First off, let me just say thank you to everyone who read and/or responded to "The Unknown Name," either via the comments, email, or in person. Wow. The very nature of a blog is pretty much memememememe, and I certainly didn't want to make that tragedy all about myself. I have a lot of prayers about that situation, but the main ones are for the child and his family who were so grievously harmed. But to those of you who wrote wonderful words of encouragement and those of you who shared your own stories of suffering at the hands of an abuser, I am humbled and grateful. I think my friend Katie probably summed it up best in a note she sent to me: "I've been reading the Psalms this year and have been struck by several in the early teens that speak about the weak and oppressed - that not one injustice has happened - not a drop of blood or tear shed - will not fail to be accounted for. My stomach is sick over your story but I keep thinking that one day all of this horrible stuff WILL end. God on that day WILL say "ENOUGH"."
Also, regarding Baby Lucy and her open heart surgery: the surgery was successful in repairing her valve, and the doctors were pleased. She is being watched carefully in intensive care, and everyone is happy with her progress. Thanks to everyone who is praying for her too.
As for me, I have farmed my family out for the weekend and am on my own until mid-day Saturday. Tonight some friends (I actually have no idea how many) are coming over for dessert and to make jewelry (it's what we call "fellowship" in the Baptist church, ya'll), and tomorrow I will be able to sleep in as late as I want. I've got some library books to catch up on as well.
I took Elaine over to my parents' house yesterday, and she made herself at home there immediately. She had cookies and tea and then went upstairs and got down some of the dolls who belong to the girls but live with my parents (Allie and Louisa, named for me and Louisa May Alcott respectively, dontcha know). Then she told my mom she wanted to watch "teebee" (forever shattering the illusion for them that I don't let my kids watch TV). When I said goodbye to her, she ran over, gave me a brief hug, said, "Bye-bye, Mom. Go to the store. I watch this goose on teebee," and ran back to her dolls and the tube.
When I got home, I prepped Lucy for her visit to Darren's parents (my mother-in-law is watching her while Darren goes hunting) and said, "Lucy, I know you'll be a good girl and won't cause any trouble. See if you can be a helper too. You could say to MiMi, 'Is there anything I can help you with, MiMi?' Now, can you practice saying that back to me?" and she said, "Sure! 'MiMi, is there anything you can help me with?'" So, we'll see how that goes.
I'll be back next week with more mundane and mediocre tales, especially since I'm slated to be the Mystery Guest in Lucy's class on Tuesday. And again, to everyone who reads this, a warm thank you. Several of you also said some very complimentary things about my writing, which is always nice to hear. And one person pointed out that I was misspelling "connoisseur" in my profile, and I realized that I was also misspelling it on my Facebook page as well, so it wasn't just a typo, I actually did not know how to spell that word and was too lazy to look it up. Nothing makes you look more pretentious and foolish than running around using fancy words you don't even know how to spell or pronounce. As I say often, "I'm so glad I'm an editor. It's such a help in my daily life."
Have a good weekend!
Friday, January 18, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The Unknown Name
Most of the time I write on this blog, I'm pretty light-hearted, maybe sentimental, and sometimes a little more serious. But tonight I write with a sick and pained heart.
When Lucy was one year old, I was driving to work and heard a news story about a woman who was carrying her one-year-old baby into a store at a strip mall. A mentally ill man with a knife was approaching people in the parking lot and demanding their keys and stabbing them. He approached this woman and stabbed her baby girl. The baby died right there in her arms. By the time I got to work, I was so ill that I had to tell my boss I needed to take a sick day. I turned around and drove home. Darren was taking care of Lucy since it was a Friday, but I needed to be there and to hold her. I needed to make sure that he didn't take her out of the house that day. I spent the day alternately clutching her to me and running to the bathroom to vomit. What chance did she have in the world if she wasn't even safe in her mother's arms? For all the times I carried her into the grocery store or Target...she was not protected there. I kept crying out to God, "Where were You? I don't understand. I don't understand." Suddenly, a verse I'd learned from childhood came to mind, Proverbs 3:5 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." I had to put my hand again in His and trust Him as His child, though I'll never understand. I spent many tortured hours, days, and weeks, wrestling with that, but the fact that I do not have to lean on my own understanding sustained me through it.
Our former church, where we spent seven years and where both our girls were baptized, was as close to perfect (for me) as you could get. If I personally designed a church, it would come out looking like that one. It was large, and the friends we made were often the people who sat around us--quite a number of people sat in roughly the same spot each week. There was a man there, in his sixties, who sat behind us. He was quiet but friendly and seemed a little bit sad. We struck up a friendship, not a close one, but a friendship with him. When I became pregnant with Lucy, all of our "seatmates" around us were excited and then thrilled when she was born. I enjoyed showing her off after she was born and bringing her up from the nursery after the service each Sunday as she grew into a little girl.
Our friend particularly liked her and was so sweet to her. He bought her a little bear and made sure there was nothing on it that could choke her. He always let her play with his keys. Besides missing everything else about our church when we moved here, we missed him, and I was so happy one day when Lucy got a card in the mail from him that said, "Dear Lucy, never forget that Jesus loves you and I love you too." I kept it in her baby book.
Today I opened up the newspaper and discovered that our friend had been sentenced to 39 years in prison for four counts of aggravated sexual assault against an 11-year-old. And discovered this was not his first sexual offense either. He befriended the child's parents, gave gifts to the child, and eventually molested him repeatedly. Apparently there was a lot of brainwashing going on as well because the judge said at his sentencing, "You twisted your religion and Bible references to work these despicable acts."
In between tears and a heaving stomach, I try to think of metaphors--like I've just seen my daughter almost killed by a car but snatched away just in time. But nothing can convey the horror of the misplaced trust and the fact that, at 4 years old, my precious lamb has already met and been liked by a pedophile. Praise God, she is unharmed.
One of my favorite books is part of a fiction series set in the Church of England. This particular book, "Scandalous Risks," is about a 26-year-old woman who embarks on an affair with a married man who is also a clergyman. He twists Scripture and morality until this young woman is so confused, she consults a priest to help her discern what is happening. He says to her, " 'You both stand in very great danger.' 'You mean in danger of being found out?' 'No, in danger of spiritual destruction. Can't you feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of your neck?' Instantly my scalp prickled. In fact so powerful was the impact of his suggestion that my hand automatically sped to the nape of my neck to clamp down on the hairs which I felt sure were standing on end. Then reason reclaimed me. I said in a fury, 'You can't frighten me like that! No one believes in the Devil any more!' ...'Forget the little imp with horns,' Father Darrow said...'But think of Hiroshima. When the atomic bomb was dropped many were killed but some people did survive apparently unscathed. Yet they were not unscathed. They had been contaminated by a great pollutant. That was a very great pollutant, but there's another pollutant, the greatest pollutant of them all, and it attacks not men's bodies, but their souls.'"
I have a dear friend who is uncomfortable when I start talking about Christianity, particularly when I mention Satan. But when I opened up the paper today and saw the mugshot of someone I knew and trusted, who had loved my child, and who had perpetrated such evil onto another innocent child...there is no other way to put it. I could feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of my neck.
And the absolute worst, worst part of it is that somehow he used the name of Jesus, the name that is so precious to me and my children, so revered in our household, the Jesus who is holy and pure, who created and blessed the children, to get it done. When I saw his picture in the paper, it felt like I was looking right in Satan's face.
This is a pretty dark night for me. I checked on each of my sleeping babies, but I don't know how much I will sleep. In between getting it all out on paper as it were (and anyone who writes knows how cathartic that is), I'm reading the comforting words about the triumph of the light against darkness in 1 John. And just as that day three or so years ago when I cried out to God, "Where were You?" and I was comforted by the words of Proverbs, I'm again comforted by His Word, this time from Revelation 19:12 "His eyes are like blazing fire, and on His head are many crowns. He has a name written on Him that no one knows but He Himself."
What an awesome, awesome comfort that is to me. Somewhere on Jesus Christ is written a name that no one knows but Him alone. No one will ever know. No one can touch it. No one can profane it. No one can twist it. No one can foul it. No one can perpetrate hideous acts of wickedness with it. It's pure. It's untouchable. It's holy.
Amen.
When Lucy was one year old, I was driving to work and heard a news story about a woman who was carrying her one-year-old baby into a store at a strip mall. A mentally ill man with a knife was approaching people in the parking lot and demanding their keys and stabbing them. He approached this woman and stabbed her baby girl. The baby died right there in her arms. By the time I got to work, I was so ill that I had to tell my boss I needed to take a sick day. I turned around and drove home. Darren was taking care of Lucy since it was a Friday, but I needed to be there and to hold her. I needed to make sure that he didn't take her out of the house that day. I spent the day alternately clutching her to me and running to the bathroom to vomit. What chance did she have in the world if she wasn't even safe in her mother's arms? For all the times I carried her into the grocery store or Target...she was not protected there. I kept crying out to God, "Where were You? I don't understand. I don't understand." Suddenly, a verse I'd learned from childhood came to mind, Proverbs 3:5 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." I had to put my hand again in His and trust Him as His child, though I'll never understand. I spent many tortured hours, days, and weeks, wrestling with that, but the fact that I do not have to lean on my own understanding sustained me through it.
