One Lesson I Hope to Teach My Children

For those of you who aren’t aware, much of Texas has been “closed” for the last few days as we’ve had record low temperatures combined with a nice mix of icy rain and snow. Our residents and city infrastructure, well able to handle the high heat and humidity of summer, are ill-equipped to cope with icy roads and freezing water pipes. Give us mosquitoes the size of dragonflies and air thick enough to stop your breath – no problem. But temperatures in the 20s for more than 24 hours? Nope. Just nope.

Because of that, for the last few days we’ve been stuck inside just trying to stay warm and not go crazy. There have been lots of board games, movie marathons, a memorable episode of skype charades with out-of-town cousins, and the constant pleas for snacks by four bored children.

During our 17,000,000^th game of Settlers of Catan (a strategy game) today, I realized that there is one thing I really hope my kids leave home with when that day finally comes – which I know will be sooner than I would like!

Family should always have each other’s back.

The oldest two girls and I were playing the game while their dad entertained the 5 year old with a hilarious game of Barbies. What kind of Ken loses his boat license because of an unfortunate incident between a trash can and a raccoon? (Apparently a Ken that is played by my husband).

As we were playing Catan, my two oldest decided they were “enemies.” They worked to sabotage each other’s strategies, and constantly refused to help or trade with one another. They weren’t fighting or bickering, they just seemed to enjoy getting in each other’s way.

In fact, they were so focused on making sure that the other sister lost, that they completely missed it when I snuck up and won with three points to spare.

After cackling about my win (yes, we’re one of those families) I got to thinking about how my girls were so intent on stopping each other from winning, that they were oblivious to the fact that I was coming up behind them.

How often in life do I do that? How often do I focus on what other people are doing or being or achieving that I don’t see the opportunities or challenges that are right in front of me? How often do I compare what I am doing with what a friend, stranger or even family member is doing, and think I need to compete? And how often do I look at my family members as competitors rather than partners?

I don’t want that for my kids.

I don’t want them to look at each other as negative competition or a duty on family reunion weekends.

I want them to know, absolutely, that they can always count on their family. I want them to know that if no one else is on their side, their family will stand up for them. If no one else wants to help them, their family will be there. If no one else will listen, understand or answer truthfully, their family will be encouraging, honest and open.

They don’t always have to agree on everything. In fact, that would be pretty weird and annoying if they did. They don’t have to think every decision their siblings make is right and perfect. They don’t even have to always get along.

However, I want them to know that their family isn’t going anywhere. I want them to know it intellectually at ages 8 and 11, but viscerally at 22 and 25. I want them to call each other to vent and laugh. I want them to drop what they’re doing and travel three hours at 2:00 in the morning if they get the call. I want them to help each other move apartments, love each other’s kids and pray fervently for one another.

I want them to have each other’s back.

(Except when they’re playing Catan against their mom).

The Christmas With No Toys

She sat there calmly. Not crowding around the tree with her cousins and siblings, searching for a tag with her name on it.

She watched it all with a small, contented smile, cheering when her sister got the doll she wanted and waiting patiently for her turn.

She laughed at the adult jokes being tossed around, and pulled her young cousin on her lap when he tried to sneak into the kitchen for more cinnamon cake.

Her boxes were significantly smaller this year. Each thing she opened was packed carefully to the side, out of the way of stampeding toddlers and over eager preschoolers.

There were clothes, shoes, soft blankets and a couple of sophisticated electronic devices. Decorations for her room. Jewelry. Gift cards. Books.

There were no toys. No dolls. No remote control cars. No brightly colored, plastic, noise-making things. The only gift remotely toy-like was a scooter – a scooter that was made for adults. When I asked her why she wanted one, she told me she needed more exercise. (I’m not sure that really counts as a toy.)

I don’t know quite when it hit me that my big girl could no longer really be called a child. Maybe it was when I looked through her gifts and realized that I would have liked to have received some of them myself.

Part of me wants those childlike days back. I want to shower her with Barbies and princess games. I want to play dress up and tea party, and snuggle up on the couch for an episode of My Little Pony.

The rest of me, though, is fiercely proud of who she’s becoming. I love her grit and her grace. I love watching her think through problems and help her younger siblings with theirs. I love that she makes witty comments and occasional dry remarks.

