If I could time travel

Every year on each of my children's birthdays I look through the baby book or scrapbook.  Or pile of pictures that are going to become a scrapbook.  Or pictures that someday I am going to actually print so I can pile them up and someday scrapbook them.  And I am struck by how tiny they are.  How much they have grown.

However, this year I was struck by a different thought while looking at pictures of my now ten year-old.  I looked from his face, probably for the first time, to the face of the one holding him.  The ten year-ago version of me.  I noticed how young I looked.  I turned back more pages.  Yep.  Even younger.  More pages, same story.  The whole way back to the first picture of a new, glowing, excited, exhausted mommy.  And this time, instead of writing my sweet baby a letter for their birthday, I wished to reach out to her.

If I could, I would go back and tell her so much.  I would tell her to relax.  To enjoy.  Oh, I know she knows that.  I know that she made the most of everyday.  She played.  Laughed.  Grasped each moment as best and as tightly as she could.  But there was always more.  Fear.  Disappointment in herself.  A struggle to know she was making the right choices.  And there are so many, many choices.   Everyday.  Every child.   Every minute.  Sometimes she will feel like she is drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

Mostly, though, I would tell her that she is going to survive, because I know that she will not always feel like it or believe it.

There will be bumps and bruises.  I know that she is going to drop her brand new baby at just a few days old from the couch in her exhaustion.  She judges herself because she doesn't know how many mothers do that.

She will have to hold down a baby for testing.  And a toddler.  And a preschooler.  And she will cry longer than they will.  And she will remember it forever, even when they forget.

There will come a day that she is tired of being pregnant.  And there will come a day that she wishes that she still was.  And feeling either feeling is fine.  And normal.  And so are the tears.  And one day, they will stop falling as hard. But they will still fall.

She is going to pace for hours overnight.  She is going to pray in quite a few hospital rooms.  She is going to meet more doctors than she can remember.  She is going to stand in a hospital hallway while her heart is rolled away for surgery.  More than once.  And it will bring her to her knees.  Literally.  But she will breathe again.

She is going to hold more than one grubby hand while there are x-rays, stitches, staples, concussions, broken bones and close calls.  And while it makes her queasy, she will not be sick.

There will be psychologists.  Neurologists.  Diagnoses. Autism.  ADHD.  But she will always know that she has the best children in the world.

Her husband will work away.  At times far away.  But he will be her rock.  And she will need him so very much.  And he will be there.  And she may need to tell him why they fall, but he will dry her tears.

She will try to hold herself together through depression.  And she will struggle to use her hand after a stroke.  And she will get very angry when she misspeaks or stutters.  But she will talk again.  And she will use that hand again.

She will homeschool.  And it will be fun.  And exciting.  And scary.  And hard.  And she will want to quit, but she won't.  And it will be rewarding again.  And even fun again.  She is making the correct choice, but she won't always feel like it.

In that moment, in that snap shot of her young life, she is full of innocence.  She does not know what the future holds.  She does not know what is in store.  And that is a good thing.  Because it is overwhelming.  At times it is unbearable.  But it will make her strong.  Stronger than she has ever been.  Sometimes she won't even know it, but it is happening, everyday.  Even this one.

Today was a win.

Today was one of those days that a homeschool mom wishes for.  No, there was no house cleaning fairy that slipped in and magically turned the house into a spotless wonder.  The food did not magically jump into the crock pot.  The kids did not refrain from fighting all day.  Or even most of it.  They did not remember to clean up after themselves.  Actually, school work is still on the table.  There are Legos on the floor. Squinkies and Zinkies are too.  And some cracker crumbs.  I did not wash the supper dishes.  There was an argument before breakfast.  None of those seemingly magical things occurred here today, but what did occur was just as awesome. 

Two huge awesome things, actually.  On the same day.  Isaac has been struggling to read for years.  We tried a traditional approach.  We tried creative approaches.  We wrote words in sand or shaving cream.  We played word games.  We fished for words from our word wall.  We used flash cards, rewards, incentives, whatever we could.  We tried it all.  Twice.  Nothing made it click.  Until today.  He picked up his reader and read a story.  No crying, no hesitation, no sounding out words even.  It clicked.  He did it.  There were even new words.  Then he turned the page and did it again.  Oh, I cannot say there were no tears, because I could not help myself.  He finished flawlessly reading his story, turned those big brown eyes to me and I could see his pride.  Satisfaction of a job well done.  The labor was difficult, but the instant those big, brown, joyous eyes locked onto my tear-filled ones was worth every second. 

