Middle Childhood: Loving It

Apparently ages 6-11 is considered middle childhood, and I must say I am a fan.  I still have one tiny toe left in the preschool years with A who is 4, but he's a fun four...or maybe I'm finally a fun mom of a four-year-old...so things are fairly up at this household.

Actually, I think I've done a good job of being present in each stage and loving and appreciating what family means in each developmental moment.  However, I do feel like I emerged from a cave a few years ago when no one still needed naps, diapers, meltdowns etc.

Yesterday was one of those perfect middle childhood days.  We all woke happy.  We piled into the minivan and took my oldest to piano.  My younger two played with the piano teacher's grandkids in the backyard while I sipped coffee and visited with their mother.  Then we were off for the berry field.  The sun was out, so were all the mountains.  My boys can now recognize the Three Sisters, Jefferson, and Mt. Hood.  They always check on Mary's Peak, and they ask questions as we drive like, "Which way is Kansas?"  I point and ask, "Is that East or West?"  They answer, "East!"  Then they discuss how long it will take to drive to New York, how long to fly, how long on a train etc.  I love this growing awareness of the world around them.  I take them on back roads from one little rural town to the next.  I point out whose farm we are passing, and then a cheer goes up when I say, "There are grandpa's fields!" I point out Willard's farm.  Silent awe.  (Willard is the coolest guy they know because he's 99 and was a farmer and worked hard his whole life.  I love that that equals cool to my boys.)

We then head into the Pharmacy for birthday gifts.  B had brought his wallet which is full of his earnings over the last few months:  ten dollars.  We don't pay real good at our house. :)

After picking out a birthday present, he looked for something special for himself.  At first he was sure he wanted the retractable pirate sword and practiced some convincing death scenes in the toy section.  I continued my shopping as the boys looked over possible purchases.  Then B rounds the corner with the look of pure love in his eyes: he's cuddling a small stuffed kitten, "This is what I want!"  I couldn't have been happier. I  love that there is still a little boy in him that wants a stuffed toy.  All the sweetness in him came spilling out in that moment, and I loved him for it.

"I think that is a perfect choice!"

We headed home and he pondered what would become his new friend's name.  He settled on Douglas.

Later that night we headed to a summer party at a local farm:  movie night on the lawn complete with cotton candy and popcorn.  The kids ran barefoot with their friends through the tall grasses that surrounded our outdoor theatre.  Dusk came, and we all settled into our sleeping bags and lawn chairs.  Wreck-It Ralph played.  B laughed at all the jokes.

These are the memories I want my children to carry with them of this period called Middle Childhood.  I know these are the ones I will never forget.

On-Line Learning: We're In Trouble

Back in 1995 when I entered the glorious world of college, there was no Internet.  There was no Amazon for book deals.  No one read anything electronically.  We all ordered huge stacks of dusty books from the library, making the library the hub of social connection.  No cell phones.  No e-mail.  I used my pocket calendar to keep track of all my deadlines and important social events.  I have no regrets. 

I remember when the Internet was unveiled.  I didn't really even get it.  We all got Foxmail accounts and we'd all go into the basement of the GFU library and chat with each other...yep, with all the other 20 people who happened to be sitting down in that windowless haven.  You'd send something witty to the guy sitting in the far corner and you'd look up to see his shoulder shake with laughter and wait for his comeback.  He'd push send and then stop and look up to see you read it with your own eyes.  A few users had Internet access in their rooms; we all thought they were weird for spending so much time in their rooms on their computers.  What an isolating concept.

Well, I'm back on campus...or not really.  For my current career, I'm required to pursued some collegiate professional development.  So, I'm taking an on-line class.  I was very excited to do this because I didn't want to be bothered with driving to class every week.  It fits with my busy-adult-life.  And I'd say I am learning content.  But when I compare it with my traditional undergrad experience, it really isn't the same and should not be viewed as such.

