These days Feb 14

These days Feb 14 2020

These are the days of Josh waking up at 4:00 and me at 5:00 to tackle all the academic things in front of us. But this day, we slept in until 7:00 and it was glorious.

Devotions began, late, with love advice from the old testament from Rebecca:

She went to Isaac and complained, “I am disgusted with my life because of the Hittite women. If Jacob marries a Hittite woman like these, from among the native women, what good will life be to me (Genesis 27:46)?”

Daddy thought this was a great reading for Valentine's day.... And tied it into a lovely discussion about dating and marriage this morning. “Kids, don’t marry someone who will ruin your mother’s life, mmmkay?”

These days we try to start school around 8:00 but it was well after 9:00 on this day.

These are the days when being in the same room with these boys makes me feel over stimulated! One is bouncing a bouncy ball, another throws a pencil, another falls out of his chair, each one is annoyed by the other, and I have had more than enough of it all.

These are the days when I fight the nonsense until I embrace it. This day, we acted out a verb anatomy chart using props like a gecko, copper, a coffee cup oatmeal and a clown wig. Then we played basketball.

These are the days I diagram sentences with joy, even compulsively during hymns or while driving.  One boy has been swept up into language with me, and the others merely tolerate it.

These are the days when the afternoons are full of challenge work, big kid work.  This

afternoon meant Latin verbs in passive voice, logic and the rules of inference, and a discussion on research, science, philosophy, evolution, and creation with the older children. This day, I made the littles’ afternoon list too short.  Free time was more than they could handle, and these days it’s awfully cold outside.  

I threatened them with extra work if they couldn’t be free and quiet. They couldn't, so I gave it. They tried again and we had an hour peace, but it was shattered by an injury, screaming, blame being flung all around the living room. This day, mama got loud too, and enforced an hour separation for everyone.

These days, sophisticated philosophical discussions are followed by YouTube videos that appeal to middle schoolers.  He turns on Badlandschugs, starring a guy who drinks massive amounts of things as fast as he can. (Going strong since 1997.) We watched him brush his teeth and then drink orange juice out of a giant boot.  I couldn’t resist the mom words, “Ok guys, it’s a little funny, but please don’t aspire to be this guy.”

These are the days of school things everywhere, but this day, we speed-cleaned to prepare for Valentines dinner. “Vacuum the dog hair, pile the notebooks, collect the dry erase markers, pick up the nerf bullets, and wipe the nutella off the counter, quickly now!”

I remember the first days of this tradition, with girls in high chairs, wearing fancy dresses from the dress-up box, sporting spaghetti sauce mustaches. Those days, daddy ran the entire meal. These days, the oldest boy takes charge, delegating tasks to brothers, handling the most important jobs (meat, dessert.)

The girls borrow dresses and I straighten my hair. I tell them they can stay barefoot, but Dad enforced a strict dress shoe policy with his sons.  When they cry injustice, I change my rule, and we all gather around the table fully clothed and shoed. Candles, a tablecloth, wine glasses with ice water, tacos, and boy-made name tags; the ordinary has been made beautiful. (It always was, but we can see it better now.)

These days, Valentines conversation begins with a round of teasing towards one child who bounces the joke towards another, a verbal volleyball game, played often, with points awarded for wit and good sportsmanship.  

A parent serves up heavier subjects, moving the conversation to more serious things:

Why do people have wedding ceremonies? What makes a “good” one?
Whose marriages do you respect? Why? Why do people bother with this at all? 

These days are growing short; as we look around the table we realize these numbers will not last long; these children will soon be leaving, perhaps returning with new additions. 

We change out of dress clothes into PJs, back to normal people, cozy in front of the TV on a friday night before bed. There is a fight about who sits where. Aggie shares her electric blanket with me and I put my head on her shoulder, letting daddy be the referee this time. 

We color “love” for our children, filling in the concept with our broken, imperfect examples, defining “normal” and “marriage” and “faithfulness” and “love” more with our lives than with our conversations.  

Oh Father, color “love” for our children with Your love.

May these days now, and those days to come, be commended to You, and infused with Your love.