I have no idea why it was today.  There was nothing special.  Nothing different.  Nothing new.  We did the same thing for the thousandth time.  It just clicked, and like a rusty flood gate opening for the first time the result was a deluge. It was one of those moments that takes my breath away, where the ah-ha look in their eyes overshadows any difficulties getting there.  But the day was not over yet.  I got another of those moments!

Faith has had difficulties at school for, well, always.  We have succeeded with some, and not quite yet with others.  Something we have been working on is correctly forming letters and numbers.  She has quite a high rate of backwards or malformed letters and numbers.  If she is directly copying something it looks great.  Left to form them on her own and it is hard to read at best.  One thing that we noticed, actually that Angel noticed, is that she writes numbers correctly in the units and hundreds place consistently, but the tens place is always backwards.  Even in number with the same digits.  She would add things like 32 + 23 and have a backwards 5 and a normal 5.  I have been marking her answers as right but making her practice forming the number correctly.  I have written over the backwards ones in red.  We have used sand, pudding, chalk, finger paint and a variety of other media to practice.  Same results- backwards numbers in the tens place.  Ever single time.  Despite me pointing it out she never noticed it before.  It was like she could not see the backwards numbers.  She would lament that they all looked the same to her.

Today she was practicing before a test.  She wrote the multiplication facts on the dining room mirror for several sets of numbers from memory.  Then she stepped back and looked at the mirror.  She moved closer, nose almost touching the mirror.  She stepped back again.  She turned around and said, "Hey, does anybody notice something wrong here?"  I looked up to check her facts.  They were correct.  She said, "No, I mean all these numbers.  I think they are backwards!"  She erased them and wrote them correctly.  On her test not one number was written backwards.  For the first time ever. 

A second ah-ha moment.  Only a few minutes after the first.  Two of our toughest problems.  In one day.  Years of blood, sweat, and tears came before.  Literally.  With an Aspie who has ADD and another ADHD one there were literal blood, sweat and tears.  For long stretches at a time it would occur daily.  On my part.  On their parts. 

But today, today was a good day.  Today was a win.  We never gave up.  We never quit.  And finally, after so much struggle, there was the fruit of our labor.  And it was sweet.  I know that tomorrow we may be back to struggles, maybe even the same struggles.  That is the way life is.  That is the way homeschooling is.  That is the way life with special needs students is.  But days like today, moments like these, the looks of pride, of wonder, of understanding, they stay with you.  Those are the moments I hide in my heart.  The moments I cherish and ponder.  The moments that I take out on days that are not good.  On the days where we have head banging, scratching and biting oneself.  On the days where the tears are not the good kind. 

Days like today linger.  Days like today allow hope to fester.  They allow us to hold onto the idea of success when it seems so far away.  They are gifts from God, miracles that show us to keep fighting the good fight.  Testaments to hard work, prayer, and God's mercy and grace.  And as I head off to sleep tonight, our success still fresh in my mind and heart, I will rest well.  And that rest is the kind much needed during this battle.  A rest filled with joy, with hope, with anticipation, with the promise of another win on the horizon. 

Our life is a zoo...

At the Creation Museum we went to the petting zoo.  Twice.

Angel was not too happy. 

She got better after we left the second time. 

David had the same level of excitment about the animals as Angel.

Maybe a bit less.

He allowed me to feed the animals for him.

And then spent the remainder of the time washing his hands.  

In case animal germs flew through the air.  Or because animals have spit. 

Depending on the day you asked him. 

 Isaac had much more fun.

So did Faith.

The best part, is that they did not butt heads like goats. 

While we were there.

Memory Lane, The End of Another School Year

Once again here we are, wrapping up another school year.  The years seem to stretch before me, being pregnant there are so many left, but having a middle schooler there are also too few. 