I find myself not asking my professor any clarifying questions, even though there are plenty I could ask.  I'm not even sure how many of us are in the class.  We were all supposed to introduce ourselves at the beginning, and after reading about five intros I lost interest.  They all started blending together and seeming a bit meaningless...I mean, I'm not actually going to be in relationship with these virtual classmates.  (FYI:  We take timed tests on-line.  Each time I take the test I find mistakes in the questions and there are usually a few multiple choice questions that have at least two possible answers, but I never bring this to my professor's attention because what does it really matter. We don't have a real working relationship.)

We read PowerPoint lectures on-line.  We take part in required class discussions.  Each week we are supposed to respond to our professor's question and then we have to make one comment off of someone's original post.  After week three I have found these responses fairly uninspiring.  Each person basically rewords a paragraph in our book just enough so they won't be accused of plagiarism.  I finally decided to shake things up a bit and make the most out of the class.  I put my soul into a discussion question.  My husband finally piped up, "Are you writing a blog post?"

"Ha!  Basically.  I'm just trying to write something interesting that others might enjoy."  Don't worry, I got the required regurgitated information in there.

No one has responded to my post, probably because it ended up being 10 paragraphs long and not a simple paragraph they could skim and write a thoughtless response comment .  And they probably all find this Rebekah Schneiter who's profile pictures is a yellow smile, really annoying and over-the-top.  I'd probably find myself annoying too.

I just got done reading a memoir called, "The Year of Learning Dangerously," which is about a mom who decides to homeschool her daughter without a real concrete plan, and finally ends up contracting her child's education out between a math tutor, French tutor, and on-line school.  She writes about the on-line experience in glowing terms and how connected her daughter feels chatting with all her virtual classmates.  I have to admit I wanted to gage a bit.

Guess what...it isn't real.  It doesn't even compare.  Something huge is lost in this style of learning.  Maybe you don't know what is lost if you've never experienced the real deal.  Or maybe I just went to an incredible college..that could be it.  :)

I connected with most all of my professors. I felt like I mattered and that they had a real interest in my success.  I got to know my classmates and cared about what they shared in class.  I didn't agree with a lot of what I encountered when I first entered college, but this was part of the process of growing and changing.  These were real relationships and because they were real and mattered their opinions mattered and I listened, evaluated, assessed my own beliefs and changed mine when I realized my ideas weren't really true or relevant to who I was becoming.

None of this would have happened on-line.

Oh its been convenient during this stage of life, but the whole movement toward on-line-learning makes me sad.  I'm glad my boys sit in classrooms with other kids and learn in relationship.  I hope that one day they move out of my house and into a dorm, and that they have to set their alarms and walk to an actual classroom.  These things are fairly essential in my opinion.

Motherhood and Grace

The longer that I'm a mother the more I realize that I need grace, grace from my kids and from others...and from God.  I'm far from perfect.  I blunder along for sure.  I need encouragement and community.  I need honesty with close friends and lots and lots of laughter.

This mothering job seems too much at times, as I realize the lasting imprint I leave on my three sons.  What will they remember of me?  Will grace wash away those flub-up-moments?

I think Nancy B. Kenney's latest anthology is titled appropriately, Miracles and Moments of Grace. Inspiring Stories from Moms.

With Mother's Day approaching it could be that perfect gift to another mother.  The book is filled with short stories that really do bring encouragement, that you are not alone, not the only one feeling or thinking that about motherhood.  It is not just perspectives from new moms, but covers a wide spectrum of motherhood.  Some of the stories are quite heavy dealing with miscarriages and life-altering accidents, and then others are quite light and laughable.....my chapter entitled, "The Dirty Days of Summer," is more humorous, but still deals with me learning how to hold my own plans loosely as I journey through motherhood.

It is a group of lessons I'm proud to be included in.

My Spiritual Mentor

It only took me until my grandmother was 99 and gone to realize that she has been my spiritual mentor all these years.  Funny how the passing of someone makes you stop and reflect and realize truth.

My mother asked me to speak at her memorial.  I could have shared numerous memories and stories, some very funny and some more sad.  Some of our interactions were good, and actually some of our interactions were a bit bad.  (I regret the times I got mad at her, but we always made up.) I loved her very much, and should say I still love her since that continues on even after a person dies.