Our former church, where we spent seven years and where both our girls were baptized, was as close to perfect (for me) as you could get. If I personally designed a church, it would come out looking like that one. It was large, and the friends we made were often the people who sat around us--quite a number of people sat in roughly the same spot each week. There was a man there, in his sixties, who sat behind us. He was quiet but friendly and seemed a little bit sad. We struck up a friendship, not a close one, but a friendship with him. When I became pregnant with Lucy, all of our "seatmates" around us were excited and then thrilled when she was born. I enjoyed showing her off after she was born and bringing her up from the nursery after the service each Sunday as she grew into a little girl.
Our friend particularly liked her and was so sweet to her. He bought her a little bear and made sure there was nothing on it that could choke her. He always let her play with his keys. Besides missing everything else about our church when we moved here, we missed him, and I was so happy one day when Lucy got a card in the mail from him that said, "Dear Lucy, never forget that Jesus loves you and I love you too." I kept it in her baby book.
Today I opened up the newspaper and discovered that our friend had been sentenced to 39 years in prison for four counts of aggravated sexual assault against an 11-year-old. And discovered this was not his first sexual offense either. He befriended the child's parents, gave gifts to the child, and eventually molested him repeatedly. Apparently there was a lot of brainwashing going on as well because the judge said at his sentencing, "You twisted your religion and Bible references to work these despicable acts."
In between tears and a heaving stomach, I try to think of metaphors--like I've just seen my daughter almost killed by a car but snatched away just in time. But nothing can convey the horror of the misplaced trust and the fact that, at 4 years old, my precious lamb has already met and been liked by a pedophile. Praise God, she is unharmed.
One of my favorite books is part of a fiction series set in the Church of England. This particular book, "Scandalous Risks," is about a 26-year-old woman who embarks on an affair with a married man who is also a clergyman. He twists Scripture and morality until this young woman is so confused, she consults a priest to help her discern what is happening. He says to her, " 'You both stand in very great danger.' 'You mean in danger of being found out?' 'No, in danger of spiritual destruction. Can't you feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of your neck?' Instantly my scalp prickled. In fact so powerful was the impact of his suggestion that my hand automatically sped to the nape of my neck to clamp down on the hairs which I felt sure were standing on end. Then reason reclaimed me. I said in a fury, 'You can't frighten me like that! No one believes in the Devil any more!' ...'Forget the little imp with horns,' Father Darrow said...'But think of Hiroshima. When the atomic bomb was dropped many were killed but some people did survive apparently unscathed. Yet they were not unscathed. They had been contaminated by a great pollutant. That was a very great pollutant, but there's another pollutant, the greatest pollutant of them all, and it attacks not men's bodies, but their souls.'"
I have a dear friend who is uncomfortable when I start talking about Christianity, particularly when I mention Satan. But when I opened up the paper today and saw the mugshot of someone I knew and trusted, who had loved my child, and who had perpetrated such evil onto another innocent child...there is no other way to put it. I could feel the Devil caressing the hair at the nape of my neck.
And the absolute worst, worst part of it is that somehow he used the name of Jesus, the name that is so precious to me and my children, so revered in our household, the Jesus who is holy and pure, who created and blessed the children, to get it done. When I saw his picture in the paper, it felt like I was looking right in Satan's face.
This is a pretty dark night for me. I checked on each of my sleeping babies, but I don't know how much I will sleep. In between getting it all out on paper as it were (and anyone who writes knows how cathartic that is), I'm reading the comforting words about the triumph of the light against darkness in 1 John. And just as that day three or so years ago when I cried out to God, "Where were You?" and I was comforted by the words of Proverbs, I'm again comforted by His Word, this time from Revelation 19:12 "His eyes are like blazing fire, and on His head are many crowns. He has a name written on Him that no one knows but He Himself."
What an awesome, awesome comfort that is to me. Somewhere on Jesus Christ is written a name that no one knows but Him alone. No one will ever know. No one can touch it. No one can profane it. No one can twist it. No one can foul it. No one can perpetrate hideous acts of wickedness with it. It's pure. It's untouchable. It's holy.
Amen.
Weekly Book Review
I want to start a weekly book review. I read loads of blogs (far too many), and they're all either hilarious, or beautiful, or intellectual, or theological, or a mixture of all those things. Mine's sort of a mish-mash of pre-schoolers and Christianity and John Mellencamp, so I figure I better get some semblance of order going here. Either that or stop reading other people's blogs, but I doubt that's going to happen any time soon.
I try to read 3-4 books a week (emphasis on "try"). But unless you want to hear a mystery or a classic reviewed every week, I probably shouldn't write about what I'm reading (also, I tend to be a little bit behind. I just finished, for the first time, Alexander McCall Smith's "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" even though everybody else read it about 8 years ago or something. Oh, and it was wonderful! But...you already knew that.) So instead I'm going to try and review a children's book each week, because not only is my ultimate dream job to sit around in my pajamas and read children's books full-time, but this blog IS called Guilford Road: IloveyouI'mcrying, which is about my kids, so I should have something that actually relates to them. Also, I concur with C.S. Lewis who said that the mark of a good children's book is that it appeals to an adult. Or something like that.
So, let's begin.
My inaugural book is Rumer Godden's "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower." Published in 1961, the story is that of Nona, a 9-year-old girl who has grown up in colonized India but is sent to live in a suburb of London with her aunt and uncle and their three children. Nona is homesick and heartsick, lonely and unsure of how to remedy that. Her two older cousins, while kind, don't have much time for her, and the youngest, Belinda, torments Nona whenever possible. Everything seems hopeless until a package arrives in the mail, containing two small Japanese dolls named Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.
Somehow instinctively, Nona understands that they need a home. It is not right for them to be thrown into Belinda's English dollhouse, Nona must learn how to make a proper Japanese home for them. She must first conquer her own fears and anxieties and actually meet people, people who can help her learn how to make a house for the dolls. Her first conquest is Mr. Twilfit, the bookstore owner down the road, of whom even Belinda is terrified. However, Mr. Twilfit is not unacquainted with loneliness either, nor is he devoid of sympathy towards children: "Will you be careful [of these books] if I lend them to you?' 'Very careful,' said Nona, and her brown eyes glowed. 'Then give me your name and address.' 'Nona Fell,' said Nona dreamily--she was thinking about reading those books--'Nona Fell. Coimbatore Tea Estate, near Travancore, South India...' 'You are in England,' said Mr. Twilfit very gently. 'Your address here?' Nona looked at him and the glow went out of her eyes. She could have fallen through the floor with shame; even small children, almost babies, know their address, but she had been taken into the house almost as if she had been a piece of luggage, and had never bothered to notice or find out its address."
Nona's course of self-study through Japanese culture, customs, festivals, and houses is always well-woven into the story and never becames drily factual. Of course through her creation of a home for the two tiny dolls, she is creating a sense of belonging for herself. And her joyful journey is not without impediment--Belinda nearly manages to ruin the whole thing.
Besides being a captivating story, (and Godden's style is unique--she traverses back and forth between inner and spoken dialogue with ease like I've never read from any other author) there is a wonderful amount of accurate cultural information. As well, at the end of the book, there are detailed plans of how to build a Japanese dollhouse as Nona did. In addition to getting Nona's perspective of the story, Godden also gives us the dolls' perspective (and I blame her for the fact that even when I'm in a rush to clean up all the toys littering the house up, whenever I put away Elaine's dollhouse, I make sure the two dolls are gently tucked into bed for the night).
The age range listed for "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower" is 8-12, though I think a perceptive 5-year-old would definitely be ready to enjoy it. The Horn Book calls this "A rare and perfect gem of a book," and I would certainly concur.
I try to read 3-4 books a week (emphasis on "try"). But unless you want to hear a mystery or a classic reviewed every week, I probably shouldn't write about what I'm reading (also, I tend to be a little bit behind. I just finished, for the first time, Alexander McCall Smith's "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" even though everybody else read it about 8 years ago or something. Oh, and it was wonderful! But...you already knew that.) So instead I'm going to try and review a children's book each week, because not only is my ultimate dream job to sit around in my pajamas and read children's books full-time, but this blog IS called Guilford Road: IloveyouI'mcrying, which is about my kids, so I should have something that actually relates to them. Also, I concur with C.S. Lewis who said that the mark of a good children's book is that it appeals to an adult. Or something like that.
So, let's begin.