She likes to read, fish and write poetry. She likes to play strategy games and watch YouTube videos. She uses adult coloring books and helps her brother with his tooth brush.

I don’t particularly enjoy the hormone surges, the emotional explosions and the retreating to her room, but I understand them. I understand the need for solitude in the face of crazy because I have felt that need myself.

She’s changing. In amazing, astounding and wonderful ways. I’ve seen it happening over this past year, but this Christmas it finally hit me – that little girl is gone. That little girl trying on my high heels, with sticky fingers and a sparkly tiara. She’s not coming back. I’ll only see her in my memories and the few pictures I took as I followed in her wake.

But this almost teenager – she’s here now. And she’s pretty awesome. I’m so excited to get to know her, too.

I wrote a bit about these growing pains (mostly mine!) in a post published on Her View From Home. It’s called Those Little Hands Change But Mine Stay the Same. I would love it if you checked it out!

 

The Toddler Guide to Taking Over the World

By: A Toddler

Welcome fellow toddlers. After spending the entire two and a half years of my life committing myself to extensive research, experimentation and play group interviews, I have put together this guide that will ensure a New World Order in your own home. Follow these step by step instructions, and along with me, you will finally plant the flag in the center of your universe.

Step 1: Destroy the Existing Infrastructure

As any supreme dictator or alien invasion force will tell you, the easiest way to take over an existing civilization is by crumbling the very foundations the society is built on. A toddler’s weapons of mass destruction may seem innocent – we’re just tiny humans, after all – but don’t be fooled. When used properly, these small hands and feet are capable of huge amounts of damage.

As soon as your feet hit the floor in the morning, the world is your oyster. Pull dishes out of cabinets. Color on the walls. Dump every single color-coordinated basket of toys out in the middle of the floor, mix them all up, and stand back and laugh while the mom tries to reorganize. Occasionally pick up one of the toys and throw it across the room. You get extra points if you hit a pet.

When laundry is being put away, walk behind and take all of the clothes out of the drawers. Laugh and make it a game, carrying armfuls of previously-folded clothing down the hall and into the kitchen while the mom chases you.

Throw balls at light fixtures, flush random objects down the toilet, and hide the dad’s watch underneath the kitchen sink. When he asks you where the watch is, act like you’re going to lead him to it as you revisit every room in the house.

Find the water dispenser on the refrigerator and push it, often – using a cup beneath it is optional. Throw food at the wall, on the dog and across the table. (Pro tip: be sure to smile often as to avoid annoying time-outs).

This may seem like it would get tiring after a while, but you’ll be surprised at how much energy you have for demolition after even the longest of days.

Step 2: Establish Dominance

Once you have the mom and dad running from place to place just trying to clean up from the destruction you have caused, it’s time to show them who is boss.

Be aware that it’s helpful to let them think they are still in charge for as long as possible before you pull the rug out from under them. There is generally less resistance that way.

My advice is to start small. When getting rocked to sleep at night, start by asking for your favorite stuffed animal. Once that is part of the routine, add a blanket. Continue in this manner until the only way you can be “successfully put to bed” is if you are rocked for 15 minutes with a stuffed animal, blanket, hug THEN kiss (in that order or no deal) and with your feet pointing a certain way. Get creative! Feel free to add particular prayers, nightlights and lullabies to the hoops that must be jumped through.

Meal time is another wonderful opportunity to show the parents that you’re running things. Ask for macaroni and cheese one day. Eat it all and request more. The next time it’s served, refuse to eat it. Act incredibly offended that it would be placed on your plate. Demand chicken instead. When the chicken is served, eat two bites and then push the rest away.

Only drink milk. From a red cup. At night. Water must be given in the green cup, unless you’re at the park, and then only the blue cup will do. Throw yourself on the ground in tears if your demands aren’t met.

Step 3: Eat a Snack

What? Snacks are important. You have to keep your energy up for world domination.

Step 4: Exhaust the Masses

When taking over the world, it’s important to not underestimate the intelligence of your future subjects. They’re smart. They’ve been around the block a few times, they have developed an impressive radar for lies, and they possess mysterious eyes in the backs of their heads. In order to make completely sure they won’t realize you have taken over until it’s too late, it’s best to think strategically.

