You know those lists: "You know you're a redneck if..." "You know you're an '09-er' if..." (one of my personal favorites, pertinent only to those who were blessed to have grown up in the southwest part of the city). There's also, "You know you're a homeschooler if..." That one is fun, says things like "You've done your school day in your PJ's."
I have some new things to add to that particular list, courtesy of my always-entertaining 1st grader. Specifically:
"I'm going to make a Star Wars movie. It's going to be rated 'C' for 'Kids.' Yeah. And also 'A' for 'Everyone.'" (As long as those kind of comments don't get shared in public. I am SO RESPONSIBLE for how these guys spell... oh, the pressure.)
"Who'd you vote for for President? McCain or Obama? Are you happy it's Obama? Cause that's not who we voted for!!" (This lovely, courteous quizzing was thrown out to a park ranger at a local park. Said ranger graciously overlooked the nosy 6-year-old.)
It's always something fun! Oh, and it's a bit sleety outside. We're crossing fingers that we'll get to do school in our PJ's!!!
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Braving the Dark
A late meeting kept me out. I got home, went in to kiss the little guys, knowing they'd probably be asleep.
And they were. The room was mostly dark, lit only by the light on the sound machine that generated the necessary white noise as well as the light from the fish tank CD tower.
The bottom bunk held our 5-year-old. Why did I not recognize the PJ's? Then recognition dawned: the 5-year-old had been transformed into a clone trooper while I was out (the boys were both blessed with full Star Wars clone trooper outfits for Christmas). The trooper impersonation had continued through bedtime, so the uniform was the bedclothes of choice.
I smiled, and planted a kiss on the soft, warm, brown skin. Climbed up next to the top bunk to kiss our 6-year-old. He, too, had gotten lost in Star Wars land. His uniform shone in the darkness of the room.
The irony hit me: wrapped around my 6-year-old's arm was his precious Pooh bear. He is a brave, light-saber wielding warrior by day, but the darkness of night brings the reality of the unknown -- and the need for security.
I looked behind me at the closet. The 5-year-old needs the closet door shut, keeping the unknown that plagues his thoughts locked safely away until the morning light can shine again. The door was shut.
Heroes by day. Little guys by night. My prayer is that God will lead them to understand that there is nothing to fear when we know ourselves to be kept in His hand. Our God never sleeps, and the darkness is as light to Him. And He is to be trusted in every breath we take, even those taken in our slumber.
I smiled, kissed my clone troopers, thankful that they found common ground in their play and enjoyed each other, thankful that they will hear over and over that the LORD is always watching over them. God is good.
And they were. The room was mostly dark, lit only by the light on the sound machine that generated the necessary white noise as well as the light from the fish tank CD tower.
The bottom bunk held our 5-year-old. Why did I not recognize the PJ's? Then recognition dawned: the 5-year-old had been transformed into a clone trooper while I was out (the boys were both blessed with full Star Wars clone trooper outfits for Christmas). The trooper impersonation had continued through bedtime, so the uniform was the bedclothes of choice.
I smiled, and planted a kiss on the soft, warm, brown skin. Climbed up next to the top bunk to kiss our 6-year-old. He, too, had gotten lost in Star Wars land. His uniform shone in the darkness of the room.
The irony hit me: wrapped around my 6-year-old's arm was his precious Pooh bear. He is a brave, light-saber wielding warrior by day, but the darkness of night brings the reality of the unknown -- and the need for security.
I looked behind me at the closet. The 5-year-old needs the closet door shut, keeping the unknown that plagues his thoughts locked safely away until the morning light can shine again. The door was shut.
Heroes by day. Little guys by night. My prayer is that God will lead them to understand that there is nothing to fear when we know ourselves to be kept in His hand. Our God never sleeps, and the darkness is as light to Him. And He is to be trusted in every breath we take, even those taken in our slumber.
I smiled, kissed my clone troopers, thankful that they found common ground in their play and enjoyed each other, thankful that they will hear over and over that the LORD is always watching over them. God is good.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Bretfust
I knew this moment was coming. I know they don't stay small. Proof floats in front of my eyes all day long in 14- and 12-year old bodies. But the surprise of those older two (weren't they just born yesterday? I remember it so well!) has caused me to savor more slowly the sweetness of these days with my 6-year-old. Listening a bit more intently. Focusing more on finding times to read, to play (even though there is much less time to actually do those things with him).
Today's reading time brought a bit of pain. With one word. Breakfast.
There's a list in my head of so many words that he's said in his unique way for so long. Most of them he's self-corrected over time. I don't correct my kids when they say words in their own way. I don't allow the older ones to correct them, either. I selfishly hang on to the childish fumblings that roll off their tongues, loving the sound of each mispronunciation that reminds me of how young they are. I try to wring each day of their childhood for all it's worth, knowing that the setting sun is a day gone forever.
His list of words has grown so short now, as it should have. But a few words remain: Napkum for napkin. Frowed for throwed. Bretfust for breakfast. Others that don't come to mind right now.