We are spending the week finishing things, finding things, putting together the portfolios, writing up next year's objectives, and doing final activities to complete the 2011-2012 school year.  This year also includes re-writing the log book that got destroyed by the cats. 

As always, there are so many things that we do that cannot fit in the portfolio.  Sometimes we do huge projects, but that is not what I am talking about.  I am talking about the things that there is no section for, not rubric, no entry in the log book.  We have overcome so much this school year, from the loss of our Hope, to the loss of pets.  Major sickness in family members, struggles finishing some school work, and long days of extra to make up for the lost days.  Also, each of the children have had personal conquests.

Angel hit a school year in which it was not longer all easy work.  At the beginning of the year she would struggle with work and it would be the end of the world if she got a problem wrong.  Never mind if it was not on a test and she could simply fix it.  There was frustration, tears, anger, and more tears.  Now, she was doing long division and realized during the checking portion that she made a mistake on a worksheet.  She was frustrated, but she redid the work.  Several times.  Until she got it right.  And there were no tears. Only a huge smile because she prevailed.  I have always had so many reason to be proud of her, and now there is one more!

Faith's progress has been measured in leaps and bounds since she was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.  At times it was super hard, and at other times it was easier, at least in comparison.  This year has been full of changes for her.  Her gecko, Liz, died. She lost her favorite Behavior Specialist, and several came and went quickly.  The last was also very good with her, and just left us.  But on a positive note, this does not only mark the end of her time with that Behavior Specialist, but of her services altogether.  She has progressed so much in recent months that there is no more a Behavior Specialist can do for her, for us.  We are handling any problems that come up, and there was a recommendation to limit her services so much that it was about the same to quit receiving them, and so we all agreed that was the best option.  And so as we look toward the next school year we are simply using the techniques we have learned in the past 18 months.

Isaac.  Oh, Isaac.  He is good at so many things, and he keeps me on my toes.  In school he is great at math, but not so great at focusing. Once I get his attention, I only have a limited time to work with him.  We have been working on some other issues as well, like anger, attention to work, and thinking through his actions before acting.  I have seen some progress in these areas.  I know the struggle is real, because he does not just have focus problems in school, but even in things he enjoys.  With charts, reminders, rewards, and patience we will prevail.  And past experience with other active children in my life lets me know that they slow down a good bit after hitting the teen years.  May not pay attention, but at least they start to sit still for longer. 

David is growing so fast!  He is not doing school yet, of course.  However, Angel does activities with him.  He has spend the past few weeks having a great time as Mariah comes over to play.  They love to paint, play, swim, and watch Blue's Clues.  He has been showing a lot of interest in letters and numbers.  He learned how to swim.  He even goes under water.  He still loves anything firefighter, and even got to help Pappy put out a fire!

And as usual, they are not the only ones learning and growing.  I have been trying to keep ahead of them in their school, do my own school, write VBS, and keep growing this baby.  I have dealt with my biggest fear, the loss of my baby.  I struggled so much through the miscarriage and for months after, and am pulling through now.  I have relied heavily on the grace of God, and my husband's support.  And I am doing OK.  And I know that doing great lies ahead.  I have gone through a fire and am going to come out stronger, closer to God, and while I may never know the purpose of my loss, I know that Hope's time with us, however brief, served a purpose, changed us in many ways, and will bring God glory. 

Still so much to do to finish our year, but this time when I close that portfolio after the evaluation, I have even more than ever before that we have accomplished, and my heart is full.

Normal is as Normal Does

For the longest time I was hung up on the concept of being normal.  Being perfect.  I would quiz my husband on what was normal when he was a child.  What did you do for birthdays?  Christmas?  Easter?  Summer vacation?  Allowance? 

I thought I would have it all figured out between his childhood and mine.  I would take from here, take from there, blend new family traditions that reflect the old.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not.  My husband is pretty easy going, so I end up doing whatever I want for chore lists, birthday parties, holidays. 

When the kids were younger, he also worked out of town, so our every day routine was different.  No sit down for supper every night, mostly we had cereal.  Or pizza.  Or pancakes. Or whatever the kids would eat that day.  We had early mornings when I had class in the morning, and late mornings when I had night classes the day before.  We walked everywhere we went because we had to.  But we were a bit different having three kids in four years.  And the concept of perfect changed.  Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect wife and mother became to mean different things. 

