assorted passengers

Wind and whitecaps today, but we’re on the boat anyways. He steers us right into the stomach-dropping waves, and as we cruise along I observe the manifold reactions.

One asks me questions I can’t answer: “How big are these waves? What happens if this or that happens? Is this a good idea?” I’m not sure, but I think it’s safe because I trust his dad, and his dad is going forward (with a small smile, even.)

One snuggles close to me.  He puts my arms around him just so, and then he bows his head in prayer. He keeps his eyes closed, praying, fearing, enduring.

The youngest knows just how to cope: it’s time for a nap.  He pulls a blanket over his head and is asleep in an instant. I’m not sure if this is evidence of strong faith, or some kind of stress overload shutdown effect, but I watch his sleeping body bouncing all over with the waves and I am amazed.

A giant wave, a hard landing, and I let out an angry, “HUN!” Yes, I’m a little scared, and my anxiety can easily turn into anger at the one with the steering wheel.  He can’t control the waves, he says, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at me.

One child does much better if he can stand. He holds on loosely, and his knees are bent so he can sway with the boat and keep his balance. He’s not in control, and he’s not trying to be: he’s just keeping his eyes forward and accepting the waves as they come.

And then, there’s the group of crazies. They’re sitting in the very front, hollerin’ encouragement to the waves.  One keeps flying off his seat while his sister holds the tail of his life jacket.  Water sprays them and they scream-laugh; it pours down their faces and they greet it with wild-eyed excitement and screams for more, more, more!  When we get there, they will be the ones to talk excitedly about the ride to anyone who will listen for days to come. They will be exhausted but happy.  I admire them, but I do not sit with them.

And the captain simply keeps driving forward.

A wild one gets scared and comes back to snuggle me. The sleeping one gets brave and moves to the front. The standing one gets tired and sits down for a rest and a prayer. And still, the boat stays the course. The captain knows the seas, and he can keep his bearings even in rough weather.

The captain guides his boat with his assorted children, and eventually each one gets to land safely.  Because, you see, the success of the venture depends on the captain.

Father in heaven,

Captain of my ship! Guide me in rough seas and in calm. Thank you for your strong hand on the wheel, for your promise to carry your children to safety.  My own feelings toss me about so; thank you for staying the course even when your children aren’t handling it well.  Keep me in the boat that you are steering Lord: I am helpless out there without you!  In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Christmas Eve

As we get ready for service, I think, “The mother who can get her little children to a Christmas program WITHOUT yelling is a superwoman.” And most definitely not me. The too-big socks, all white, the belts missing because you were hitting each other with them yesterday, the too-short pants, and the ever-loving other SHOE… and the baby with the too-short nap who is too grumpy even for Jesus’ birthday cake, already telling me he is NOT singing, clinging to my leg… and THEN, the one crying “I don’t want to be a sheep!” and the other child saying “You HAVE to be a sheep, Eldon,” which leads to an all-out screaming-crying-on-the-floor FIT, and after I "handle it," I tell all children that nobody is allowed to say the word “SHEEP” for the rest of the night.

But with a little help from Grammy Pammy (ok, a lot), we leave on time. Five kids in dress clothes, and one dressed as the Virgin Mary.  I notice the nervous smiles on the older children, so I give a quick encouraging hug.

Somehow between the elbows and the threats and the craning to see,

I was given moments,

moments on each of their sweet faces with more depth than I could ever catch on camera.  

Aggie's looking for me, in her green dress, while she sings and I can her her sweet voice over all the others. Finally she finds me, and when her eyes meet mine, she smiles into her song, and it gets louder, happier.  She sings to make me smile and I am smiling my "glorias" up to the sky.

Lorraine, nearly eleven, not wearing her glasses because the real Mary would not have worn glasses. I wonder if her friends teased her about the boy. She was nervous about that, more so than her performance as Mary.  The blue shawl is draped over her head, and her brown eyes sparkle as she sits by the manger with the boy she most certainly would not have chosen to be Joseph, and she smiles shyly as she holds the baby. 

Seth is wearing a tie tonight, and he's up on the highest riser. This child, who is uncomfortable in large crowds, who spent our first year at this church hiding behind my leg; he is determined, serious. I don't know if he sees me, but it's almost time for him to take the microphone. He reads, clearly, confidently, and the moment is over. But the second he finishes, he looks right at me, and he sees my proud smile. He gives a subtle nod, receiving my message, and gives his shoes a tiny, satisfied smile. And I am suddenly overwhelmed with joy, with the privelage of being the one he looks for, the one whose approval goes right down into his heart and makes him smile like that.

