All Things Bright and Beautiful

Ashley Bryan has created art with scissor and paper in his book All Things Bright and Beautiful. The words to this book are from Cecil Frances Alexander's Irish hymn. On the last page of the book is the score to this familiar tune. After reading it to my boys, we hurried on over to the piano and played it. The boys danced while I sang. This was requested many times after our initial reading....not due to my piano or voice skills, but I think due to the joy this song evokes.

I just loved reading a book that talked about God and creation without being an official Bible story. I like to incorporate God-talk into the daily happenings of our lives, and since reading is one of these daily happenings it was nice to find this book at the public library.

I hope you enjoy it too.

"The sunset and the morning that brightens up the sky. The cold wind in the winter, the pleasant summer sun, the ripe fruit in the garden: He made them every one."

One More Month

My sons lug in their large, glass money jars. We are entering Target, land of their every desire. They've been saving up for Transformer underwear. With great pride and anticipation they picked them out and headed to the cashier. Everyone is watching. We are a sight. The coins jangle loudly against the glass. We are all chatting and verbally processing our joy.

"I have Bumblebee on my underwear!"

"Yeah, I have Jazz."

"Mine are red."

"Mine are red too."

The cashier interjects, "Wow, you make your kids buy their own underwear?"

"Well, no. They have underwear at home, but they wanted Transformer underwear which they didn't need, but they wanted."

This is language that we use in our house. When my second announces that he needs white donuts I ask, "Do you need them or do you want them?"

I have a deep passion to pass on a healthy attitude toward money to my children. I want them to be content with what they have, to give to others in need, to learn to wait for things they want...to save. I want them to know you can have fun and be filled with joy without a lot of toys. The goal is to go shopping and leave with nothing...if there is nothing to buy.

The Target cashier smiled, "I think that is great! I can't believe they are so happy about underwear!"

I smiled, "Sorry about all these coins. I know it is a nuisance." So much easier to swipe and go.

"No problem at all," she said as she mentally counted the combination of quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies.

How about you? How are you teaching economics to your children, money choices that love God and love others? How do you teach giving? How do you make it tangible?

We are looking for more submissions that deal with this topic.

Our deadline for our book project is June 1st! Keep the stories coming!



(For more ideas of what we are looking for, click on my label "writing" and read seven other entries devoted to this topic.)

Friday Photo-May 7th, 2010

Board Books or Bored Books

My youngest is craving, wanting, salivating over books...literally. He's now 15 months and loves reading time with mommy. This means I have to read all those board books again. I have mixed feelings about this. Board books are great because they are short and often rhythmic. But, a lot of times they are a major, monotonous bore.

So, here are my current favorites. (Oh, and anything with a flap to lift is a winner with him right now...regardless of the literary merit.)

Friday Photo April 30, 2010

So that is what I look like from that view. Interesting.

The Sniff Test

The sniff. You’ve seen it. The parent hoists the diapered bottom up in front of their nose. They smell. They hope it is not theirs. It is. They hand the baby off. They did the last one. They compromise. They’ll do it together. I’ve even used the finger technique. Our old neighbor and friend used to find all of this quite disgusting. Runny noses equaled absolute horror. A mom friend of mine confessed that she thought she’d never be one of those moms who let their children have snotty noses, but now she realizes that the fight isn’t worth it. So, you just let that battle go as your child beams through the crusted snot and coos at all those judgmental faces who have either forgotten or never experienced parenthood.

With each subsequent child, more and more of your self-inflicted standards get washed away. Things you thought you’d never do, you do. You thought you’d never let your child cry-it-out: you do. You thought you’d never give your child peanut butter before two: you make enough PB&J to feed the local elementary school. You thought you’d never drop your child off at the nursery: you do, eagerly. Sunday is your big day off! You thought you’d never give your baby fruit snacks (a poorly disguised piece of candy): you have a year’s supply in the car.