Then the kids got older, and a new normal was developed.  I chose to homeschool.  That became our new normal, not everyone else's normal.  Then Andy started to entertain more.  Which is a very different version of normal as our house filled up with unicycles, magic tricks, doves, machetes, and torches.  Non-work hours began to be filed with shows and practice.  And rubber chickens. 

Soon after we added another boy.  And discovered our second child has Asperger's.  And ADHD.  And our first boy is hyperactive, probably ADHD.  Once again, normal shifted.  Perfection shattered.   What I once thought of as normal was so far away.  Perfect was not even a long shot.  It was no where in sight. And normal became long school days, late nights, a messy house, and hyper children.  Loud children.  Boys who are such boys!  Girls who are such girls! 

Soon I came to realize that normal and perfect are more like a mirage.  You can see it, you think.  You can almost touch it sometimes, but not really.  And I adjusted.  Our normal is not your normal.  Your normal is not our normal.  And I am glad.  Because I would not trade my fire-juggling, tight-rope walking, magic huband, my girly stage performer, my free spirited nature lover, my delightful 100% rough and tumble superhero, or my singing dancing crazy son for someone else's image of perfect, of normal. 

Our lives are filled with rubber chickens, nature crafts, music, glitter, stage performances, dancing, laughter, school work, magic, wonderment, and joy.  And it is perfect.

Beyond the Limits of Reality

It is no surprise to many, most, of you that I have a child, our Faith, who has Asperger's Syndrome, which is on the Autism Spectrum.  This is something that effects our daily lives in so many ways.  Lights are loud.  Clothing makes her skin crawl.  Pencils can hurt her fingers.  Emotions are high, or seemingly not there.  Reactions can turn into overreactions quickly, suddenly.

There are also the positive sides.  She sees everything in a different way, from a different perspective, which, when she shares it with us, adds depth and richness to our lives.  She has abundant energy, and a very active, creative imagination.  She is not seemingly limited to reality, to the boundaries of time and space as she dreams impossible dreams, creates, imagines.

Today at lunch the kids were playing Rhyme Time, which is a rhyming game where one says a word and the others name rhymes.  David started.
"Space"
"Face"
"Race"
"Place"

Faith went next.
"Rice"
"Ice"
"Nice"
"Spoon"  (The three year old can only get so many correct.)

Angel, smirking, took her turn.
"Orange"
Silence, then Isaac bursts out with "Nothing rhymes with orange!"

Faith chimed in, "That's not true!  I can think of a dozen words that rhyme with orange!"

Angel asked, "Real words, with meanings?"

"Sure," replied Faith.

"In English?" asked Angel.

"Well, if you have to place those kinds of limits on it, then no," replied Faith.

And now, for the past half hour we have heard nothing but words that rhyme with orange.  And what they could possibly mean.  In a made up language.  That she alone hears and understands.  For a world she alone sees.  One that is not limited to the plausible, but to the possible, even the impossible.  On most days, despite our struggles, I wish for a glimpse.  Just tiny peek into that world.  Surely it is amazing, beautiful, beyond description, full of wonder.  A world that pushes, even bends, the limits of reality. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It seems to me there's so much more to the world than the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamt of. " 
~ Vincent

"I've seen many things, my friend. But you're right. Nothing's quite as wonderful as the things you see." ~ The Doctor

The Doctor Kicking It Lego Style

Lego creations by Faith

Doctor Who with his sonic screwdriver and the TARDIS

Yield. And then maybe smile a bit.

I live in a small town.  We have small town roads and sidewalks in most places. In other places we have one lane bridges and no sidewalks.  Almost everything is in walking distance.  I enjoy this very much.  But I have come to find something unsettling on our ventures out, especially when my kids are riding their bikes.

We have a grocery store within about a block from our home.  On the way there is a one lane bridge.  And construction that covers the sidewalk.  I have some young bike riders, but they know the rules and are cautious.  I am not worried about them, I am worried for them.  Because of the adults around. 