The chaos is too much for Peter. He held me tightly, and when it is time to go up front, his wide eyes fill with tears and he says (lies) "My tummy hurts I need you to snuggle me!" (for the millionth time this month.)  He refuses to go up front, so we watch his peers from the front row.  

We watch Eldon stand proudly in his suit, sneaking peeks at me watching him and smiling whenever he caught my eye. And Marcus, in the front row, stands with his arms crossed and back to me. He turns to scowl at me and I take a picture of his dirty look. His scowl deepens.

Later, we pray, and I've had enough managing the pokey, wiggly, crazy boys to the left and right of me, on top of me, everywhere. Threatening whispers, firm squeezes, even mild mommy pinches do not slow the train barreling towards utter chaos.  

But then, I hear it: the tiny Eldon voice, praying along with the Lord's prayer, just as he should! That deserves a smile and a "good job," and I give it to him immediately.  He smiles back he puts his feet up on the back of the pew in front of us. For a second, he sits like a hammock with a proud smile, then his shoes slip and CRASH right on his behind.  It must have hurt, but his eyes showed only shock and fear (of me), but then he sees my smirk and it spreads to his face, and though I try to stay serious and keep praying with him, we just barely hold back guffaws.  

And the child in the front row is taking off his cowboy boots.  And Peter will not stop touching my face and feeding me my necklace. And finally, we sing the last song and we go. 

Merry, Merry Christmas, everyone.

God is with us, for us, in the chaos, in the darkness, right here.

Come, let us adore him!

Sick mama is so lame.

Of all the modes and moods of mama, sick mama is my least favorite.

She’s no fun at all.

Her house is a mess and that makes her mad, but she is too tired to do anything about it.

She has no sense of humor.

She’s obviously weary, but she has no idea how to be both weary and loving at the same time.

The needs of her children demand of her what she cannot give without tremendous effort. She just wants to sleep, but little people won’t let her sleep, so she sits on the couch, in her robe, with her tea, and her scowl.

And how do the children react?

The Ignorant

To the littlest ones, sick mama looks just like fun mama. Their eyes are too immature to notice under-eye bags of vacant staring. They try to wrestle her. She remains passive. They push her too far, and the result is not pretty. They resolve to find trouble in another room.

The Compassionate (maybe too much)

Some children take this quite seriously, and when they discover a sick mama in their home, they immediately become sick with her. She has not the energy to argue, nor the will to untangle the knots of mental and physical suffering. Sick mama just sighs, and welcomes the other ‘sick’ ones onto her couches.

The care giver

“Mama if you are not going to church, can I stay home and take care of you?” she asked, and she meant exactly that. I told her no, but gave her ways to help before church. She did them all eagerly. When she left, the dishwasher was unloaded, the boys had their shoes on, and I had a gigantic cup of ice water.

Sick mama does do one thing well: she says thank you.

Thank you children, for taking care of me!

I'll try not to be such a bear tomorrow.

photo credit

Experimenting on Children: The Hike

As you may know, I love to experiment on my children. (Don't judge me. I mean like this.)

I love throwing them in a situation and standing back, observing and marveling, as I see the experience reveal new things about their personalities (or confirm things I already knew!)  My latest opportunity for data collection:

The Hike

Some might say that is a crazy idea. It was over 90 degrees out, and quite humid. Physically, the hike was challenging for the children, and I will admit even my legs were shaky by the end of it.

Behold, the various temperaments that tromped through the woods with us that day:

Self-Soothing and the Stomach Flu

As we seek to understand the various temperaments of our dear children, it is helpful to put them in different situations and observe their behavior. Nature did this for me last month, when it provided the nasty virus.  Read more experiments on children, with variables including a sibling looking for a debate, a box for goodwill, and a fit-throwing adult.  (with analysis)

Six sick children. One stomach bug.
A multiplicity of coping measures.


Self soothing measures 
(children may exhibit more than one.)



Denial (or, the puke and run): Child’s childishness stays strong despite the virus. He simply incorporates the need to throw up into his daily schedule, gets the messy business done, and returns to his play.



Regressing: Child becomes a helpless puddle of need. He cannot hold his own drink or get his own blanket.  Sympathy, snuggles, and maybe even a lullaby are in order. (Just don't tell any of his friends at school.)