My inaugural book is Rumer Godden's "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower." Published in 1961, the story is that of Nona, a 9-year-old girl who has grown up in colonized India but is sent to live in a suburb of London with her aunt and uncle and their three children. Nona is homesick and heartsick, lonely and unsure of how to remedy that. Her two older cousins, while kind, don't have much time for her, and the youngest, Belinda, torments Nona whenever possible. Everything seems hopeless until a package arrives in the mail, containing two small Japanese dolls named Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.Somehow instinctively, Nona understands that they need a home. It is not right for them to be thrown into Belinda's English dollhouse, Nona must learn how to make a proper Japanese home for them. She must first conquer her own fears and anxieties and actually meet people, people who can help her learn how to make a house for the dolls. Her first conquest is Mr. Twilfit, the bookstore owner down the road, of whom even Belinda is terrified. However, Mr. Twilfit is not unacquainted with loneliness either, nor is he devoid of sympathy towards children: "Will you be careful [of these books] if I lend them to you?' 'Very careful,' said Nona, and her brown eyes glowed. 'Then give me your name and address.' 'Nona Fell,' said Nona dreamily--she was thinking about reading those books--'Nona Fell. Coimbatore Tea Estate, near Travancore, South India...' 'You are in England,' said Mr. Twilfit very gently. 'Your address here?' Nona looked at him and the glow went out of her eyes. She could have fallen through the floor with shame; even small children, almost babies, know their address, but she had been taken into the house almost as if she had been a piece of luggage, and had never bothered to notice or find out its address."
Nona's course of self-study through Japanese culture, customs, festivals, and houses is always well-woven into the story and never becames drily factual. Of course through her creation of a home for the two tiny dolls, she is creating a sense of belonging for herself. And her joyful journey is not without impediment--Belinda nearly manages to ruin the whole thing.
Besides being a captivating story, (and Godden's style is unique--she traverses back and forth between inner and spoken dialogue with ease like I've never read from any other author) there is a wonderful amount of accurate cultural information. As well, at the end of the book, there are detailed plans of how to build a Japanese dollhouse as Nona did. In addition to getting Nona's perspective of the story, Godden also gives us the dolls' perspective (and I blame her for the fact that even when I'm in a rush to clean up all the toys littering the house up, whenever I put away Elaine's dollhouse, I make sure the two dolls are gently tucked into bed for the night).
The age range listed for "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower" is 8-12, though I think a perceptive 5-year-old would definitely be ready to enjoy it. The Horn Book calls this "A rare and perfect gem of a book," and I would certainly concur.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Another Lucy
If you get the chance, please say a prayer for this little one today. Currently, she is undergoing her fourth open-chest and third open-heart surgery (as I type). She is 8 1/2 months old and was born with a heart malfunction. She had bypass surgery (to put in a pacemaker) in November, but apparently all is not well with her valves, so right now they're repairing one and replacing another. I know her parents and grandparents could use all the prayer they can get too...
Holy Innocents
Sleep, little Baby, sleep;
The holy Angels love thee,
And guard thy bed, and keep
A blessed watch above thee.
No spirit can come near
Nor evil beast to harm thee:
Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear
Where nothing need alarm thee.
The Love which doth not sleep,
The eternal Arms surround thee:
The Shepherd of the sheep
In perfect love hath found thee.
Sleep through the holy night,
Christ-kept from snare and sorrow,
Until thou wake to light
And love and warmth to-morrow.
-Christina Rossetti
Dancin' in the Dark
[Preliminary note: The girls call my brother and his wife "Tio" and "Tia." My sister-in-law is Filipina, and when she married my brother, I asked what children called their aunts and uncles in the Philippines, and that's what she said. What she didn't say is that her myriad nieces and nephews who actually live in the Philippines call her and my brother "Auntie Rome" and "Uncle Chuck," while my little Anglo girls are the only ones calling them "Tia" and "Tio." But...no matter, everyone's happy. And for the record, the girls also call each other "Ate" (pronounced ah-tay, meaning "big sister") and "Sanse" (pronounced sahn-say, meaning "little sister." Always doin' our best to be multicultural. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.]
When my brother and I were growing up, we took part in yearly musicals at Wheaton Bible Church. Anyone else out there remember these? Anyone? Bueller? OK, maybe not. They were Bible-story based musicals or stuff derived from Music Machine, etc. Chuck usually got some great lead part or at least the funny man part, while I was always relegated to the chorus and playing the kazoo. But...no professional jealousy there or anything. Our absolute favorite one was called "Cool in the Furnace." (I'll let you figure out the Bible story on which it was based. Take a minute. Got it?) Chuck got the main part: Daniel, who acted as the narrator.
My mom has audio cassettes of some of our musicals, and the girls discovered "Cool in the Furnace." They absolutely love it, and what a blast it was for me to REWIND and listen to our little selves circa 1981. Daniel's voice hadn't even changed yet!
Now every night right before bed, both girls start clamoring for "Tio, Tio!", which is code for "Cool in the Furnace." We turn out the lights, and the musical kicks off with me (and the other kazoo players) and segues into the first song, which the girls dance around to with wild abandon. I wouldn't say that the words are particularly deep theologically--"Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego learned some lessons they want you to know, they had funny names and they lived far away, but they set an example you can follow today"--but the story's all there, and it's presented clearly.
So why the other night when they were dancing and singing for the nth time to this recording, did my eyes fill up with tears when I heard Elaine lisp "Shadrach! Meshach! A-BED-NEE-GO!"? (And no, it wasn't because of my kazoo playing). All of a sudden it hit me--man, we are still talking about these guys. Didn't this incident happen in like, 570 B.C. or something? This meglomaniac king builds a big statue and every time the music plays, everyone is supposed to bow down to it, and if you don't? Fiery furnace. I can picture so clearly a massive crowd of people face down, and then there are these three young men--we're not even sure how old--maybe their voices had just broken...and they're standing up. Standing up tall. Alone.
I always love their response to the king too when he tells them bow down or go to the furnace and even their god won't be able to save them then, and they reply calmly, "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and He will rescue us from your hand, O king. But either way, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." Either way.
Immediately they're seized and dragged to the furnace, which scholars believe was set into the side of mountain or hill. Any time God could have intervened and called a halt to the whole thing. But He didn't. He let those young men be dragged away and thrown into a fire so hot, that those who threw them in were immediately consumed by it themselves. The three men fell, tied, into the fire, and that could have been the end of it.
Except the king, who was apparently peering into the fire (from a safe distance), suddenly saw figures in the fire. Untied. Walking around. (Hey, I don't want to read anything into the Bible that's not there. But when I picture this scene in my head? Those guys are dancing around. Singing, too.) And of course there was a Fourth in there with them. When the king called into the furnace, the three men walked out, by themselves, unharmed.
There were a lot of different ways God could have played that scene. Maybe the split second before they were bound together and thrown in, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego accepted that He really wasn't going to miraculously intervene. Imagine their joy and surprise at the way He chose. Sometimes God works quietly, in the heart, in the attitude, in the aftermath. And sometimes He just flat out shows up. In a big way.
And because He did that day, those guys with the funny names not only set an example we can follow today, but some 2500+ years later, two little girls can dance and sing the story and its outcome to His glory. And their mom can look on with tears in her eyes.
When my brother and I were growing up, we took part in yearly musicals at Wheaton Bible Church. Anyone else out there remember these? Anyone? Bueller? OK, maybe not. They were Bible-story based musicals or stuff derived from Music Machine, etc. Chuck usually got some great lead part or at least the funny man part, while I was always relegated to the chorus and playing the kazoo. But...no professional jealousy there or anything. Our absolute favorite one was called "Cool in the Furnace." (I'll let you figure out the Bible story on which it was based. Take a minute. Got it?) Chuck got the main part: Daniel, who acted as the narrator.
My mom has audio cassettes of some of our musicals, and the girls discovered "Cool in the Furnace." They absolutely love it, and what a blast it was for me to REWIND and listen to our little selves circa 1981. Daniel's voice hadn't even changed yet!
Now every night right before bed, both girls start clamoring for "Tio, Tio!", which is code for "Cool in the Furnace." We turn out the lights, and the musical kicks off with me (and the other kazoo players) and segues into the first song, which the girls dance around to with wild abandon. I wouldn't say that the words are particularly deep theologically--"Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego learned some lessons they want you to know, they had funny names and they lived far away, but they set an example you can follow today"--but the story's all there, and it's presented clearly.
So why the other night when they were dancing and singing for the nth time to this recording, did my eyes fill up with tears when I heard Elaine lisp "Shadrach! Meshach! A-BED-NEE-GO!"? (And no, it wasn't because of my kazoo playing). All of a sudden it hit me--man, we are still talking about these guys. Didn't this incident happen in like, 570 B.C. or something? This meglomaniac king builds a big statue and every time the music plays, everyone is supposed to bow down to it, and if you don't? Fiery furnace. I can picture so clearly a massive crowd of people face down, and then there are these three young men--we're not even sure how old--maybe their voices had just broken...and they're standing up. Standing up tall. Alone.
I always love their response to the king too when he tells them bow down or go to the furnace and even their god won't be able to save them then, and they reply calmly, "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and He will rescue us from your hand, O king. But either way, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." Either way.
Immediately they're seized and dragged to the furnace, which scholars believe was set into the side of mountain or hill. Any time God could have intervened and called a halt to the whole thing. But He didn't. He let those young men be dragged away and thrown into a fire so hot, that those who threw them in were immediately consumed by it themselves. The three men fell, tied, into the fire, and that could have been the end of it.
Except the king, who was apparently peering into the fire (from a safe distance), suddenly saw figures in the fire. Untied. Walking around. (Hey, I don't want to read anything into the Bible that's not there. But when I picture this scene in my head? Those guys are dancing around. Singing, too.) And of course there was a Fourth in there with them. When the king called into the furnace, the three men walked out, by themselves, unharmed.