My nine year old has Asperger's Syndrome, which is on the Autism Spectrum.  We were told she probably would not have the balance to ride her bike without training wheels.  We never told her that.  We coached, worked, practiced, and prayed.  It may have taken her two years longer, and she is a bit unsteady, but she rides.  Without training wheels.  And she can go far. 

My seven year old was quick to get his training wheels off his bike.  He started taking them off himself.  He is fast and steady.  He was riding without training wheels before his big sister.  He rides slowly with his sister.  To keep her safe.  He encourages her up the hills, and even down the other side. 

And I am proud of them both.  Her perseverance.  His protection.  Her smiling face.  His kind heart. 

You see, that one lane bridge is scary for her.  She has to pedal up a small hill.  She is close to cars.  She may seem like she does not see them, but that is because she doesn't want to make eye contact with the drivers.  She knows you are there.  And sometimes she panics if cars are too close, too loud, or too fast, even if they are on the road and she is on the sidewalk.  But on that bridge she has no choice.  She has to step out of her comfort zone, away from her safe place.  Again.  She does this in many ways everyday, but this is the only time I fear for her.

On that bridge, she has to be on the road.  And adults are impatient.  And rude.  They beep at her if she is taking too long.  Or creep up onto the bridge invading her space.  Sometimes it alarms her enough that she jumps off her bike and runs.  I am usually right there, but she will still get afraid.  And so Isaac rides between her and the road.  To protect her. 

If I could say one thing to the drivers we see often, especially today, it would be shame on you.  Shame on you for your impatience.  For your frustration.  You see, even if she was not a little different in this area, she is still a child.  She will go too slow.  Or too fast.  She may swerve a little.  She may not see you coming up behind her.  But as a child, that is to be expected.  As adult, on the other hand, should know better.  Should yield to the child that seems "in the way", your child or not.  Your relative or not.  Your neighbor or not.  Because by your actions you teach each child you meet.  You are teaching impatience.  Frustration.  Lack of compassion.  I am a firm believer that the only thing wrong with "kids these days" is the adults that they have to look to as an example. 

So if you are in my town on a nice day and you see a beautiful little girl on a pink bike with a rubber snake in the basket, please be patient.  Give her an extra moment.  Maybe a smile.  She may not respond in kind, but she will notice.  And so will her sister and brothers.  And her mother.  And they will be very grateful.

Change-R-Us

We are in the middle of a remodeling project. I say middle with much optimism. Very much optimism. We are pulling up carpeting, ripping off wall paper, sanding wood work and installing a light in the living room. For the first time in my married life I will have a living room light. Now, of course, when I say we I really mean Andy is doing the “work” kind of work. I am doing the “picking paint colors kind of work”, and let me tell you, that is hard!
By the completion of the project we will have refinished the hardwood floors in the dining room, both living rooms and the hallway. There will be fresh paint in the same rooms. And the furniture will be in the room it belongs in. Unlike our current random couch placement. Or book towers in every room. Or chairs in odd corners.

More than the work work, the picking colors work, the moving furniture work (also not me), the hardest part has been with Faith. She has a very hard time with change, which we know is a part of her Asperger’s Syndrome. Knowing where it comes from only helps us to understand. It does not make it easier for her or for us. She has a fit over each layer of wall paper. Each section of carpeting. Each knocked out section of drywall. Each ceiling block that is removed. Every strip of carpet tacks, which she calls carpet attacks and is waiting for them to, well, to attack.

We are also working on switching bedrooms to spilt up the girls. Which starts with getting rid of toys to move the toy room to a smaller room. My bedroom to the attic. The boys to my room. Faith to the boys room. And Angel gets to stay put and spread out a bit. And that way no one is in Faith’s space. But until then our entire house is in upheaval. Except for the bathrooms. They get to stay the same and are too small to store things in. The kitchen is not getting changed. Yet. But it has a nice corner for storing books in boxes. Or furniture. Or ladders.

Our whole house is like that Bert and Ernie book about how the fish ended up in Bert’s favorite cowboy hat. And yes, I do have a book for everything. I think that one is under the china cupboard.

Creationary or Bust! Mostly Bust...