What is the best tactic to get past their canny adult brains? Exhaust them. Make them so sleep deprived, worn-out and dependent on coffee, that they just don’t have the energy to do much more than survive the day-to-day. In the world domination business, this state is called the “sleepwalking zombie.”

One excellent way to accomplish this phase of the plan is to build on your already established, drawn-out bedtime routine. After the parents finally do everything correct to get you to sleep, take a nice power nap and then call for them right as you hear them heading to bed themselves. You don’t even need a reason to be awake. In fact, it can be fun to make them guess why you’re awake and try different things to get you to go back to bed. Repeat throughout the night as often as possible.

Another useful tactic will be the endless amounts of energy you enjoy. You will find that the parents don’t have nearly as much stamina as you do. Run everywhere. Climb all the time. Twirl, jump, dance, play, and ask that they join you. When they take you to an outdoor activity in order to tire you out (the parents can be sneaky that way), it’s a good idea to fall asleep once you get in the car for the trip home. Wake up as soon as you arrive, and laugh at the idea that you can be transferred into your bed for a nap.

Step 5: Make Your Subjects Love You

This is the most important step in your quest to take over the world. After all, what fun is it to rule if your subjects don’t like you? Luckily, this last step is also the easiest.

The parents in your life already love you more than you can imagine. They think the sun rises and sets on your precious face. When you were a baby, they gazed at you in awe that someone so beautiful and perfect could ever come from them. They know the curves of your cheeks and the dimples in your hands. They think your belly laughs are more adorable than kitten and puppy videos, and they will do the most ridiculous things to make you chuckle.

Even in the midst of their exhaustion, stress and shock over the state of their new reality, they will love you unconditionally and without exception.

They actually want to care for you. They want to make sure you’re healthy, fed, well-rested and taught the right things about life. They want the absolute best for you.

When you call, they will answer. When you smile, they will smile back.

When you learn something new they will rejoice with you, praising you for how smart and strong you are.

When you curl up in their laps with tears streaming down your face, they will hold you gently, murmuring quiet words to make you feel better.

When you kiss their cheeks and wrap your sturdy arms around their necks, they will want to hold you forever and protect you from the world.

Little do they know…you now rule their world.

Christmas Confession

I have a confession to make.

I was not looking forward to Christmas this year. I wasn’t counting down the days until I could play carols in public. I wasn’t eagerly rearranging my furniture to make room for 16 boxes of decorations and a seven foot tree. I wasn’t making wish lists, thinking about new cookie recipes to try, or digging through the back of my closet for my Christmas themed shirts.

As a matter of fact, I was dreading it.

There, I said it. Dreading. It.

When invitations to Christmas parties, concerts, musicals, plays and family fun events started flooding in, I shuddered – not because I don’t love being invited or the people doing the inviting, but because I just wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t ready for all the things on top of the mountain of other things.

I didn’t want to search my computer for my Christmas card address list because I can never remember where I saved it. I didn’t want to deal with the hassle and mess of cleaning up ceramic snowmen that a certain two year old decided to throw against the wall. I didn’t want the extra traffic, the extra work or the extra expense.

I was Scrooge this year.

Or, as my husband would say, “Oh good golly, this moose was NOT jolly.”

It wasn’t until we were hauling all of the decorations out of the attic and I made a remark about not getting a real tree this year that I realized my inner grumbling had slipped past my filter and spilled out onto my kids.

Time froze. A lone jingle bell rolled forlornly down the stairs. The look of horror on my eight year old’s face would have been comical if it hadn’t been directed my way. My husband, because he’s smarter than the average bear, remained completely silent in the attic.

“No tree?” was the appalled whisper from a little girl in Christmas pajamas, with a mop of un-brushed hair covered by a too-large Santa hat.

As I looked into those big blue eyes, I didn’t feel an overwhelming flood of Christmas spirit. I didn’t suddenly want to sing Jingle Bells and watch A Christmas Story. I didn’t get the immediate urge to deck the halls and whip up some egg nog.

However, I did realize that I had a choice to make.

I could keep going the way I was. Putting on a brave face and trudging through the holiday. I could grudgingly go shopping, hang garland and put up lights.

Or, I could choose joy.

Not for myself, but for these four little ones that start talking about Christmas in January. For these kids that look at the tree and don’t see the dried needles falling off that have to be swept daily, but see the fun and experience of decorating it. They look forward to pulling out their baby ornaments and arguing over who puts the tree topper up.