There were a lot of different ways God could have played that scene. Maybe the split second before they were bound together and thrown in, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego accepted that He really wasn't going to miraculously intervene. Imagine their joy and surprise at the way He chose. Sometimes God works quietly, in the heart, in the attitude, in the aftermath. And sometimes He just flat out shows up. In a big way.
And because He did that day, those guys with the funny names not only set an example we can follow today, but some 2500+ years later, two little girls can dance and sing the story and its outcome to His glory. And their mom can look on with tears in her eyes.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Typical Interchange
"Mom, look what Elaine did! She broke my headband, my favorite one with the cherries on it!" (begins to cry)
"Elaine, you need to say, 'I'm sorry' to your sister immediately."
"Sow-wee, Luuuuuuucy."
"I forgive you. But it's still your fault."
"Lucy, is that a really kind thing to say?"
"Well, it IS her fault."
"When you broke my Snoopy Christmas ornament and you told me you were sorry, did I say, 'I forgive you, but it's still your fault'?"
"No, Mom."
[pause]
"But it really is still her fault."
"Elaine, you need to say, 'I'm sorry' to your sister immediately."
"Sow-wee, Luuuuuuucy."
"I forgive you. But it's still your fault."
"Lucy, is that a really kind thing to say?"
"Well, it IS her fault."
"When you broke my Snoopy Christmas ornament and you told me you were sorry, did I say, 'I forgive you, but it's still your fault'?"
"No, Mom."
[pause]
"But it really is still her fault."
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Theme for a New Year
The other night I tucked Lucy in bed, turned out the light, told her I loved her, and left. I went back upstairs later on to check on her and saw the light was on under her door. I went in, and she was sitting up in bed, working on her Cinderella magna-doodle. I said, "Bedtime is bedtime. Turn out the light and go to sleep."
I went back up again almost an hour later. Once again, the light was on under her door. She was sitting up in bed, working on her Cinderella magna-doodle. I said, "What are you doing?" She was full of a lot of reasons why she should have the light on and be working away instead of obeying. I stood there and waited silently, until finally she crumbled and started to cry. I said, "Yeah, all you're really doing is disobeying. I'm putting this up now, and you won't be able to work on this at all tomorrow." That of course brought on more sobs and cries of "I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry I disobeyed you!"
So often, God uses my kids as object lessons for me. Oddly enough (coincidence?), I'm listening to James Macdonald's series "Going Down for the Third Time" on the life of King Saul. Just that night I had listened to "Turning from God"--the portion where Saul does not carry out God's instructions through Samuel and brings back King Agag as a prisoner of war as well as all the spoils left over from the Amalekites. He stands in front of Samuel and says, "I carried out what the Lord asked!" and Samuel replies (which would be funny if it weren't so tragic) "What then is this bleating of sheep I hear?"
Then Samuel asks him why, why he did this thing. "Produce your strong reasons why you did not obey the Lord!" Saul digs himself deeper and deeper claiming "I did obey!" and then "It was the people. They did this, and we brought back the spoils to make a sacrifice to your God." Samuel answers back with one of the key phrases in the whole Bible, "To obey is better than sacrifice." (Or a paraphrase from Anne of Green Gables? "Good behavior in the first place is better than theatrical apologies afterward.")
If you've never heard James Macdonald (he's on my blog roll, check it out!), he can really break it down. He can take a story that happened in 1050 B.C. and make it relevant to me today. I'm really not different from Saul. I've always got an excuse for why I disobey. It's always easy to produce all the strong reasons why I'm doing my own thing, working on Cinderella magna-doodle instead of being obedient and going to sleep.
But there's no excuse for disobedience. Never. None. Not "I obey most of the time" or "My heart was in the right place" or "Look at all the times I do obey!" During this whole debacle with Saul and the Amalekites, God said to Samuel, "I regret that I have made Saul king." Pastor James said something that really cut me to the heart, "Don't make God feel regret. Don't make God say, 'Is that it? Is that her response for all the grace and mercy she's been given?' "
I like the new year, the idea of a fresh start. And the big idea for 2008 for me? It's obedience. All the time. No excuses. No phony reasons. No regret.
I went back up again almost an hour later. Once again, the light was on under her door. She was sitting up in bed, working on her Cinderella magna-doodle. I said, "What are you doing?" She was full of a lot of reasons why she should have the light on and be working away instead of obeying. I stood there and waited silently, until finally she crumbled and started to cry. I said, "Yeah, all you're really doing is disobeying. I'm putting this up now, and you won't be able to work on this at all tomorrow." That of course brought on more sobs and cries of "I'm sorry, Mom! I'm sorry I disobeyed you!"
So often, God uses my kids as object lessons for me. Oddly enough (coincidence?), I'm listening to James Macdonald's series "Going Down for the Third Time" on the life of King Saul. Just that night I had listened to "Turning from God"--the portion where Saul does not carry out God's instructions through Samuel and brings back King Agag as a prisoner of war as well as all the spoils left over from the Amalekites. He stands in front of Samuel and says, "I carried out what the Lord asked!" and Samuel replies (which would be funny if it weren't so tragic) "What then is this bleating of sheep I hear?"
Then Samuel asks him why, why he did this thing. "Produce your strong reasons why you did not obey the Lord!" Saul digs himself deeper and deeper claiming "I did obey!" and then "It was the people. They did this, and we brought back the spoils to make a sacrifice to your God." Samuel answers back with one of the key phrases in the whole Bible, "To obey is better than sacrifice." (Or a paraphrase from Anne of Green Gables? "Good behavior in the first place is better than theatrical apologies afterward.")
If you've never heard James Macdonald (he's on my blog roll, check it out!), he can really break it down. He can take a story that happened in 1050 B.C. and make it relevant to me today. I'm really not different from Saul. I've always got an excuse for why I disobey. It's always easy to produce all the strong reasons why I'm doing my own thing, working on Cinderella magna-doodle instead of being obedient and going to sleep.
But there's no excuse for disobedience. Never. None. Not "I obey most of the time" or "My heart was in the right place" or "Look at all the times I do obey!" During this whole debacle with Saul and the Amalekites, God said to Samuel, "I regret that I have made Saul king." Pastor James said something that really cut me to the heart, "Don't make God feel regret. Don't make God say, 'Is that it? Is that her response for all the grace and mercy she's been given?' "
I like the new year, the idea of a fresh start. And the big idea for 2008 for me? It's obedience. All the time. No excuses. No phony reasons. No regret.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
She's Radiant!
This Charlotte's Web obsession might be going a little too far. Last night I walked into the bathroom while the girls were taking a bath. [A sidenote: Of course I'm always supervising while they're in the water. I had walked out for a few minutes to get some cleaning supplies. I've discovered that the optimum time to clean the bathroom is while they're bathing. That way I'm getting it done while keeping an eye on them AND they're not able to walk around on the floor while I'm washing it. It's maternal multi-tasking at its finest. I'm waiting for my Nobel Peace Prize nomination any day now.]
Lucy was carefully brushing Elaine's hair with her wet toothbrush (and surprisingly, Elaine was actually letting her). She said to me, "Mom, I'm giving her a buttermilk bath, just like Mrs. Homer Zuckerman gave to Wilbur. She's going to be some clean pig when I'm through!"
Lucy was carefully brushing Elaine's hair with her wet toothbrush (and surprisingly, Elaine was actually letting her). She said to me, "Mom, I'm giving her a buttermilk bath, just like Mrs. Homer Zuckerman gave to Wilbur. She's going to be some clean pig when I'm through!"
Monday, December 31, 2007
Two Quotes of the Week
(Interchange between Lucy and Ryne, my nephew)
Lucy: I like your spy kit you got. Tomorrow in the morning will you come and wake me up with it?
Ryne: Sure!
Me: Well, that probably won't work out. Why don't both of you play with it after you get up?
[Pause...with no reaction whatsoever to the killjoy mother in the room]
Lucy: Are you an early riser?
------
Christmas morning when Elaine decided to wake up at 5:30 a.m. aka the middle of the freakin' night
Me (in a whisper; getting into the guestroom bed yet again): Shhhhh. Lie down here. Go back to sleep. It's still night-night time.
(Lots of thrashing and flailing about as she gets into position)
Elaine (in her chainsmoker voice, after ginormous hawking cough one millimeter from my face): HI MOMMY!
Me: Hi.
Elaine: "MEET ME IN ST. LOOOEEEE LOOOOEEEE, MEET ME AT THE FAIR!"
Lucy: I like your spy kit you got. Tomorrow in the morning will you come and wake me up with it?
Ryne: Sure!
Me: Well, that probably won't work out. Why don't both of you play with it after you get up?
[Pause...with no reaction whatsoever to the killjoy mother in the room]
Lucy: Are you an early riser?
------
Christmas morning when Elaine decided to wake up at 5:30 a.m. aka the middle of the freakin' night
Me (in a whisper; getting into the guestroom bed yet again): Shhhhh. Lie down here. Go back to sleep. It's still night-night time.
(Lots of thrashing and flailing about as she gets into position)
Elaine (in her chainsmoker voice, after ginormous hawking cough one millimeter from my face): HI MOMMY!