Andy bought the game Lego Creationary. Or what I lovingly call the game that makes me look like an idiot. It is just like Pictionary. But with Legos instead of the pen and paper I already have an epic fail using. I played for about an hour today with Faith and Isaac. Isaac went first and built a gas pump that looked like a gas pump. It even had buttons and a hose. Faith went next and built a church with a steeple and a guy holding a square Bible walking in the door. I took my turn and built a banana that looked like a yellow rectangle with some brown on top. Isaac built a canoe with a man riding in it. Faith built a red T Rex with moving jaws. I built a car that looked like a red rectangle with wheels on bottom. Isaac built a light house. On a rocky beach. He even put on a white speck for a seashell. Faith built a wavy snake with a forked tongue and working jaws. I built a lawn mower that looked suspiciously like my car with smaller wheels and a handle on top.

As the next round was about to begin I excused myself before I could be further humiliated myself, er, to go make supper. As I left the room Faith called me back. She said “Mommy, don’t feel bad. You did real good for a beginner. And there are lots of things you can do that other people can’t. Umm, like, laundry. Those times you do laundry you do it real good.” And that is supposed to make me feel better?

That’s it. Next game night I am going to play with David. I can’t beat Faith and Isaac at Legos. I can not beat Angel at Yahtzee. Or Wii bowling. Or Uno. But David can beat me at Candy Land without me looking like a loser. It may even look like I let him win.

Train up a chil in the way he should go...

…and it will take every ounce of your strength. That is how that phrase should read. Never having been to an actual war, I can only imagine, but it seems to me there are some deep comparisons there.  Daily skirmishes.  Bone wary struggles.  Blood, sweat and tears.  Post traumatic stress.  Financial drain.  Lack of sleep.  And the lack of ability to tell while in the trenches if you are winning.

Take last night for example. Faith and Isaac wanted to watch a movie in Isaac’s room.  (Yes, there are TVs in the bedrooms. Don’t judge me. It affords me 15 minutes of peace and quiet every other Tuesday or so. It is worth it.)  I said sure.  They are not allowed to take up food or drinks.  They are not allowed to jump on the bed.  And lacking the foresight, I neglected to make a rule about taking all of the clothes out of the dresser and tossing them about the room all willy -nilly.  And there was not a rule about taking apart lamps.  Now there is.  I went up to put David to bed and found bowls, every stitch of Isaac’s clothing, cups, DVDs, sheets, and stuffed animals all over the place.  There was a lamp shade hanging from the fan blade.  Which apparently took three tries.  The mattress was off the bed in one direction, and the boards holding it up were knocked out of place. I called for them to come clean it up, and Andy brought them up.  He took one look around, kicked the stuff out of the way and took the bed apart.  He put the box springs and mattress on the floor. This might upset some people, but not Isaac.  Now he just can fall right into bed.  And we won’t know if he jumps on it.  Totally missed the point.

This was only one of our skirmishes yesterday.  And I can never tell if they are “getting it” on a daily basis.  However, something must be sinking in because everyday Faith and Isaac (in our home the Faith and Isaac phenomenon has begun to be called Fisaac for short) dump out every single Lego- I estimate there are now 3,834 due to a rare moment of vacuuming rage during which I vacuumed one up- all over the dining room table and floor.  And everyday they are surprised that they have to clean them up.  Not today.  For on this lovely morning, when they came down to play,and as Isaac was about to dump them out Faith shouted “Remember yesterday!!!” and they dug through for the ones they wanted instead.  I have no idea what yesterday had to do with Lego clean up.  I have only said not to dump them all out or they will have to clean it up for the past 932 yesterdays.  One of those must have sunk in.  I hope.  Tomorrow is another day.

And with a not quite two year old, I estimate there are only about 7,305 tomorrows of this, if I accurately counted leap years, before the Lego’s can be sold on eBay, or even better, be packed up and given to Faith or Isaac’s children.  And then I can sit here, sipping hot coffee, cause I hear that’s how it tastes best, and read Facebook messages and blogs from them and their spouses about Lego’s, lampshades and other trauma.  And then I will know I have won, even if it is a last man standing type of victory.  And I hear that the revenge, I mean, grandchildren are rather wonderful.

Don't Forget the Duct Tape!

That was what I heard Faith yell across the yard as Isaac headed into the house.  He was scurrying quickly along with his head down.  I was in the kitchen so I intercepted him.

