need for love and affection.  We call it her “snuggle tank” and she lets us know when it’s empty.

I love these kids.  I love the God who gave them to us.  He gave them to us, created them individually, in just the right way, in just the right time, in just the right family.  I pray he gives me the grace and the love and the fortitude and perseverance to do right by them.  God’s beautiful children.

I-Man, the Science Guy

Oh, six is a fun age. A fun, fun age. My boy Isaac . . . wait, I’m getting choked up . . . My boy Isaac . . . you’ll never believe this, I can hardly believe it myself . . . My boy Isaac . . . oh. I have dreamed of this moment since the Boy was a mere bundle of cells within me . . . My boy Isaac, between this past Saturday morning and evening, read an entire chapter book on his own!! *gasp* *GLEEE* Wow! Yay! Whoopeee!!!! Get this. He comes downstairs Saturday morning to find a pile–a PILE–of Junie B. Jones books his aunt has brought with her from her daughters’ old stash. I watch him as his eye is caught by the stack: stopped dead in his tracks. jaw drops, eyes widen. All that can escape his slack jaw is a simple, quiet “wow.” He picks up the stack, clutches them to his chest, and scurries off with them announcing, “Don’t bother with me, I’m going to be reading for a few hours.”

*gasp* I think I cried a bit. But that was only the start of my tears. Ry and I were leaving the kids with my sister for the day (a church-y thing, nothing too romantic, don’t get excited), so before I left a few minutes later I went to find Isaac to say goodbye. I had thought he had just gone into the kitchen to find a reading spot, still within earshot of the action–you know, any social engagement, he’s gotta be there. Instead, I had to head upstairs to find him. And then upstairs again. As I rounded the corner to approach the steps up to his attic bedroom I was greeted by his big chalk board propped up against a mostly-closed door and thereupon, written in big letters: “Please Do Not Disterb. Isaac” His name was printed, along with his cursive “signature” underneath. Nice touch. So up the steps I tread, respectful of the sign I tap quietly on the wall and say, “Isaac, may I come up? I just want to say goodbye” “Sure, Mommy.”

I mount the stairs and round the corner and there I see it (hear choirs of heavenly angels and see bright light shining from behind the vision): my Boy, on his bed, head bent over a book, with a stack of other books beside him, fully engrossed in reading. On a Saturday morning. Can you hear them? Can you hear the angels singing? It was beautiful. And this time I definitely cried a little. “Goodbye Isaac. Have a fun day.” “I will Mommy. I’ll just be sitting here reading for about 24 hours.” He doesn’t even know there are 24 hours in a day, but there he is, this boy who was a baby pile of cells just a week or two ago I’m sure, reading. By himself. Beautiful. As it turned out, he didn’t exactly read for 24 hours, but he did read for quite a long time that morning and later, before bed, he picked the book up again and then could. not. put it down until he finished it. An hour and a half past bedtime. Makes a mama proud.

As you can probably tell by the title of this post, that wasn’t where I had planned on spending all my words about Isaac. That was just supposed to be a quick aside before I got to the meat of where Isaac is these days. But, obviously such a vision cannot be simply glossed over. Nor soon forgotten.

So, on to the Science Guy stuff. . . . He is obsessed. Obsessed with all things science. Particularly human anatomy. We have drawings of the veins in hands and of brains adorning our walls. One set, I believe, is from at least a year ago. He has a science lab downstairs where he and his dad play with acids and bases and make fizz and foam while he wears his safety goggles and rubber (yellow, kitchen) gloves which, he tells his aunt, he doesn’t just wear because he wants to; he wears them because he has to. Because this citric acid can be irritating to your eyes and skin. “Stand back, there Kousin.” Of course he was ecstatic to share his science lab with his aunt because his aunt is a Thysical Pherapist and knows all about the body and science and stuff. The thing is, I feed into his high esteem of his aunt because I know next to nothing about the human body–no more than I absolutely have to–so I keep recommending he talk to her about it.

Don’t think the science obsession ends there. He has spent hours imagining what his science lab will someday be. “And Mommy, I can have it in the garage and people can come and I can teach them all about the human body and I can have jars with body parts in them and Daddy, can I keep parts of your deer this year to put in jars in my bedroom for my science lab?” “I want to grow my hair out long for when I grow up, so I can have crazy mad scientist hair.” Like this:

I think I’ll keep these kids after all.

Yep.  They’re keepers. 