In my college years I began to realize how alike we were.  I think if we had both taken a personality test together we would have come out the same...or pretty close.  We actually have a lot in common, even marrying men with the same temperaments.  We share many of the same talents and hobbies, and both of us thrived during our college experiences.  We both love writing, reading, and learning new things.  We both have/had the same passion for travel and for connecting with friends and maintaining relationships. We also both were and are really good at speaking a bit too bluntly and sometimes saying things we regret.

During the memorial, a film of her life was made.  My cousin who was sitting next to me leaned over and said, "You look a lot like her."  That only brought forth more tears.  (I'm not sure if we look that alike, but our faces have a similar shape.)

The other way that we are alike is in how we connect to God: through our writing.  I have a whole chest full of journals:  letters and prayers to God and so did she.  We both tear up easily when we talk about the moving of the Holy Spirit in our lives.

So instead of sharing memories at her memorial, I shared her spiritual significance to me personally.  She was a woman who was always looking for the movement of the Holy Spirit and how she could be involved in that movement.  Who could she help, hug, encourage, speak to, serve, spend time with, etc.  She was always focused on the question, "What now?"

That is a question I find myself asking daily, and now when I ask that (a simple act of surrender really) I will see her face smiling at me, such a sweet face it was.

The World Needs More Middle Children

I was warned to never have three children, how horrible I was to even consider doing such a thing...creating a middle child!  Well, I thankfully ignored the cautions and had my three-kid-family.  I've decided what the world needs more of is middle children.  My experience has led me to believe in middle children.  They are the negotiators, they have high intra and interpersonal skills, they communicate between all members of the family, they are sensitive and intuitive.  Of course, this is not based on any hard science, just observations of my own middle son.  (Of course my best friend growing up was a middle child and I happen to think she is rather fantastic.)

I would like to share some of the conversations I've had lately with Mr. C.

1.  "Mom, we just spent our whole time outside making Jesus crafts!"

"What do you mean, C?"

C holds up an acorn filled with dirt and grass, "See, all our crafts had to do with earth and life!"

2.  Listening to a new song on the radio, "Mom turn that down.  Do you hear how sad that is?  He loved her, but now she's with someone else.  I don't think that is very nice of her, but he is calling her baby, so that's not very nice either."

3.  "Mom, I really hope to marry a good girl.  I just hope she doesn't do drugs."

4.  "I want to marry a girl like you who is smart and beautiful.  I think I want to marry a girl who goes to college."  (Yes, please!)

5.  "I'd vote for a woman President."

6.  "C, how was school today?"

"Great!  Except N sad that girls were stupid, and I don't think that's very nice because Mrs. Hawkins is a girl and I think it might make her feel bad."

"C, how was school today?"

"Great.  I always love school."

7.  "Mom, why did God make me such a good snuggler?"

This list goes on.  I love my little verbal processor, and in a house full of boys I treasure it!

Growing Up

I've felt out of the cave of the early years of parenting for a while now, and I must say it is quite glorious!  I don't need a daily nap.  I feel like I get good time to myself, since my boys play pretty well together, and I haven't purchased diapers for over a year. Everyone is able to communicate in English what they need and want, and we are out of the temper tantrum stage.  (No one does the stop-drop-and-roll in grocerry stores.)  I'm counting this as a parenting victory, but it is also a sign of growing up.

The other day I realized that it had been months, maybe a year, since we had a little boy climb into our bed, snuggle down, and fall asleep for some good, early-morning-snuggle.  Those early mornings were anticipated and dreaded.  I never slept very good after one, two, or three little boys tumble in, but there was also something special about it.  Sadly, I forgot to be attentive to its end.  And truthfully although it caused me to be a bit nastalgic, I'm OK with it being over.

My oldest turns eight tomorrow.  Last night after his bath I placed a towell around his shoulder,s like we've been doing since his birth, and he made a request he hadn't made for some time now, "Can you carry me like a baby?"  Perhaps he senses that this request will soon be impossible.  He's much heavier and longer now, but I scooped him up in my arms, kissed his cheeks, and said, "I'm carrying you like a baby!"  We laughed.  It was our moment.