Me: Hi.
Elaine: "MEET ME IN ST. LOOOEEEE LOOOOEEEE, MEET ME AT THE FAIR!"
Friday, December 28, 2007
Ready, Set....
So, I certainly don't want this to be one of those blogs that constantly talks about how our family is sick. One of my favorite blogs (which shall remain nameless for now) has at least one annual column about how everyone in the family gets the barfing flu. Since I've been reading the blog since I've been pregnant with Lucy, I've been reading about the barfing flu, oh, for five years now. (Yes, I know. I should just skip those columns.)
But....we were sick over Christmas. We had been sick before and soldiered on through all the Christmas and birthday activities, then got somewhat better, then suffered a relapse. The night before Christmas Eve, I stayed up until after midnight wrapping all the presents, then went to bed--only to be told by Darren at 2 a.m. that it was my turn now to deal with Elaine who was doing her personal non-stop rendition of Dogs Singing Jingle Bells, except it was all barking and no Jingle Bells. He'd done the 10 to 2 shift, so I got the remainder. I got into the guest bed with her while she thrashed and coughed and cried the entire night, and I felt my own sinuses gradually filling up until I could no longer breathe except through my mouth as I drifted in and out of sleep-deprived halluncinations.
She finally decided to get up for the day around 6, and I went back to our bed and collapsed and just let her potter around, riffling through my bedside table and running her doll stroller around the room. Then Lucy got up, so they decided to play together. The last thing I remember was hearing Lucy say, "It's Christmas, Elaine! It's Jesus's birthday!" I thought, how sweet, and drifted off.
Then, I felt a poke in my shoulder and a little voice saying excitedly in my ear, "Mommy, look what I found!" I opened my eyes and stared into the face of Molly, An American Girl. An American Girl doll. That I had wrapped up the night before. I leaped up out of bed and shrieked "Where did you get that?" to which she immediately started to wail. The uproar brought Darren up all standing, and he rushed downstairs to see all the detritus of Christmas spread throughout our living room.
Yup. They opened up all their presents. By themselves. On Christmas Eve morning.
Of course, saintly mother that I am, I simply hugged them and said, "It's OK, girls. You weren't to know. Let's wrap them up together and they'll still be a fun surprise tomorrow!" I absolutely did not sit down on the top step and begin to cry and say, "Christmas is ruined!"
But...if I had, then Lucy sat by me and cried and cried and kept saying, "But they were so beautiful, those presents were so beautiful!" Then she said, "It's Christmas today, Mom, and we even got Baby Jesus out and put Him on the table so you wouldn't forget about putting him in the stable.....waaaahahhhhhhhhhhhh....." And I might have said something like "....up all night....just wrapped.....no sleep....can't breathe.....Christmas Eve not Christmas......whose kids open presents without asking....waaahhhaaaaaaaahhhhhhh...."
Darren said it was like watching a Carol Burnett skit.
It will be gratifying to know that I finally did pull myself together and apologize right away for saying Christmas is ruined. I said that Daddy and I had some nice surprises that we had wanted to give them ourselves, but that Christmas is about celebrating Jesus' birthday and nobody can ever ruin that.
We mopped our tears and had an OK rest of the day. I spent most of it on the couch being miserable (with my cold, not with the opened presents) and holding Elaine. Darren took Lucy to church later on in the evening, while we stayed home. I did make scrambled eggs, bacon, and monkey bread so that we could have a picnic on the living room floor like I had promised earlier. And after the girls went to bed, I sat and rewrapped all of their presents.
Christmas morning was lovely, and they were suitably surprised at their new Sunday coats and hats, American Girl dolls (the mini ones lest anyone think we shelled out $100+ each on dolls for a 4-year-old and 2-year-old), and Lyle the Crocodile books even though they had seen them all 24 hours previously.
We spent the rest of the day with my family where I spent the day curled up in a chair and drank approximately 72 cups of wassail. The next day we headed down to Darren's family where, among other festive holiday activities, I scratched my cornea. AGAIN.
We got home yesterday and promptly took down the tree and all the Christmas decorations. I always love that day. Christmas is wonderful while it lasts, but I'm always glad when it's over. A snowstorm came, and the girls have been busy indoors playing with their new toys and alternately fighting and making up.
Right after the great Premature Present Opening of 2007, Darren said, "Hey, at least you'll have something memorable to write about on the blog!" and laughed. I said, "I think I'm going to need a little bit more distance for me to be able to laugh about this."
So...it's the 28th and I'm writing. And laughing. I guess my sense of humour heals faster than my cornea.
And for that, I am thankful.
But....we were sick over Christmas. We had been sick before and soldiered on through all the Christmas and birthday activities, then got somewhat better, then suffered a relapse. The night before Christmas Eve, I stayed up until after midnight wrapping all the presents, then went to bed--only to be told by Darren at 2 a.m. that it was my turn now to deal with Elaine who was doing her personal non-stop rendition of Dogs Singing Jingle Bells, except it was all barking and no Jingle Bells. He'd done the 10 to 2 shift, so I got the remainder. I got into the guest bed with her while she thrashed and coughed and cried the entire night, and I felt my own sinuses gradually filling up until I could no longer breathe except through my mouth as I drifted in and out of sleep-deprived halluncinations.
She finally decided to get up for the day around 6, and I went back to our bed and collapsed and just let her potter around, riffling through my bedside table and running her doll stroller around the room. Then Lucy got up, so they decided to play together. The last thing I remember was hearing Lucy say, "It's Christmas, Elaine! It's Jesus's birthday!" I thought, how sweet, and drifted off.
Then, I felt a poke in my shoulder and a little voice saying excitedly in my ear, "Mommy, look what I found!" I opened my eyes and stared into the face of Molly, An American Girl. An American Girl doll. That I had wrapped up the night before. I leaped up out of bed and shrieked "Where did you get that?" to which she immediately started to wail. The uproar brought Darren up all standing, and he rushed downstairs to see all the detritus of Christmas spread throughout our living room.
Yup. They opened up all their presents. By themselves. On Christmas Eve morning.
Of course, saintly mother that I am, I simply hugged them and said, "It's OK, girls. You weren't to know. Let's wrap them up together and they'll still be a fun surprise tomorrow!" I absolutely did not sit down on the top step and begin to cry and say, "Christmas is ruined!"
But...if I had, then Lucy sat by me and cried and cried and kept saying, "But they were so beautiful, those presents were so beautiful!" Then she said, "It's Christmas today, Mom, and we even got Baby Jesus out and put Him on the table so you wouldn't forget about putting him in the stable.....waaaahahhhhhhhhhhhh....." And I might have said something like "....up all night....just wrapped.....no sleep....can't breathe.....Christmas Eve not Christmas......whose kids open presents without asking....waaahhhaaaaaaaahhhhhhh...."
Darren said it was like watching a Carol Burnett skit.
It will be gratifying to know that I finally did pull myself together and apologize right away for saying Christmas is ruined. I said that Daddy and I had some nice surprises that we had wanted to give them ourselves, but that Christmas is about celebrating Jesus' birthday and nobody can ever ruin that.
We mopped our tears and had an OK rest of the day. I spent most of it on the couch being miserable (with my cold, not with the opened presents) and holding Elaine. Darren took Lucy to church later on in the evening, while we stayed home. I did make scrambled eggs, bacon, and monkey bread so that we could have a picnic on the living room floor like I had promised earlier. And after the girls went to bed, I sat and rewrapped all of their presents.
Christmas morning was lovely, and they were suitably surprised at their new Sunday coats and hats, American Girl dolls (the mini ones lest anyone think we shelled out $100+ each on dolls for a 4-year-old and 2-year-old), and Lyle the Crocodile books even though they had seen them all 24 hours previously.
We spent the rest of the day with my family where I spent the day curled up in a chair and drank approximately 72 cups of wassail. The next day we headed down to Darren's family where, among other festive holiday activities, I scratched my cornea. AGAIN.
We got home yesterday and promptly took down the tree and all the Christmas decorations. I always love that day. Christmas is wonderful while it lasts, but I'm always glad when it's over. A snowstorm came, and the girls have been busy indoors playing with their new toys and alternately fighting and making up.
Right after the great Premature Present Opening of 2007, Darren said, "Hey, at least you'll have something memorable to write about on the blog!" and laughed. I said, "I think I'm going to need a little bit more distance for me to be able to laugh about this."
So...it's the 28th and I'm writing. And laughing. I guess my sense of humour heals faster than my cornea.
And for that, I am thankful.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Well-worn and well-loved
One of my favorite books of all time is Charlotte's Web. I have loved it ever since I was a child, and I love it even more as an adult (it's funnier when you read it as an adult). I have a worn, battered copy of it that I think my mom had when she lived in the West Indies before she was married. (And she's been married almost 42 years, so...hi Mom! No, I'm not telling everyone how old you are!) Anyway, I'm one of those horrible readers who dogears the corner of books to save my place, and if it's any indication how much this copy of Charlotte's Web has been read, there's a dogeared corner on almost every page in the book. And I have to confess--I never pass a spider's web without double-checking to see if it says, "Some Pig" on it.