Hollerin’: Each time a child moves, he wails in misery, “I WAAAAAAAAAANT YOU MOMMY!!!”


Resolve: Child does his best to wear a brave face through the ordeal. Mom gives extra sympathy to this one.



Hoarding: Child climbs on the couch under blankets, and when asked to share, says in a pathetic voice, “I really just don’t want to get you sick, like me.”



Clinging: Child is absolutely UN-happy unless he is sitting on top of the mother. He simple must be on her lap or her hip at all times. If mother puts him down for one moment, he screams as if he’s sitting in him boiling lava.

Philosophizing: The child’s weak body gives him time to reflect on important matters. “Why do we have to get sick?” “Why are there germs?” “Why can’t we just go to heaven right now?”

Velma Virus by Lorraine

Collecting his own data: Child realizes that mom allows more TV watching for sick kids. He says, “My tummy hurts! It needs to watch Scooby Doo!” He keeps this game going for as long as he can.



Medicating: Child needs medicine when he is sick. At times, the medicine seems to magically fix the problem the second he swallows. If it doesn’t, then he thinks he needs more. Or perhaps, a trip to the hospital.



Repeating: Last time child was sick, she ate 2 oranges and took an extra nap, and she woke up feeling fine again. She begs for oranges, convinced that this will work every time.


Despairing: After several consecutive minutes of agony, child collapses on his bed as if he is slain. Giving up after a hard-fought battle, he weakly tells mother, “I know I’m just never ever going to get better.” With a sigh, he resigns to sleep.

Tell me, do you see these in your house? 

What other reactions do your children have when they are ill?

Do YOU have any silly self-soothing measures of your own?

What do you do with the kid who doesn't care?

Most of you already know this: 

I was a nerd.

OK, fine, I AM a nerd.

There are many ways of being a nerd, but my particular brand of nerdiness is the kind that has not left me even to adulthood.

I am a people-pleaser.

This came in handy when I was a child. Teachers loved me. I did work simply because I was told to do it. I got As on my paper because I liked As, and so did the Authorities. I memorized times tables because my teachers wanted me to do it, and it made my parents happy. 

This is not always a good thing, of course, and I am learning that. 

But that is another can of worms. Today, I have a question for you- fellow parents, especially those of you who do not share my nerdy handicap.

What do you do with the kid who doesn't CARE?

I feel like I am learning a foreign language here!

When a kid gets a C- on a test... and doesn't cry, or hide it. Instead, the child SHRUGS!

There is not even a TUMMY ACHE when homework is forgotten and teachers are disappointed!

I pull out the big guns:

I use those crushing words, "I'm very disappointed," or "This makes my heart hurt," and instead of a child's world crumbing in repentance, I get... A SMIRK!

They are little, but I can see it coming...

"Mom, I'm not ever going to need to diagram sentences when I'm a race car driver."

"I just don't see why I'd use algebra when I'm on the road with the band!"

Mothers, what do you do with this kind of attitude?

Someone like... this guy:

 "I didn't take school seriously at all. I found I could get B's and C's with almost  no effort, so I mostly kind of skated by. I did learn some stuff, but I know I missed out on a lot and had to try to make up for it later. 

I was the poster boy for "does not work up to his potential."

"I was one of the kids your dad would never want you to hang out with..."

This guy did turn out ok, for the most part, and he even has some advice for us, which I will be sharing soon.

But first, I would like to hear your thoughts.

Slackers- what motivates you?  Teach me your language!

Generosity: collecting data

First, we must assess the current level of generous goodwill in the hearts of our children.  I humbly suggest the following experiment.

Read a heart-tugging book or tell them a story.  Let them look at you wide-eyed while you tell of need and hunger and little match girls.

Then focus their wide eyes on the plenty that surrounds them.  Point their gazes to the boxes full of toys, the shoes spilling out of closets, and the full dresser drawers.

Then bring out the big box labeled “DONATE.”  

Fill it up kids!

Encourage them unto love and good deeds.

Hypothesis:  If you have more than one child, you will likely have more than one type of heart exposed.  A sampling of those under my own roof:

more data

In the van, on mother's day, I had the opportunity to collect more data regarding the temperaments of each of my dear children simply by listening to their conversation.

The instigator
"Girls rule and boys drool!"

The instigated
"No boys rule and YOU drool!!!"