I think that I can officially state that the "short years" are over.  I wonder if my writing friend, Jen Rouse, feels the same.  She has a blog called The Short Years.  Does she feel like she needs to start another blog for the next stage?  The Middle Years?  The Crazy Years?  The Kid Years?  The Years When Our Kids Still Like Us?  That seems to be the years we are in.  We all like each other.  C announced with pure joy, "I really like A. He's fun to play with."  This pleases Dad and Mom much.  The older boys didn't always view A as an equal play partner, but now that he's a boy, he's in!  B even stated, "Yeah A even comes up with good ideas when we are playing."  Love it.

The Schneiter Boys seem to be right in the perfect middle of development.  They still play imaginary games, still play with trucks outside, but they also ride bikes, create forts, go on frog hunts, watch soccer with daddy, are learning to play the piano, are on sport teams, know how to swim, can make their own snacks, plan their own birthday parties, research toy purchases and save up....and find no interest in the opposite sex!  Love this part.  I'm hoping they are late bloomers and wake up to the beauty of girls later than earlier.  I have a feeling when this hits, Mom and Dad won't be so cool anymore, and we will be entering a new phase: The Give-Me-Space-Stage.  I'm not ready for that one yet.

Risky Parenting

The story of Abraham, and his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac on a pile of stones for God, is one that any parent should be totally uncomfortable with.   Frankly, I just would never have gone that far.  However, lately in my parenting journey God has continued to bring this Old Testament story to my mind.  He’s been calling me to hold up my parenting to this example that is in scriptures for us.  Am I holding my children loosely?  Am I authentic in my spiritual journey with them? Am I trusting God enough to leave my children in his hands?

I am sure many Christians would find our family's parenting methods risky.  We do not do family devotions.  We do own a children’s Bible, but let our kids choose to read from it just like any other children’s book in our collection.  We do not regularly pray before each meal or even at bedtime.  We let our oldest chose to not attend Awanas this last year.  We go to a church and we are grateful for our church community, but there are Sundays when we choose to enjoy pancakes and a slow, leisurely morning because our weeks have been full of chaos and rush.   

They also know that really bad things happen in our world.  We were open with them right from the start of their grandma’s cancer diagnosis.  There was a lot of genuine, fervent prayer spoken by three young boys during all her treatments.  They know that war happens, and that there are always negative consequences in war even if the end seems justified.  We don’t avoid topics of death.  We often tell our kids that we aren’t happy with social injustice; that it is not right and that we are uncomfortable with the fact that God does not appear to stop it.  We talk about our responsibility to be Jesus here and now, to be the light, to be the heroes.

Our best spiritual conversations seem to happen late at night or when we are driving.  One such talk happened when B announced from the back seat, “I want to get baptized.” 

We hadn’t talked about this, been pushing this, or been doing any intentional education about the obedience of baptism.  Actually, my husband and I both have Quaker backgrounds and don’t view the practice of baptism necessary in a Christian’s journey.  But I was curious and I want to honor my son’s personal understanding of a God who loves him and wants to be in relationship with him. 

“Really?  Why?”

“I love Jesus and I want other people to know and I want more of Jesus.”

I smiled. “Well, those are good reasons, except you know you don’t get more of Jesus when you get baptized,” I told him. I loved his desire to feel and know Jesus more…that is what excited me the most from this conversation. “You have all the Jesus you need.  But when we do things that help us know God more like pray, or read our Bible, there is joy felt in that. When we listen to how he’s moving us and are obedient, it might make us feel closer to him.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do it at church.  I want to do it at our river, and I want to invite people and eat hot dogs.”  Then he listed those he wanted to invite.  I almost wanted to cry.  Over half his list included friends who probably have never even heard the word baptism. 

It was kind of a proud mommy moment, a God-sighting.  This desire to be baptized really felt right, authentic.  It was about B.  It wasn’t about my husband and me looking good to the other Christian parents at our church.  This was an organic movement of the Holy Spirit in my son.  I felt as though God had smiled down on me and said, “Thank you for letting me move and speak to your son.  Thank you for trusting me.  Thank you for holding him loosely.”