Those adults who haven't read this book or haven't read it since elementary school, do yourself a favor and get a copy now. It's filled with the most marvelous quotes, which I try to work into everyday life as much as possible. Here's a sampling:
"This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
"I only distribute pigs to early risers. Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result she now has a pig…It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly."
"An hour of freedom is worth a barrel of slops."
"'Will the party who addressed me at bedtime last night, kindly make himself or herself known by giving an appropriate sign of signal!' 'Stop your nonsense, Wilbur,' said the oldest sheep. 'If you have a new friend here, you are probably disturbing his rest; and the quickest way to spoil a friendship is to wake somebody up in the morning before he is ready.'"
"'I am sure,' she said, 'that every one of us here will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience on the part of our friend the goose, she now has something to show for it. The goslings have arrived. May I offer my sincere congratulations!'"
"'Well,' said the spider, plucking thoughtfully at her web, 'the old sheep has been around this barn a long time. She has seen many a spring pig come and go. If she says they plan to kill you, I’m sure it’s true. It’s also the dirtiest trick I ever heard of. What people don’t think of!'”
"I am going to save you, and I want you to quiet down immediately. You’re carrying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can’t stand hysterics.”
"'Let Wilbur alone!' she said. 'He has a perfect right to smell, considering his surroundings. You’re no bundle of sweet peas yourself. Furthermore, you are interrupting a very pleasant conversation. What were we talking about, Wilbur, when we were so rudely interrupted?'"
"'If I can fool a bug,' thought Charlotte, 'I can surely fool a man. People are not as smart as bugs.'"
“'But Charlotte,' said Wilbur, 'I’m not terrific.' 'That doesn’t make a particle of difference,' replied Charlotte. 'Not a particle. People believe almost anything they see in print. Does anybody here know how to spell ‘terrific’?'”
"Templeton poked his head up through the straw. 'Struggle if you must, said he, 'but kindly remember that I’m hiding down here in this crate and I don’t want to be stepped on, or kicked in the face, or pummeled, or crushed in any way, or squashed, or buffeted about, or bruised, or lacerated, or scarred, or biffed. Just watch what you’re doing, Mr. Radiant, when they get shoving you in!'” [You'd be amazed how many times you can use this one!]
“One thing is certain, he has a most unattractive personality. He is too familiar, too noisy, and he cracks weak jokes. Also, he’s not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. I took quite a dislike to him in our brief interview.” [ha, this one too!]
When Elaine was still an infant, I got a number of books on CD to listen to while I was feeding her. One of them was Charlotte's Web, read incomparably by the author himself, E.B.White. He reads it in a soothing, emotionless, almost-monotone voice, and I have to say that I was late to work one day because I just had to sit and hear the end of it without interruption.
Every night when Lucy goes to bed, she likes to listen to an audio book. She's worked her way through Henry Huggins, Little House in the Big Woods, two All-of-a-Kind-Family books, plus quite a few others. Someone had given us the DVD of Charlotte's Web as a gift, but I held onto it because she really needed to experience the text first. She started listening a couple of weeks ago and loved it. This week, I let her watch the movie for the first time. When it got near the end, I came in and watched the rest with her. When it was finished, she got off her chair without any expression on her face, came over, buried her face in my lap, and began to cry. She cried and cried and cried and cried.
We talked a lot about it, and she seemed OK after a while. Later on when I was giving the girls supper, she asked me, "Mom, when Wilbur got to be an old, old pig, did he go back to the fair and die where Charlotte did?" She barely finished the sentence before she put her head down on the table and began to sob again.
Of course anyone knows it makes you feel terrible when your children are sad. But part of me also loved that she had fallen under the spell of this story of the greatest sort of friendship and was broken-hearted that an old gray spider had given her life for a little pig she loved.
The last lines of the book nearly finish me off every time I read them: "Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."
That night when I tucked Lucy into bed, I asked her the question I always do, "What do you want to listen to tonight, Baby?"
She whispered, "Charlotte's Web, Mom. Start it again at the beginning."
Those adults who haven't read this book or haven't read it since elementary school, do yourself a favor and get a copy now. It's filled with the most marvelous quotes, which I try to work into everyday life as much as possible. Here's a sampling:
"This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
"I only distribute pigs to early risers. Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result she now has a pig…It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly."
"An hour of freedom is worth a barrel of slops."
"'Will the party who addressed me at bedtime last night, kindly make himself or herself known by giving an appropriate sign of signal!' 'Stop your nonsense, Wilbur,' said the oldest sheep. 'If you have a new friend here, you are probably disturbing his rest; and the quickest way to spoil a friendship is to wake somebody up in the morning before he is ready.'"
"'I am sure,' she said, 'that every one of us here will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience on the part of our friend the goose, she now has something to show for it. The goslings have arrived. May I offer my sincere congratulations!'"
"'Well,' said the spider, plucking thoughtfully at her web, 'the old sheep has been around this barn a long time. She has seen many a spring pig come and go. If she says they plan to kill you, I’m sure it’s true. It’s also the dirtiest trick I ever heard of. What people don’t think of!'”
"I am going to save you, and I want you to quiet down immediately. You’re carrying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can’t stand hysterics.”
"'Let Wilbur alone!' she said. 'He has a perfect right to smell, considering his surroundings. You’re no bundle of sweet peas yourself. Furthermore, you are interrupting a very pleasant conversation. What were we talking about, Wilbur, when we were so rudely interrupted?'"
"'If I can fool a bug,' thought Charlotte, 'I can surely fool a man. People are not as smart as bugs.'"
“'But Charlotte,' said Wilbur, 'I’m not terrific.' 'That doesn’t make a particle of difference,' replied Charlotte. 'Not a particle. People believe almost anything they see in print. Does anybody here know how to spell ‘terrific’?'”
"Templeton poked his head up through the straw. 'Struggle if you must, said he, 'but kindly remember that I’m hiding down here in this crate and I don’t want to be stepped on, or kicked in the face, or pummeled, or crushed in any way, or squashed, or buffeted about, or bruised, or lacerated, or scarred, or biffed. Just watch what you’re doing, Mr. Radiant, when they get shoving you in!'” [You'd be amazed how many times you can use this one!]
“One thing is certain, he has a most unattractive personality. He is too familiar, too noisy, and he cracks weak jokes. Also, he’s not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. I took quite a dislike to him in our brief interview.” [ha, this one too!]
When Elaine was still an infant, I got a number of books on CD to listen to while I was feeding her. One of them was Charlotte's Web, read incomparably by the author himself, E.B.White. He reads it in a soothing, emotionless, almost-monotone voice, and I have to say that I was late to work one day because I just had to sit and hear the end of it without interruption.
Every night when Lucy goes to bed, she likes to listen to an audio book. She's worked her way through Henry Huggins, Little House in the Big Woods, two All-of-a-Kind-Family books, plus quite a few others. Someone had given us the DVD of Charlotte's Web as a gift, but I held onto it because she really needed to experience the text first. She started listening a couple of weeks ago and loved it. This week, I let her watch the movie for the first time. When it got near the end, I came in and watched the rest with her. When it was finished, she got off her chair without any expression on her face, came over, buried her face in my lap, and began to cry. She cried and cried and cried and cried.
We talked a lot about it, and she seemed OK after a while. Later on when I was giving the girls supper, she asked me, "Mom, when Wilbur got to be an old, old pig, did he go back to the fair and die where Charlotte did?" She barely finished the sentence before she put her head down on the table and began to sob again.
Of course anyone knows it makes you feel terrible when your children are sad. But part of me also loved that she had fallen under the spell of this story of the greatest sort of friendship and was broken-hearted that an old gray spider had given her life for a little pig she loved.
The last lines of the book nearly finish me off every time I read them: "Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."
That night when I tucked Lucy into bed, I asked her the question I always do, "What do you want to listen to tonight, Baby?"
She whispered, "Charlotte's Web, Mom. Start it again at the beginning."
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Quote of the Day
"Today at school, we were going to watch this movie about bugs and I didn't say 'Yuck!', but Michael said, 'This movie is just for boys. No girls allowed!'"
"Then what did you say?"
"Nobody said anything. We just looked daggers at him."
"Then what did you say?"
"Nobody said anything. We just looked daggers at him."
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
"They had mismatched manger scenes at incredibly low prices..."*
We finally packed the kids off to bed, and I sat downstairs, watching NCIS and eating a sandwich and Doritos (that sentence holds a lot of nostalgia value. I've basically turned back into a 16-year-old babysitter. With extra wrinkles.) Anyway, Lucy came down and said in a stage whisper (I think she's afraid to talk after bedtime), "Mom. I need to go potty. And I need an adult to go with me."
So, we did that, and then she said, "Close your eyes, I've got to show you something." She ran into her room and got one of her Groovy Girl dolls in whose hair she had placed a lot of random ponytails. She said, "I was just thinking in my heart, Mom. I was thinking that Groovy Girl's hair looked kind of snouty. I thought she'd look better with some ponytails and a bun. In my heart I thought that, I really did."
When I went back downstairs, I saw our nativity scene in the hallway. Each night, we put a different figure in and talk about what part they played in the Christmas narrative. I bought an extra set so we could have more animals, more than one shepherd (why is there always only one?), and an angel.