“What are you and Faith working on out there?”

“Umm, why?  What did you hear?” He replied warily.

“Just wondering what you came up with to do.”

“Well, we were playing toss the shovel, but we had to stop.”

“Toss the shovel?  The sand shovel, right?  Not the snow shovel or the metal shovel.”

“Yep.  But we quit that game.”

“Why?” I asked, internally cringing at what else they may be inspired to do.

“It got stuck in the tree.  We need rope, purple duct tape and a ladder.  Faith is in the yard making sharp sticks.”

“Are you trying to get the shovel down?” I asked with alarm over the sharp sticks part.

“Nope.”

“Oh.  What are you plan- how about we just try to get down the shovel?”  I figure climbing the tree is safer than whatever it was they were going to do that required sharp sticks and a ladder.  And they can not have my purple duct tape.  Red maybe, or yellow.  Not the purple.  Some things have to be sacred.

“Can’t.  I broke the lowest branch falling out of the tree yesterday.”

“You fell out of the tree yesterday?”

“Well, I didn’t fall, just my cape got stuck up when I came down.  And then the branch broke off so I got free.”

“Hmm… How about we don’t climb trees wearing capes anymore.”

“Batman does it.”

“Ok, if your name is Bruce Wayne and you do not need to worry about health insurance or new clothes or being sued by the neighbors when you destroy their property, then you can climb a tree with a cape.”

“Ok, I will do that on Tuesday.”  (Really, where does this come from…)

“So let’s get that shovel.  You need something to step on to get to the lower branch.”

“I will have Faith be a step stool.”

“Noooo, how about just dragging over the toddler slide and using the ladder for that?”

“Ok.  Hey, can we still have the rope?”  I shake my head no.  “How about that duct tape?”  Another shake of my head.

 “Well, there goes my next idea…”
And I didn’t want to ask.

It's About that Time

After all, it is August.  About time to head back to school.  I see it everywhere.  Ads for clothes, new shoes, or school supplies.  Winding down of summer activities.  Emails from yahoo groups about lesson plans and curriculum.  And as always, I begin to think about endings and new beginnings.  Changes and areas we have grown, or need to grow a little more.

I have a preteen. She will be ten, but Angel has been claiming preteen status since about two years old. She is the one who most reminds me of me.  Oh, I see bits of me in the others, but this one is me at nine and me now.  I have been having a hard time watching her over this past year because I compare her to myself at that age and around nine is when my life started to unravel and I began to head for self destruction.  I see that she is more interested in competing with boys than liking them, and I rejoice.  I was not like that.  I see how her heart is set on following God, and I am overjoyed.  I did not even know Him.  I see how helpful she is around the house and how bossy that makes her with her sister and brothers, and I laugh, because I was the same way.  I see how she can stomp her feet and whine.  And I see myself, and cringe.  But overall I am so very glad she is different in the most important way- she already knows the love of her Savior.  And that is all she needs. (But I still like to see her race boys and win. Also me…)

And I have a sweet eight year old how has all of a sudden become more grown up!  She used to hide when it was time to clean up her toys.  Or just shove everything under the bed.  She used to scream and hit when she was mad.  Here is a familiar conversation in my house.  It has been this way ever since they could talk.

Angel:  You are supposed to be helping me clean up our toys! Get out of the closet! You clean these up or I will tell Mommy to just take them to Good William (a blog all its own!)
Faith: That’s OK, I’d rather buy new ones than pick these up! I am staying in here!!

Just yesterday I heard this same conversation. But now it was between Faith and Isaac.  And boy, did she get frustrated!!  But I had to laugh, because it was not soo very long ago that it was her hiding in the closet.  He hid in the love seat instead.  She has been doing much better in school  and I have not found her under a table screaming during church for months.  All good signs!!

Isaac, oh, Isaac, where to begin.  Every step of growing up has been hard for Isaac.  He always wants to stay the same size.  He will be six next month.  He wants the party and cake and presents, but he wants to stay five.  Forever.  Mostly I want that too, little man.  I would like if you stopped walking around the house in your sleep, though.  And if you have to climb the walls, make sure your feet are clean.  I have a hard time reaching those dirty footprints!!  He is our hero, our warrior, and that will never change!