Today's reading story brought a new word: breakfast. I didn't know it was coming, but I saw it before him. I held my breath. He paused, read it in his head, pronounced, "Bretfust." Continued reading. The selfish Mother inside argued, "Let it go! He'll get it later! Keep him little!"
The teacher/responsible/guilt-infused Mother argued back: "It is time to let this word go. Don't cling. Help him be where he needs to be."
"Go back," I said. "Look at the word again. It's pronounced break-fast."
One more small step toward Older, one giant step for mom toward letting go.
He had to read that word 4 more times. Each time, "bretfust" came out, followed by the correcting: "break-fast."
It's so much like Jake losing his Vietnamese. Jake is learning English and has to leave his native tongue behind. (I have been surprised at the grief that this has brought to my heart.) His brother must learn the correct way to speak and leave baby-hood behind. I must learn to enable, to strengthen, to encourage to grow -- and leave my grief & distaste for change behind.
For now, though, my heart is sore. Tears are burning my eyes. I'm battling to do the right thing. Bretfust is leaving.
Today's reading time brought a bit of pain. With one word. Breakfast.
There's a list in my head of so many words that he's said in his unique way for so long. Most of them he's self-corrected over time. I don't correct my kids when they say words in their own way. I don't allow the older ones to correct them, either. I selfishly hang on to the childish fumblings that roll off their tongues, loving the sound of each mispronunciation that reminds me of how young they are. I try to wring each day of their childhood for all it's worth, knowing that the setting sun is a day gone forever.
His list of words has grown so short now, as it should have. But a few words remain: Napkum for napkin. Frowed for throwed. Bretfust for breakfast. Others that don't come to mind right now.
Today's reading story brought a new word: breakfast. I didn't know it was coming, but I saw it before him. I held my breath. He paused, read it in his head, pronounced, "Bretfust." Continued reading. The selfish Mother inside argued, "Let it go! He'll get it later! Keep him little!"
The teacher/responsible/guilt-infused Mother argued back: "It is time to let this word go. Don't cling. Help him be where he needs to be."
"Go back," I said. "Look at the word again. It's pronounced break-fast."
One more small step toward Older, one giant step for mom toward letting go.
He had to read that word 4 more times. Each time, "bretfust" came out, followed by the correcting: "break-fast."
It's so much like Jake losing his Vietnamese. Jake is learning English and has to leave his native tongue behind. (I have been surprised at the grief that this has brought to my heart.) His brother must learn the correct way to speak and leave baby-hood behind. I must learn to enable, to strengthen, to encourage to grow -- and leave my grief & distaste for change behind.
For now, though, my heart is sore. Tears are burning my eyes. I'm battling to do the right thing. Bretfust is leaving.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Whole of Us
It is taking me forever to get around to posting some pics. This one was taken in October, 2008 while we were taking school pictures. The family shot I have framed in my house is a bit different: we are more "posed" in it. Here, the photographer requested that we get our heads together as close as possible for a tighter shot. We got tickled, and it was a fun moment.
This was the picture we used for Jacob's dedication ceremony at our church on December 21. I love this shot! It reminds me that there are indeed moments (many of them!) where the transition of our adoption is smoother, more peaceful. This photo is one way that God reminds me to stay hopeful during the difficult days, to wait for all of the fruit of His work to be evident.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Too Good to Miss
Wanted to paste this old post here (from March of this year, from our Wordpress blog). This remains my favorite song, and when I come here to post, I want to be able to play it umpteen times (I'm a bit high-maintenance, that way).
I also think you need the opportunity to hear this song as well, if you haven't already!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wanted to share my absolute favorite song with you, from my favorite group, the Newsboys. My family and I LOVE this band and have traveled hours to go & see them 3 different times in concert. You won’t see them on this video except for a few seconds in the last half of it. (My 11-year-old says, “Tell them it’s the bald guy with the black shirt & black guitar!” That’s Peter Furler, the lead singer. We saw them in concert this past fall in Kansas City, and my kids got a shot of him & put it on my phone as a screen saver!!) Hopefully some of you know who they are!
Incredible lyrics, pointing to a magnificent God. We can’t play this song enough for me! And it always has to be LOUD, with the bass boomin’!!
Hope you enjoy!
I also think you need the opportunity to hear this song as well, if you haven't already!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wanted to share my absolute favorite song with you, from my favorite group, the Newsboys. My family and I LOVE this band and have traveled hours to go & see them 3 different times in concert. You won’t see them on this video except for a few seconds in the last half of it. (My 11-year-old says, “Tell them it’s the bald guy with the black shirt & black guitar!” That’s Peter Furler, the lead singer. We saw them in concert this past fall in Kansas City, and my kids got a shot of him & put it on my phone as a screen saver!!) Hopefully some of you know who they are!
Incredible lyrics, pointing to a magnificent God. We can’t play this song enough for me! And it always has to be LOUD, with the bass boomin’!!
Hope you enjoy!
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