They help hang Christmas lights on the house and don’t care about missing bulbs, tangled strands or blown fuses. They see the colors draped on the bushes, and giggle at the purple plastic ornaments hanging from the redbud by our mailbox.

They ask for stories about Christmas traditions when my husband and I were kids. They relive favorite gifts given and received, and speculate about what candy will be in the advent calendar tomorrow. They talk about whom we’re going to help this year and who is going to help us. They arrange and rearrange the nativity sets, and tell the Christmas story to their baby brother.

They’re not worried about hassle, mess and money.

They see joy, family and Jesus.

So even though there’s still a small element of “fake it till you make it” in my holiday prep this year, I’m going to choose joy for these kids. I’m going to sing carols, send cards and decorate cookies. I’m going to dance to Little Drummer Boy and rock out to Transiberian Orchestra. I’m going to continue the traditions that they love so much, and maybe a little of that Christmas spirit will start to come back for me.

So if you need me, I’ll be digging out those Christmas shirts from the back of my closet.

The Day My Husband Put Me in Time Out

It was one of THOSE days. You know the ones I’m talking about? Those days where everything that can go wrong, does. Those days where you start out chuckling about the chaos, and end up laughing hysterically with tears rolling down your face. Those days where, about halfway through, you are desperately calling out to God for a do-over.

The toddler launched his cereal across the dining room table because the milk was too wet.

The five-year-old screamed and cried because I insisted she wear matching shoes to school.

The toilet overflowed around lunch time because “someone” had put an entire roll of toilet paper in there and then tried to flush. Three times.

 

By the time my husband walked in the door at 6 p.m., I had about reached my limit.

Read more at Her View From Home.

20 Reasons My Toddler Hates Me

Ok, I know that seems pretty dramatic. I also know that when my two year old yells and throws himself on the floor to get away from me that he doesn’t really hate me. HOWEVER, when all I want to do is walk downstairs with him and he tries to push me back and says “stay!” it feels like less than love, you know? I’ve been doing some in depth observations to try to figure out why he is constantly reacting this way, and here is what I have come up with.

1. I opened his granola bar the wrong direction when he handed it to me.
2. One of the fruit snacks got stuck to the bottom of the package.
3. I wouldn’t let him jump from the top of the couch onto the dog’s back.
4. I made him lunch.
5. While playing cars, I touched the red car. Never ever touch the red car.
6. I made him get off the kitchen counter when he climbed up there to get to the candy bowl.
7. I said “no” to the fifth episode of Elmo.
8. His milk was too wet.
9. I took away the bat when he hit his sister with it. And the window. And the tv.
10. I flipped on the light switch without letting him try first.
11. When I tucked him in I didn’t cover his feet with his blanket.
12. The dog ate his lunch when he threw his plate on the floor.
13. I took away the sharpie.
14. I buckled him in his car seat.
15. I wiped his nose.
16. When he threw the ball in the air it came down and landed on his head.
17. I took the bunch of grapes he had grabbed from the refrigerator out of his hand, gave him a few in a bowl, then scolded him when he lost his temper and threw them at me.
18. I turned on the vacuum cleaner.
19. The throw rug got in the way of him dragging a chair to the counter with the cookie jar. And I wouldn’t move it out of the way for him.
20. I made him wear pants.

Please tell me I’m not alone here. Anyone else have a toddler that hates them?

A Letter to Jesus from a Tired Momma

Dear Jesus,

Remember those days before my kids came along when we could spend hours together without interruption? I could study your Word, write in my prayer journal, and dig deep into my faith, learning more and more about you and myself with each moment alone with you.

Remember when I could read books written by your servants that helped me understand even more? I could discuss them with my husband or my good friends over coffee, and we could share with one another what you had been teaching us.

Remember when I could be still and listen? When I could be still and know?

Things have changed now.

Go to Her View From Home to see the rest!

Love,

Sandra

What My Daughter’s Hugs Have Taught Me

Have you ever had or been around one of those children that just loves to give hugs? Or crawl in your lap? Or hang on your leg, arm, or any other body part they can reach?