David is growing in leaps and bounds as toddler tend to do.  He talks all the time.  Even if we don’t understand him, or no one is around.  And he sings!  Any music is fine for him.  He also likes to hold the guitar and strum.  None of my other children have strummed, they usually plucked.  He dances too.  Just last night at bedtime I told Isaac to get his Bible for devotions.  David said: Where David’s Bible?  I handed him a toddler Bible and he looked at every page, talking to and about everything, then asked me to read David’s Bible too.  We prayed and he said: Thank God for food.  (Not timely, but I cried anyway.)  Then he said Amen and lalulala, which we assume means hallelujah.  He is super sweet, and yet all boy.  The other day at the fire station he about had a heart attack over sitting in the fire truck.  He still talks about it. And two days ago, he tried to climb the pipes.

Overall, I am so proud of the progress we have all made.  But, this post is big enough for now, so I will talk about Andy and I on a different day.

Wordless Wednesday- Starring Faith

Faith

Today my sweet girl turns 8.  EIGHT!  I can not believe it.  I know, I know, I say that every year, every child, but my, it is always true.  The time is slipping away, days tumbling by like grains of sand in an hour glass.  You do not notice one or two at a time, even a weeks worth, or at times a month can slip by.  Then you look around and the kids are bigger, stronger, smarter.  You look older, more gray hair, even maybe a wrinkle or two.  And you wonder where it all went, all your missing time.  I will give you a run down of the past eight Faith years.

Faith was born on the last night of our VBS.  It was entitled Faith Mountain.  Not the reason I choose the name Faith, but the kids at VBS were tickled!  I sat there teaching the lesson, pausing for each contraction, then moving on. As the kids went to the closing, I headed to the hospital.  If we would have brought the car seat with us she would have made it to the closing program on Sunday morning!  That Saturday (she was born really early Saturday morning) we missed a family reunion.  For the next few years her birthday always fell on both VBS and the reunion time.

As Faith got bigger there were two things everyone would comment on more than anything else.  Oh, there was always the comments about how beautiful she looked.  But then she would smile.  Oh, that smile!  It would melt your heart, turn the worst day around.  It was the most infectious smile I have ever seen.  And she was always happy.  So very happy.  I was afraid that the smile would be too different when she got teeth, but she has this adorable gap that made it even better!  She also had the cutest lisp for the longest time.  Sometimes there is just a hint of it when she talks fast or is excited, which is quite often.

The other thing developed as she got even older.  The sunniest disposition that you have ever seen.  She never lacked joy.  And it showed.  Sure she could, and would, cry and pout, but she more often than not looked on the world with rose colored glasses.  There seemed to be a hint of magic everywhere she went.  Every thing was a game.  Delightful and ready to be explored, enjoyed, shared.  She was always a pixie princess at play.  I felt certain sometimes that if I looked closely at her ears they would be pointy.

She has quite an affinity for nature.  Most children go through life chasing lighten bugs and butterflies.  The come right to Faith and land on her.  She has caught birds and ducks.  They did not even fly away when she approached and seemed to be ready to get a Faith cuddle.  She will gently hold nature in her hands, cherishing it, and then let it go.  She will collect bits of sticks, rocks, whatever and set up a museum in the yard.  Free admission, because all nature is free to be enjoyed.

Robots are the new thing.  Wall-E, R2-D2, C3PO, and droids, and many she makes up herself.  She draws elaborate plans to build them when she is older.  Or constructs them from paper, legos, blocks, or any material she can get her hands on.  She names them, gives them all a personality.

Her art skills are incredible.  I know she did not get that from me.  She has always drawn very well, and the detail in her pictures is amazing.  She goes through stages, like all houses, or robots, or sea life, or a favorite movie.  She will be doing something else, and her hands start to fidget and soon she is running off to find paper.  It is as if the artistry is spilling out and she can not help herself!  I have even seen her do math in on hand and draw with the other.

The years have numbered eight, but the joy, the love of life, the exuberance she brings to everyday are eternal.  She is the sunshine in our lives.  And were are so very glad for her.

Happy Birthday my sweet baby girl!!