You never wash off the pacifier. You no longer own baby toys. Subsequent children are more interested in their brother’s things anyway. Nap time? The youngest sleeps on the go. When he finally drops the morning nap, you celebrate your new sense of freedom. You begin pushing that afternoon one from 12 to 1 to 2. When you had your first, you scheduled your whole day around that nap. It was your sanctuary. Now with the last you can’t wait until they are no longer napping, and you can be free. Free to go and do, whenever. No more rushing home from the grocery store so he doesn’t nod off on the car ride home and ruin the whole thing. The whole blessed two hours to finally: do laundry, unload the dishes, clean out the van, check e-mail, call back your friend, read your book, or take a nap.

The oldest didn’t start preschool until four, the youngest gets signed up at two-and-a-half.

But aren’t you better, this last time around? I think I am. I’m more relaxed. I have a better view of it all. I’m cherishing my last, relishing in the present, and excited for each new phase of discovery. Seeing the world through a child’s eyes keeps us all young and new and realistic.

We moved next door to my parents almost two years ago. My mom recently told me, “This is a happy time in my life.” And it is. She is benefiting from the multi-generational approach to living. She and my father seem younger than they did just three years ago. They happily volunteer to watch the boys. (At least this is what I have chosen to tell myself.) My dad eagerly checks the henhouse for eggs with my second. They beam when our youngest child reaches for them. They know this is just a segment of time. They can look back at their lives and remember how life furnishes living in chapters.

And so that is why I sniff and check with no regard to those looking on and being totally grossed out by my parenting choices. I’m fully immersed in this current chapter. Like a good book, I am defined by my lead characters. And currently they are one, three, and five.

I Finally Have a Hero

I am married to a hero, a super star. His name is Daddy. The shouts of glee and much awaited excitement confirm my hunch that he is... the man. Yes, they love me too. I know this. I have no issues of inferiority. But, I am very glad he’s their hero. Shouldn’t he be?

I get a little giddy over him too. When I see his car turn down our road, my heart skips as I jump from the couch, “Daddy’s coming!” He’s my savior--especially during this very long, rainy season of spring. We’ve been in the house all day long. Done it all. I’ve made play dough, read zillions of books, played school, wrestled, leapt from furniture shouting, “Super Mom!” made breakfast and lunch and snack and prepped dinner, and I’m pooped, done. He’s my knight in shining armor. He slays the dragon of monotony and fatigue.

After a day spent giving as a teacher, he comes home and gives some more. He shows genuine exuberance and joy at seeing our faces. The feelings are mutual. He raves about mommy’s cooking, supports my wish that all participate in cleaning up the dinner table, plays hours of living room soccer, creates mini-science experiments, changes diapers because, “I just can’t do one more,” and then helps me tuck them all into bed.

Then he listens. I need to process. I have things to say. This is when he really relies on his super powers. This is quite a stretch for someone who is a confirmed introvert. But he does it. Why? He loves me. This is also amazing. After eleven years I can tell he loves me even more than he did when he first married me and made those life-long vows to love and cherish and listen.

He lost our wedding ring a year into our marriage. He was helping someone with the plumbing on their house and didn’t realize it had fallen into the abyss of pipes and water pressure until he came home. A ring didn’t seem to fit his style anyway. I convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal. He was always taking it off to do this or that, so I suggested a tattoo. I mentioned this to a teaching colleague of mine and they said with warning, “Whoa, that’s permanent.”

Why would I ever give up something this good! You bet it is permanent. I’m glad we have a life-long arrangement. I’m glad that our first decade together is only a sliver of the years we have coming our way. Since having kids my love and adoration toward him has grown. I need him as much as the boys do. I’m better with him than I am without. I’m happy to shout, “Daddy!” I run for my hug too. I only smile when all three boys crowd on to his lap for our family movie nights, and I’m left to my lonesome on the couch. Everyone needs a hero, and I’m glad to be living life with mine.