I have a daughter like that. We call her “the hugger.” She’s constantly jumping on my lap to curl up, or grabbing me around my waist to squeeze as tight as she can. Her favorite words are, “you’re the best!” as she holds on with every bit of strength her little body can muster.

Her hugging isn’t limited to just her family. She hugs friends, neighbors, her teachers, the school bus driver, our mail carrier, and even complete strangers. As she has gotten older we have tried to give her limits on which adults she can hug, and teach her that not everyone she meets wants the biggest hug in the whole wide world from a strange child.

Sometimes it’s hard because I will introduce her to a new friend, and her question may be, “can I give you a hug?” Since most people aren’t ogres, they generally say yes – then I get to witness their smile turn to a look of concern as my five year old refuses to let go. It’s like once she gets the green light, she can’t hold herself back anymore. Love and affection just explode out of her, and she can’t contain herself.

Most people are pretty good hearted and don’t mind it so much, but sometimes it can get distracting. For instance, let’s say you are a kindergarten teacher, you’re trying to teach a class full of five year olds about the long ‘a’ sound, and you have a curly blondstrosity attached to your leg? It can be a bit of a problem, you know?

I had a conversation with my daughter’s teacher, and in it I told her that it was ok to just peel my daughter off if it becomes a problem. I told her that her father and I have to do it every now and then when we need to do something or go somewhere and our 40-pound limpet refuses to let go.

As I was reflecting on that the other night, I was thinking to myself about how I am sometimes with God. There are some days, days when I’m really sad or discouraged, days when I think I can’t get anything right or that nothing good is coming, that I have to throw myself at Jesus. I cling to His leg, refusing to let go, and beg Him to take me with Him and hide me from everything life wants to throw at me.

On those days, I’m incredibly grateful that He doesn’t peel me off like I do my daughter. I’m thankful that He hides me under His arm, tucking me away so that no one can snatch me out from under him.

I wonder sometimes what things would be like if I didn’t just cling on the bad days. How would things change if I ran up to Jesus like my daughter does me, grabbed hold and told Him, “you’re the best!” for no reason other than I love Him and wanted to be close to Him?

I think, maybe, His reaction would stay the same. I don’t think He would peel me off because He needs to be available for more important things, or because He needs to do something that having me hanging there would cramp His style. I think He would tuck me away happy just as He tucks me away sad. The question becomes, then, how would that change me?

I’m not sure yet of the answer to that question, but I do know this. I will be hugging my daughter extra tight when she gets home from school today, and I’ll think harder about what it is I’m rushing to do when I feel the need to peel her off.

How Not to Talk to Your Child about Sex: A Cautionary Tale

I’d like to share three things I learned about myself last night.

1. Procrastination is bad. Very, very bad.
2. I’m a phenomenal actress.
3. I’m too old to drink multiple margaritas on a school night.

So there I am, lovingly tucking my daughter in bed. The house is quiet around us, it’s just her and I, we’ve said our prayers, and I’m juuuust about to shut the door and go downstairs, when she opens her mouth.

Daughter: “How does someone get pregnant? Do you choose to do it or does it just happen?”

Oh dear God.

I could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t going to be one of those times when I could brush her off with a simple, “when two people fall in love and decide to be a mommy and daddy…” kind of conversation. No, she was going to dig in. She was going to ask all kinds of why’s and how’s and how come’s until she was satisfied.

Have I bought and read all of those lovely books written by child psychologists and child education experts on explaining puberty and sex to children? No, of course not, they’re still sitting in my Amazon cart. Have I read through the articles I saved to my Pinterest board on parenting for just such an occasion? No, of course not, I’ve been too busy watching Tasty videos of four ingredient enchiladas and cupcakes that are iced to look like hydrangeas.

Stupid procrastination. Stupid Pinterest.

Ok Sandra, you can do this. You’re a mature adult and a loving mom, surely you can make it through this conversation. How hard could it be?

I can’t even tell you what took over my brain because I’m pretty sure I entered a state of shock, horror, unbelief, and please help me little baby Jesus. One part of me tried to retreat to my happy place and some person I don’t really know took over and ran the show.

All I can tell you is that words like penis, vagina, semen and ejaculate (can I say those words here?) came out of my mouth. After a while her face got this horrified and disgusted look on her face, and she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. What did I do then, you may ask? I just kept going and going because once I jumped out of that plane, well, there was nowhere else to go but down. And the whole time, a frantically screaming woman that looks remarkably like me, was in the back of my head saying, “shut up, shut up, shut up, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL OF HIS ANGELS, SHUT UP!!!”