This is night two of Operation Daddy is GONE! and both bedtimes have actually gone quite well.  And these are the kids who have been extra crazy at bedtime lately.

Going into last night, I wasn’t really worried about Isaac.  Apparently he has finally settled in to his new room and come to realize that there are, in fact, no monsters living in the knee walls. He’s been getting up at 5AM since the clocks changed (yesterday he watched NOVA during the 5 o’clock hour), so he can barely keep his eyes opened through dinner.  Therefore, he basically collapses into a comatose heap as soon as his rump hit his mattress.

My Hannah Girlie, on the other hand, has been in the habit–since birth–of having someone lie down with her while she tosses and turns and hums and flops and plays with her hands and reaches toward the ceiling for twenty minutes until she drops off a cliff to slumber.

And Ruth . . . Boy, Ruth had me the most worried about this week.  Horrid Molar Teething Monster has set up shop and she has been sleeping terribly for a week or more.  I can’t actually remember how long it has been, as sleep deprivation leaves me incapable of marking time.  So bad has her teething been that I had her to the pediatrician last week, convinced she had an ear infection.  Head banging, ornery, sleepless–my good sleeper, too–oh, the poor baby has been a mess.  So, as you could well imagine, I was very worried about how this weekend would go, as Daddy is go-to guy when sitting in a chair and nursing to sleep fails, as it has been lately.

But last night went great.  Ruth had no nap yesterday, so she was whooped.  As a result, I was able to sit down on the floor of Isaac and Hannah’s room and nurse her to sleep while I sang to the other two.  Hannah’s flopping about came to an end, Ruth was passed out, so I thought I’d take Ruth to her crib.  When I stood up I saw that Hannah wasn’t quite all the way asleep so I panicked slightly.  She opened her eyes, gave me a sweet wave, blew me a kiss and said goodnight.  That was that.  I lay Ruth in her crib and I was done at 8:15.

I was less optimistic going into tonight.  Hannah had fallen asleep in the car on her way home from an outing with Aunt Worry, which generally means there is no way on earth she’ll be asleep before 9PM.  Ruth took a nice two hour nap.  Still wasn’t too worried about Isaac, though, as he had awakened at 5AM again today in hopes of getting to watch NOVA again–sorely disappointed he was.  As predicted, Isaac fell quickly to sleep while I sang and held Ruth in my arms.  My girls, however, took a little more convincing and for a while anyway I was afraid I’d be there a while.  In the end, Hannah lay in her bed “reading” her children’s Bible while I sang and nursed Ruth, but then Ruth became very unsettled.  She was not as sleepy as last night and so couldn’t just pass out.  She needed her nice dark room, and noise machine.  So I picked her up to take her downstairs and Hannah asked if I could lie down with her.  “No, honey, I’m sorry.  I need to take Ruth down to her bed.”  “Will you lie down with me after she’s asleep?”  “Sure.  But you lie here in your bed and look at your Bible and try to go to sleep on your own, OK?”  “OK.”  And she closed her eyes.

Ruth took a while.  Some nursing, an attempt to get down, some whines and cries for Daddy that I joined in on.  But finally she settled in nursing and fell asleep.  I lay her down with her making feeble gasping sounds indicating a desire for milk, but apparently that desire couldn’t overcome the exhaustion of two weeks of poor sleeping because when I lay her down she went right to sleep.  So.  Now, back to Hannah.  I went upstairs to lie down with her, as requested, but I found her there already asleep.  Curled on her side, still holding her children’s Bible.  She did it.  Two nights in a row.  To sleep on her own.

We’ll see how tomorrow goes.

As for how the rest of my day is going during my husband’s absence:  I’m missing the man terribly.  I really like this guy and like to live with him.  Really.  So not getting to hang out with him is no fun at all.  But so far I’m doing quite well on the mothering front.  Praise be to God, He’s giving me everything I need for this long weekend, including the assurance that he really did give me what it takes to be a mother.  Today while Hannah went on her adventure and Ruth took her nap, I actually sat in a chair for an hour and read.  Just me.  All alone.  With a book, a blanket on my lap, and my beautiful living room windows surrounding me.  Nice.  Very nice.  On to tomorrow’s adventures . . .

My final semi-political post

Well for this election anyway.

And actually it’s just a return to telling cute stories about my kids.

So Isaac’s elementary school had a mock election last week. Isaac was totally excited to tell me he had voted that day and that he had voted for Barak Obama. I was very curious to hear why he had chosen Obama. Ry and I have never really had any kind of specific political conversation in front of him so he wouldn’t be going into it informed by our choices.