Here's what I saw:
Apparently the shepherds are tired and need a lie-down. And the smaller cow and donkey aren't feigning indifference, in case you were wondering. They prefer to turn toward their husbands so they can see them better.
*Bonus points for anyone who knows what movie this line is from. I thought everyone (at least every woman) knew this movie by heart. Then I mentioned it to the girl who does my hair (major clueing!), and she had never ever seen it. I was shocked, until I realized it came out around the time she was born. And then I was sad.
So, we did that, and then she said, "Close your eyes, I've got to show you something." She ran into her room and got one of her Groovy Girl dolls in whose hair she had placed a lot of random ponytails. She said, "I was just thinking in my heart, Mom. I was thinking that Groovy Girl's hair looked kind of snouty. I thought she'd look better with some ponytails and a bun. In my heart I thought that, I really did."
When I went back downstairs, I saw our nativity scene in the hallway. Each night, we put a different figure in and talk about what part they played in the Christmas narrative. I bought an extra set so we could have more animals, more than one shepherd (why is there always only one?), and an angel.
Here's what I saw:
Apparently the shepherds are tired and need a lie-down. And the smaller cow and donkey aren't feigning indifference, in case you were wondering. They prefer to turn toward their husbands so they can see them better.*Bonus points for anyone who knows what movie this line is from. I thought everyone (at least every woman) knew this movie by heart. Then I mentioned it to the girl who does my hair (major clueing!), and she had never ever seen it. I was shocked, until I realized it came out around the time she was born. And then I was sad.
Girls Live Here
Here is a teeny tiny miniscule fraction of the shoe collection at our house--basically only what our newly-placed back hall mat (which only appears after the first snow) can hold. (Though now that I'm looking at the picture again? I'm sure we can squeeze a few more pairs on there.)
Nary a pair of Dad's shoes in sight...
Nary a pair of Dad's shoes in sight...
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Some Winter Days
In addition to Elaine's birthday, Lucy had her Christmas program at church on Wednesday night. All the kids did a great job. They did an overview of what they've learned in Kids4Truth since September. They recited verses, sang hymns, and sang Christmas carols.
So, snow is here, the Christmas shopping is basically done, the Christmas cards are mailed, and Elaine's birthday went off successfully. Lucy's school program is this week, and the rest of the time before Christmas can just be enjoyed!
There must have been too much activity (and sugar) on Wednesday, because both girls were up and crying Wednesday night. They got to bed about 2 hours later than usual, and Elaine woke up crying at 2:30. Since I had to work the next day, Darren got the responsibility of her. Just as I was starting to possibly drift off again, Lucy came in my room sobbing because she couldn't find Rabbie. She had turned on all the lights, yet somehow missed him at the foot of her bed. She wanted me to rock her back to sleep, but we compromised with her just getting in bed with me (since Darren was in the guest bed with Elaine). We have strict policies about not having our kids sleep with us. Except for sometimes. It just gets to the point where you're too tired to soothe and rock them, so...I read somewhere that everybody's kids sleep with them, it's just a matter of how much in denial about it the parents are. And somehow that made me feel a lot better. So, with my alarm going off at 4:30 a.m., I got the big 3 1/2 hours of sleep that night.
However, on Thursday/Friday, I got the greatest Christmas present ever. Thursday after work, I dropped the girls off at my parents' for an overnight. Then Darren and I went out. To a restaurant. By ourselves. It was incredible. Then we went home and fell asleep. It was about 10:30. I did not get up until 10 o'clock the next morning. 10! It was fantastic. We spent a leisurely time getting ready without it being punctuated by the usual statements made during our getting-ready time when the girls are around. "Stop slamming that door! Are you allowed to play with doors?" "Please make your bed" and "I'd really prefer that my toothbrush not be on the floor by the toilet." Then we went Christmas shopping, then picked the girls back up (oh wait, after eating lunch together again at another restaurant!).
Saturday we were up early and at the mall for the Christmas sales (this is my idea of purgatory, but sometimes it just has to be done). Shopping with toddlers and preschoolers is virtually impossible, no matter how good they try to be, so Darren took them home and I headed back to the mall and actually got the shopping done.
It's been snowing all day, that pretty pre-Christmas snow, so Darren and the girls bundled up in the afternoon and went out to make snow angels and a snowman. Elaine had never played in the snow before, and she wasn't a big fan of it. After a few minutes, Darren deposited her on the back porch, and she came in the house moaning, "No thank you snow!" and "I got snot!" I took her outdoor clothes off, wiped her nose, and she's happily taking her new dolls on an indoor stroller ride around and around the house.
So, snow is here, the Christmas shopping is basically done, the Christmas cards are mailed, and Elaine's birthday went off successfully. Lucy's school program is this week, and the rest of the time before Christmas can just be enjoyed!The Birthday Party
On Wednesday morning, Elaine woke up and opened some presents. (I think it's important to spread the presents out over the day. And is there anything more fun than opening up at least one present the morning of your birthday?) She got a book, a movie, and a CD from Uncle Scott, Aunt Denise, Drew, Ryne, and Joseph. Then she opened a baby doll in a raincoat, hat, and boots from Daddy and Mommy (as we talked on the phone on Monday afternoon, we realized we had forgotten to buy our child a birthday present. This is the plight of having a baby born close to Christmas, I think. So I ran out to Target that night and bought her a doll.) She was thrilled. We named the baby Jackie, after her favorite teacher at daycare.
She took a good nap in the afternoon while Dad and Lucy ran errands and I got ready for her party that night. Then she woke up, and I got her dressed in her party clothes.
"Her people" ("She has 'people'?!" our friend Michele likes to say) started arriving at around 4:30 for appetizers. Earlier in the day, my mom had called and asked what I was doing. "Making an igloo out of vegetable dip to go with the penguins I made out of black olives, cream cheese, and carrot pieces," I said. She just laughed at me. Then we had her favorite dinner (well, besides Happy Joe's pizza)--Daniels chicken, mashed potatoes (she and Lucy had brown rice because they don't like mashed potatoes. Yes, that sentence I just wrote is true. My girls prefer brown rice--BROWN RICE--to mashed potatoes.), sugar snap peas, and crescent rolls. Then we brought in her Maisy cake. She was a little overwhelmed and wasn't sure what to do with the candles, so I helped her blow them out. She loved Maisy though and tried to take a swipe at the frosting. We served it with eggnog ice cream (a perk of having a December birthday).
Then Lucy led her into the living room where there was a new Maisy rocking chair (from MiMi and PaPa), and in it sat a stuffed Maisy and a Maisy book (from Lucy). She went straight for the book, climbed up on Packa's lap, and asked him to read it. She got more books and clothes from Tia and Tio, a set of Christmas CDs from MiMi and PaPa, an Adidas sweatsuit and a new doll wearing a matching sweatsuit from Aunt Kimmie and Megan, and her own little robe made by Manga.
So, she successfully turned 2. I'm excited to have a 2-year-old in the house. I love 2. Really. I do.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Twelfth Night
The month of December always reminds me of two things: light and babies. I guess there are a number of obvious reasons for that! I know Jesus probably wasn't really born in December but rather the spring, but I love the idea of the Light of the World arriving at the darkest part of the year. I just finished a seven-month study on the I AM statements of Jesus (and I say "finished" because I completed the study, not because I've discovered everything there is to know about it because it is inexhaustible--in fact, I just found out some more stuff the other day). Each of the individual statements was so fascinating to study in its own right, but today I'm thinking about "I AM the Light of the world."
Thousands and thousands of human years after standing in the void and declaring “Let there be light,” the closing of the first day of the Feast of the Tabernacles had arrived, and Jesus was teaching in the Temple in the Court of the Women in Jerusalem. Great candelabra, with great golden bowls of oil, were prepared for the celebration. These were to represent the ancient cloud and the pillar of fire that had led the Israelites out of Egypt and through the wilderness to the Promised Land. As the evening approached, a large crowd of people arrived at the temple for the lighting of the candelabra. When darkness fell, young men in line for the priesthood climbed on ladders and lit the great torches. The blaze was so immense that suddenly the darkness was pierced with such a light that it is said to have illuminated every street and square in the city of Jerusalem. The light could be seen for miles around the city. It is in this very court, possibly the very moment of the lighting that Jesus cried out: "I AM the Light of the world." In effect, Jesus was saying, "You have seen the blaze of the Temple illumination piercing the darkness of the night. I am the Light of the world. The light in the Temple is a brilliant light, but in the end it flickers and dies. I am the Light that lasts forever." He declared, "I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life" (John 8:12).
In June 2005, I was 5 or 6 weeks pregnant. I was at my office, and, every expectant mother's worst nightmare, I started bleeding. I remember driving to the doctor's office for an injection and sonogram, tears running down my face, just praying, "Please let her be OK" over and over (for I knew even then I was carrying my little girl). I lay on the table as the technician put the cold gel over my abdomen and then began to press down with the ultrasound equipment.
She searched for a few moments, some of the longest moments of my life, and then said, "There!" As I looked at the screen, I saw a tiny light, flickering on and off, steadily. "See that light? That's the heartbeat. Your baby looks just fine."