And even though her face was mortified, she kept asking MORE QUESTIONS.

Bless her heart, after about 10 minutes she finally said, “Ok, that’s enough, Mom. We’re done with this conversation. We’re moving on.”

And what did I do then? I kept going…because of course.

Me: “Ok, we can be done, but two things are important for you to know. The first is, you can always ask me any questions at all that you have about these kinds of things. I’m not at all embarrassed to talk about it,” (yeah right you freaking liar liar pants on fire), “so you shouldn’t be embarrassed to ask.”

Daughter: “Ok, mom.”

Me: “Second, this is a conversation that should only take place between parents and their kids.” (Did you hear that? Parents. Plural. As in, two. Where the heck is my husband, and why do I always get these questions??) “So make sure that you don’t share what we talked about with your sisters or any of your friends. Your friends need to hear it from their parents when they are ready, not from you.”

Daughter: “Ok, mom. Can we be done now?”

By the time I finally made it downstairs and into the kitchen where my husband was making the coffee for the next day, I was done. Completely spent. My two personalities had finally merged back together again, and were yelling obscenities at each other since apparently working together is beyond them. In pure defense my brain decided to leak out of my ears and puddle on the floor.

Husband: “I made you a margarita. That took a long time. Everything ok?”

Me: “No. Shut up. Make it a double.”

P.S. Before you get mad at me for all of my prayers for help – they may have seemed slightly blasphemous, but they were COMPLETELY sincere. I actually WAS praying for deliverance…

Truth Tales – Sometimes Helping Others is as Easy as Enjoying a Story

I recently met a wonderful woman by the name of Mary. She is lovely and fascinating, caring and intelligent – basically all of the things I want to be when I grow up. We met through a mutual friend at a women’s ministry event at my church, and as we were working with our hands we got to talking about our lives.

Mary has a daughter roughly the same age as my oldest, and she stays home with her children, like I do. However, unlike me, Mary was born and raised in South India. At the age of nine she accepted Christ and began to serve the Lord by distributing information about salvation to the people she would see in the streets of her home town.

Now she is an adult living in the U.S., but she still has a heart for those people in her native country who do not yet know Jesus. She and her husband travel back frequently on missionary trips, and on one such trip she had the privilege of teaching English to the teachers at Infant Jesus School in Yercaud Hills, Salem District, Tamilnadu, India.

Infant Jesus School is a private Christian school that caters to the educational needs of 60 villages surrounding Yercaud. They offer a basic, affordable education for children ages 3 to 10, teaching English, Tamil (their native language), math, history, geography and science. The majority of the children attending Infant Jesus School are sons and daughters of agricultural estate laborers and drivers.

These teachers were very shy because they had such little knowledge of the English language and needed someone who was willing to work with them at a beginner level. They themselves had only received education up to the 12^th grade, and while some of them had basic teacher training, none could speak or write in English.

When I asked her why she felt compelled to teach these women, Mary offered this:

“Their individual desire to learn English motivated me to be their main tutor for 5 months and enabled me to sow into their lives with their first English lessons, so that they [could] learn to speak and write English. Once they overcame this major hurdle of learning basic English, their confidence level built up tremendously and they became a huge source of encouragement and support to their own family members, neighbors and their communities. The bottom line is to reverse the concept of English being a foreign language[,] to English becoming a local language.”

At the end of the training, they were given an assignment. They were asked to write, in English, a children’s folktale that they had grown up hearing. Once these were complete, Mary gathered them up, along with the accompanying artwork produced by the teachers, and brought them back to the U.S. to be published.

Truth Tales is a compilation of 15 children’s folktales from India.

The stories are sweet and easy to read, and like most folktales, are followed by a moral. They reflect a rich culture, and are written in a way that children of all ages will enjoy and understand them.

The profits from sales of Truth Tales will go to build schools in the remotest villages in India and SriLanka.

If you are looking for a gift for an elementary-aged child, or you want to help out this beautiful ministry, you can purchase the book directly from their ministry SOAR for Greatness here.

Or you can order it from Amazon in paperback or Kindle format here.