“Why did you vote for Barak Obama?”

“Because he never ever ever never never ever never uses guns.”

“Hunh. Where did you hear that?” I was wondering what sort of information the school would provide these little voters.

“Christy told me.” Christy is a classmate of his. Actually, his “reading buddy.”

“Well, Isaac, Daddy uses guns.”

“Yeah, but just for hunting. Barak Obama knows you don’t use guns for anything else.”

“Oh. OK.” And it dropped.

A couple evenings later, at lunch I think, I brought it up again, the whole gun thing.

“You know, Isaac, Barak Obama probably doesn’t use guns at all.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess not. He must use a bow and arrow to hunt.”

My boy. He just cannot fathom a man who doesn’t hunt. His brain is many steps away from drawing this conclusion. I drew it for him. “Isaac, I don’t think Mr. Barak Obama hunts at all. He lives in a big city . . .”

“Oh.” That’s about as far as it went, but I still don’t think he’s convinced. Too funny.

So, fast-forward to Monday evening for more political talk with Isaac. He’s totally excited about the election tomorrow. He makes me a sign to take with me when I vote: “Vote for Obama” “#1 is Obama.” Then we happen upon his Scholastic News magazine. Do you remember those?

This one had a picture of each of the presidential candidates on the cover and inside the bi-fold paper each half was devoted to one candidate, with a large picture of McCain and his wife and one daughter on one side and a picture of Obama and his wife and two daughters on the other. Underneath the picture there were three smaller pictures within boxes. These contained answers to questions about the candidate: What is your favorite food? What is your favorite children’s book? What is your favorite leisure activity?

Isaac is drawn up short when he sees Senator McCain’s favorite food. A picture of a Taco! Senator McCain’s favorite food is Mexican food! Isaac’s entire countenance changes, jaw drops, eyes widen. No other word to describe it: crisis. You see, Isaac’s favorite thing is food. And Isaac’s favorite food is Mexican. And Isaac’s favorite Mexican food–of his very limited experience–is tacos. Seriously, the boy is stopped dead in his tracks. In silence I watch his face tell the tale.

“McCain’s favorite food is Mexican food. Mexican food!! Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I should have voted for McCain. Oh no. . . . Ok, get yourself together boy. Now check out Obama’s favorite food. Quick! Check! . . . . Chili! Chili!”

This part is said aloud: “I love chili. I mean, I love chili.”

Looks back and forth, back and forth. Again, the crisis written all over his face:

“Mexican is my favorite food. But I love chili. But Mexican is my favorite. But I love chili. And I was already committed to Obama and he has the whole no-gun thing going for him. But Mexican is my favorite. But I do love chili. A lot.”

Crisis passes. Whew.

“What do you think, Isaac?”

“I still like Obama. I love chili.”

Ahhh. If only it were all that simple. I love this boy. I truly truly love this boy. I don’t think you could know him from just a story. You have to see his exuberance, his intensity, his inquisitiveness, his passion and zeal for life. Every part of life. There is no half-way with this boy. There are only extremes. Someday he will take over the world. We used to joke about it, see him at his toddler-preschooler best and know that he would take over the world, but wonder if he would use his powers for good or for evil. Now that he’s coming into his own as a boy, an elementary school student, it’s looking likely he will use his powers for good. And I can’t wait to see it. As I sang to him when he was a teeny tiny: he’s a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

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?

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.

The Boy’s New Look

On Tuesday evening we had the Session of our church come to our house for dinner and their monthly meeting. It has turned into an annual September event. It’s fun, if not a little stressful. Isaac and Hannah both enjoy it. Isaac especially. He’s just a little extrovert, feeding off the energy of all of the people. This year was especially exciting for the Boy as he was a man on a mission: Must Get This Tooth Out!

He had a very loose tooth. It was barely hanging on. And it was bugging him. The elders who sat at the table with him were all so very encouraging and excited for him (all but one were moms themselves). Finally, he gave up on eating and just went in to the bathroom mirror and focused. With a little help from his dad, he emerged 10 minutes later with a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smirk. The women at the table feigned breathless anticipation as they awaited the announcement . . . “YES! My tooth came out!” Hand raised, thumb and forefinger pinching the tiny tooth between them. Huge, wide, grin. It’s the grin that gets you. It’s gotten me every time since.