My "baby" really looked like the tiniest blob, a small grouping of cells and tissue. But in the center of it, was that light, blinking regularly. The technician took a picture of it and told me to go home and rest. That picture is one of my treasured possessions.
And...on a cold night the following December, a little unexpectedly and kind of in a hurry, that little light joined our family. We named her Elaine, a French name that means "Light." She has lit up our little family for two years now, and we thank God--the author and creator of Light both immense as the Sun and as tiny as a newly formed heartbeat--for our precious girl.
"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17
Happy birthday, sweet little Elaine. I love you!
Love,
Mommy
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Chatterbox
For awhile now, Lucy's had the corner on the talking market at this house. Not for long though, because Little Sister is catching up. Each day we hear more and more of that froggy voice saying increasing and increasingly complicated words. Darren and I go around thinking up as many "why" questions as we can to ask her just so we can hear her say, "Because." (Or sometimes she steps it up to, "Because why.") Whenever there's trouble and I say, "What's going on, girls?" she comes back quickly with "Lucy did it."
She can say three-word sentences and sometimes will even combine a couple sentences. One of my favorite things is when she sits down and looks through her books. She'll come across Maisy Makes Gingerbread, which she ripped up in boredom one day (apparently the wallpaper had lost its lure that time), and I taped back together. Without fail, she'll hold the book up and say, "Uh-oh. I ripped it. No, No, Laine!"
Usually though, she practices economy with her words. She's kind of like a drill sergeant, or maybe more like a doctor. We're never in doubt about what she wants. Whenever I change her diaper, just picture a surgeon saying, "Scalpel. Clamp. Light" only replace the surgeon with a two-year-old saying, "Wipes. Diaper. Medicine. Powder."
I had a bad night last night and still wasn't feeling steady this morning, so I stayed home. Darren said, "I don't see any reason why Elaine should go to church either if you're at home," so she stayed with me. (Funny, because I could--so I could go back to bed? But...no matter.) As I got her dressed for the day, I said, "Do you want to stay home with Mom?" "No." "Do you want to go to church with Dad and Lucy?" "No."
"Well, if you don't want to stay home with me and you don't want to go with Daddy, what do you want to do?"
"Eat."
Alrighty then.
She can say three-word sentences and sometimes will even combine a couple sentences. One of my favorite things is when she sits down and looks through her books. She'll come across Maisy Makes Gingerbread, which she ripped up in boredom one day (apparently the wallpaper had lost its lure that time), and I taped back together. Without fail, she'll hold the book up and say, "Uh-oh. I ripped it. No, No, Laine!"
Usually though, she practices economy with her words. She's kind of like a drill sergeant, or maybe more like a doctor. We're never in doubt about what she wants. Whenever I change her diaper, just picture a surgeon saying, "Scalpel. Clamp. Light" only replace the surgeon with a two-year-old saying, "Wipes. Diaper. Medicine. Powder."
I had a bad night last night and still wasn't feeling steady this morning, so I stayed home. Darren said, "I don't see any reason why Elaine should go to church either if you're at home," so she stayed with me. (Funny, because I could--so I could go back to bed? But...no matter.) As I got her dressed for the day, I said, "Do you want to stay home with Mom?" "No." "Do you want to go to church with Dad and Lucy?" "No."
"Well, if you don't want to stay home with me and you don't want to go with Daddy, what do you want to do?"
"Eat."
Alrighty then.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
The Golden Compass
I've been getting emails and seeing news articles calling for a boycott on the upcoming movie, "The Golden Compass," based on the book by the same name by Philip Pullman. It is part of Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. One thing that discourages me from the outset is that Christians don't usually seem to get outraged unless a movie comes out--books fly under our radar for the most part apparently (Harry Potter notwithstanding). Pullman's books have been out for a number of years. They're well-written. They're not what I believe, obviously, since he's an atheist and the ultimate goal for the children in the books is to kill God, who turns out to be an old imposter who is barely worth killing anyway.
In my personal opinion, mass boycotts are kind of ineffective. Waiting for hysteria and outrage to build and then be told by Christian authority figures what to do--that's not really my style. As well, boycotts just seem to draw more attention to a given movie than it would have garnered in the first place (Exhibit A: 1986's "Last Temptation of Christ"). But...every person has to decide according to the dictates of his or her conscience.
It also surprises me when Christians get enraged and boycott movies dealing with heresy or blasphemy but don't seem to have much problem with other movies loaded with violence, humanism, or other kinds of Godlessness, but I guess that's a different argument.
Personally, we won't be taking our girls to see the movie. First of all, they're way too young and neither Curious George nor Strawberry Shortcake is appearing in it, so it wouldn't hold their interest at all. Secondly, at this age, we still act as the filter and control for most of what goes into their minds, and I just want to give them Bible truth rather than other world views. Time enough for them to find out about some of those later.
But...if they were older and they asked me what I thought personally about Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy and/or this movie, I guess I'd say the following:
In the last volume of the trilogy, a character known as Dr. Mary Malone explains her discovery to the two children/protagonists, Lyra and Will: "I used to be a nun, you see. I thought physics could be done to the glory of God, till I saw there wasn't any God at all and that physics was more interesting anyway. The Christian religion is a very powerful and convincing mistake, that's all."
A lot of people, intelligent people, believe that way, girls. But in C.S. Lewis's (who Pullman loathes) "The Silver Chair," Puddleglum the Marshwiggle and two children are trapped in a wicked witch’s underground lair, and she is slowly enchanting them, persuading them to believe that there is no world above the ground. They almost fall completely under her spell when Puddleglum stamps out her fire (burning his foot in the process) and says:
“One word, Ma’am” he said coming back from the fire; limping because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.”
In my personal opinion, mass boycotts are kind of ineffective. Waiting for hysteria and outrage to build and then be told by Christian authority figures what to do--that's not really my style. As well, boycotts just seem to draw more attention to a given movie than it would have garnered in the first place (Exhibit A: 1986's "Last Temptation of Christ"). But...every person has to decide according to the dictates of his or her conscience.
It also surprises me when Christians get enraged and boycott movies dealing with heresy or blasphemy but don't seem to have much problem with other movies loaded with violence, humanism, or other kinds of Godlessness, but I guess that's a different argument.
Personally, we won't be taking our girls to see the movie. First of all, they're way too young and neither Curious George nor Strawberry Shortcake is appearing in it, so it wouldn't hold their interest at all. Secondly, at this age, we still act as the filter and control for most of what goes into their minds, and I just want to give them Bible truth rather than other world views. Time enough for them to find out about some of those later.
But...if they were older and they asked me what I thought personally about Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy and/or this movie, I guess I'd say the following:
In the last volume of the trilogy, a character known as Dr. Mary Malone explains her discovery to the two children/protagonists, Lyra and Will: "I used to be a nun, you see. I thought physics could be done to the glory of God, till I saw there wasn't any God at all and that physics was more interesting anyway. The Christian religion is a very powerful and convincing mistake, that's all."
A lot of people, intelligent people, believe that way, girls. But in C.S. Lewis's (who Pullman loathes) "The Silver Chair," Puddleglum the Marshwiggle and two children are trapped in a wicked witch’s underground lair, and she is slowly enchanting them, persuading them to believe that there is no world above the ground. They almost fall completely under her spell when Puddleglum stamps out her fire (burning his foot in the process) and says:
“One word, Ma’am” he said coming back from the fire; limping because of the pain. “One word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.”
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Maybe if you put some tinsel on it...
This past Saturday, I took the girls to a KinderMusik demonstration done by two of my friends, Becky and Kathi. Actually on Friday while I was at work, Lucy helped Becky and Kathi set up for it (they assured me that indeed she was a help, and I am choosing to believe them). KinderMusik is a great program, which allows children from 9 mos. to 7 years to join. Their claim is that by 3 years, not only will your child be reading music, they'll be composing. I choose to believe that too, though I would just enroll my kids for fun and hope they learn to sing "Kooka-burra Sits In the Old Gum Tree" because I'm all about low expectations like that. Anyway, they got to try out musical instruments to their hearts' content (cool instruments such as egg shakers, triangles, and sandpaper blocks), identify sounds, listen to a story, sing with motions, and march around the room.
And here is Lucy admiring her handiwork and Smoochie plotting one last effort to swipe at least some of the frosting...
Oh, and while I was gone at one point during the weekend, this transformation took place. Here is my mantle as it is currently decorated for Christmas (the picture is a year-round decoration).
By the time we left, the storm that was promised had started, so we got home quickly. I thought it would be a good afternoon to work on the gingerbread house kit my dad bought the girls at Thanksgiving. Lucy has been begging me every day. It was surprisingly easy. Lucy had a wonderful time decorating it. Elaine was under the mistaken impression that we were opening up a box of cookies and bags of candy so that we could sit down and eat them. So...not as good of a time for her.
The finished product:
And here is Lucy admiring her handiwork and Smoochie plotting one last effort to swipe at least some of the frosting...
Oh, and while I was gone at one point during the weekend, this transformation took place. Here is my mantle as it is currently decorated for Christmas (the picture is a year-round decoration).
And here is my mantle when I came home. (It's deer-hunting season, y'all.)
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