The hungry literalist
"Food rules and babies drool!"

The peacemaker
"Boys and girls rule and nobody drools!"

The budding theologian
"God rules and everybody drools!"

The daddy bear
"Alright! That's enough drooling and ruling!"

Data Analysis: Needs and prognosis

A Brief Overview of Needs and Prognosis of each child who endured Mommy Experiment #1 performed 4/14/11

(Click here to read more about the mommy-fit experiment.)

Advice is based on data from said experiment, but authorities in no way claim responsibility for the accuracy of this report, or the outcomes of said children.  Let it be noted that parenting is not an exact science.

The Instant Repenter
Needs: sympathetic leadership, affection, grace, and a little more sleep. 
Prognosis: Current soft state of heart indicates a promising future child of God.

The Smarter Smirker
Needs:  Reminder that even big kids are kids under authority, and proof that authority figures are wise to smirk-hiding
Prognosis: Because this child shares mother's failings of patience with the younger children, it is likely that age will melt her smirk into compassion for motherly weakness.  Teenage years will be exciting, but general outlook good.

The Terrified
Needs: A hug and a nap
Prognosis:  This one loves and fears the Lord and authority, and so shall do well.

The Sibling Checker
Needs: Firm direction mixed with hearty wrestling affection.
Prognosis: Child shows every sign of becoming a Smirker in his own right.  Watch and pray and fear.

The Smirker
Needs: Firm direction, a regular outlet for physical adventures, and frequent reality checks.
Prognosis: Highly Uncertain.  Antisocial behavior comes naturally to this one.  There is no indication that the smirk will ever be removed, even with drastic surgery.  Research is underway- perhaps experts will learn the secret of channeling the smirking spirit in directions beneficial to the community.

The mother: Needs:  Work on self-soothing measures, occassional mental health breaks and personal days, and a place to hide when personal days are not possible.
Prognosis:  She will survive these years at home with boys, but she will not be unscathed.  Those who love her can expect a little weariness and a little "crazy."

on collecting data

It is of utmost importance that parents gain insight in to each child's temperament.  Observe the children, make note, and attempt to discern what kind of training each child needs.  Are they overly cautious? Overly adventurous?  How do they react to change?  to challenge? to authority?  to praise?  What is the immediate response to a person who catches them in blatant naughtiness?

After much pondering, I decided to perform an experiment on the children to gain answers to that last question.
(side note: The children had been bickering all morning long, I was low on sleep and on coffee, and two of the younger ones had chosen this day to practice their high-pitched screaming.)

Bickering.
They were bickering at the kitchen table over who sits where, who sits by who, who helps what baby, who gets what spoon, and who leads prayer, and who pushes what chair where.  Their howls and whines bounced around the inside of my already sore skull.  A shriek pulled my eyes wide and made me grit my teeth.  Then, a spill, and one more tattle, and one more indignant "Mommy!" screamed in my direction..

I calmly decided it was a perfect time to try my experiment.

"STOOOOOOOOOP FIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHTIIIIIIIINNNNNG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  The tone and the sound and the mommas-gonna-lose-it expression on my face had the desired result.

Silence.

Then, the opportunity for data collection regarding their psychological makeup.  Behold, the multicolored temperaments that graced my table that day, and the thoughts I read on their faces.

The Instant Repenter- Sinful wretch that I am!  I am not worthy to be a child of this house! If I let fall the tears from these eyes they will never stop flowing! Oh, woe is me!

The Smirker- Yep, momma's gonna lose it.  Oh what fun that will be!  The authority figure has been defeated!  Hm, what shall I do first when there is nobody to rule me any longer?

The Smarter Smirker- Don't laugh.  Look contrite.  Make your eyes big and look very serious.  Don'tlaughdon'tlaughdon'tlaugh.  Hold your breath if you have to.  Do not make eye contact with the smirker.

The terrified-  Oh I see.  This is how my life will end after all.  I didn't think it would happen quite so soon, but alas, so it shall be.

The Sibling Checker- Laugh or cry? Laugh or cry?  What are the others doing?  Oh no, mixed messages!  What do I do?!?! WhatdoIdoooo?


Yet these dear children, molded by the liturgy of sin and grace in our daily lives, spoke with one voice to their frazzled mother as she tucked them in for naps and whispered a sad, "I am sorry for yelling at you like that."

"I forgive you momma." said each one, adding grace upon grace with tiny hugs and kisses.