The BEST and MOST Expensive Gift for Children

What’s the cost of a child?  I’ve heard figures tossed out that estimate $222,360* to raise a child from birth to age eighteen.  That includes everything from their first diaper and prom dress until their last big toy (ie, car) and final semester of high school.

Given our current family, that would estimate our cost of child-raising to total around ONE MILLION dollars!  Hey, I guess that means we own a million dollars worth of property!  That figure could make me shake in my Momma slippers…except that prom dresses and football camps aren’t the main cost we consider when we ask this question, “Should we have a child?”

We may pay for our children’s college education.

But, we may not.

We may buy them all their jeans from Hollister (well, if you can find the actual jean through all the tears and holes).

Um...seriously?  This inch of fabric cost money?!

But, we may not.

When we think ahead to what our legacy as parents should be to our precious gifts from God, we don’t focus on giving them just material possesions nor college degrees.  Of course, there is value in blessing our children with things just because we love them.  The concept of grace (receiving something we didn’t earn or don’t deserve) is caught by our kids when we do this and it’s a crucial concept as they grow into adults.  

With that in mind, I think the BEST thing we can invest in our children cost MORE than the most stunning wedding dress (yes, even the one recently worn at the Royal Wedding!) and it cost even more than four years (or more!) at the most expensive Ivy League school…curious?  The cost of leaving an unforgettable legacy to our children canned be summed up with four HUGE figures…here it is…T-I-M-E.

TIME cost us everything.

TIME cost us putting our own BIG dreams aside for a season (though they may be good and wonderful…world-changing even!).

TIME cost us setting down LITTLE distractions (Can the facebook check in wait?  Will we die from NOT answering our cell phone now and then? Will the dusty shelf and dirty dishes still be there after they go to bed?).

TIME is spent EVERY day in making special memories; blowing bubbles and laughing with them while they splash in the bathtub, ignoring the popsicle dripping all over their new white shirt to focus on them as they share a silly joke, reading them a bedtime story when you get home from work instead of turning on the T.V. and putting up those aching feet.

TIME is spent in shaping their character to be Christ-like.  It’s choosing to be consistent and discpline (yes, for the fifth time in FIVE minutes) when he disobeyes and sneaks out of bed.  It’s teaching the siblings engaged in WWIII how to make amends and treat eachtoher with love and respect, in spite of differing opinions.  It’s showing them how to share a smile and warm hug with a special needs friend because we are all perfect and amazingly created by God.  It’s slowing down when we notice the speed sign (or cop!) and joyfully obeying the law.  It’s clasping our hand over our heart when the Pledge of Alligience plays and standing with pride, reminding them that freedom isn’t free and our brave soldiers pay for our freedom with both their time and lives.  

It takes TIME to teach and exemplify the lessons that form these characteristics in their lives; Respect, Care, Gentleness, Self-Control, Compassion, Gratitude, and Courtesy, to name just a VERY few.

And, ultimately, it cost TIME to teach them about a God who stepped out of the endless continuum of Eternity to enter our temporary world as Jesus of Nazareth and spend TIME with us in order to lead us back to Himself.  

At the end of our days (and honey, like it or not, that day arrives for us all), our legacy to our children will be summed up in this; the MEMORIES we shared, the CHARACTER they developed, and, most importantly (because eternity is FOREVER), the DECISION they made about Jesus.

What does this legacy cost us?  It will cost us everything but the reward is absolutely priceless.  It will cost us TIME.

*The U.S.D.A. numbers are in, it now costs an average middle-income American family $222,360 to raise a child from birth to 18. That’s 22 percent higher than it was in 1960, adjusted for inflation. And that doesn’t begin to include college costs.

Who's Laughing at YOU?

Don’t you love “lol” moments, when you really LAUGH OUT LOUD!?  I just had one of those today during a conversation with my three-year-old son.  Here it is:

Judah: Hey!  (while looking out the dining room patio doors)  I just saw a LIGHT black squirrel!

Me: Also known as GRAY, Judah!  (laughing)

Judah: (grinning ear to ear)  Yeah…I always make people laugh ON me!!

Me: Oh, really?  Why do they laugh?

Judah: Behuzz I BONK my head, like this! (does a “Three Stooges” self face punch)

Me: (MORE laughing) I wish that was the only reason we laugh “ON” you, kid!!

The reasons we’ve laughed “ON” Judah include (but are NOT limited to); discovering him giving himself a swirly in our toilet (Eau de Toilet Boy), finding him naked and slimed from head-to-toe in hand soap (Super SOAPer!), and walking into his dump truck dirt-landscape that used to be our living room (Extreme Dirty Jobs: Home Make-over Edition).

I’ll be the first to admit, in each of these situations, laughter wasn’t always the number one idea that sprang to mind.  Sometimes, I had other ideas that usually had me turning into Charlie Brown’s mother…but, I’m learning I’m going to laugh about it eventually, so why not NOW?  

We LOVE to laugh in this family.  Laughter is like slamming down a shot of hope and peace in the midst of a storm (not that I know anything about shots…just saying).  It warms you to the core and makes everything a bit easier to handle.  These are just a few of my favorite quotes about laughter,

Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.  ~Victor Borge

What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.  ~Yiddish Proverb

When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other.  ~Alan Alda

Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion.  I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.  ~Kurt Vonnegut

The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.  ~E.E. Cummings

Laughter is an instant vacation.  ~Milton Berle

I think one of the greatest challenges when it comes to laughter is growing in our ability to laugh ON (i.e., AT) ourselves.  Sometimes I plan our lives so carefully, it takes all the fun out of it…what’s wrong with a “flying by the seat of our pants” option every now and again?!  Lately, when I realize I’m in my Mrs. Control-freak mode, I stop and LAUGH…at ME! I’m such a dork sometimes!  

When I’m in full huffing-and-puffing, ready-to-blow-my-husband’s-argument-down mode, I let out all the hot air in my head and LAUGH at ME!
I ask my man, “I’m making a big deal out of nothing, right?”  (of course, he looks like a deer in headlights as this question sounds strangely like, “Does my butt look big?” to the male brain) and I realize I just need to take a CHILL pill now and then.  It’s OKAY to LAUGH at ourselves! Laughter is a God-given can of WD40 in our lives to make things run a bit smoother.  Let’s use it!   

Who’s laughing at YOU?  Hopefully, it’s YOU! So whether you catch your kid with his head in the toilet or catch yourself being a straight up dork…just LAUGH.  That could make the world (especially your children and spouse’s world) a better place to be!

Just for fun video: I LOVE To Laugh!

Sunday Morning Disaster

Rain + mud + worms + boys = Sunday Morning Disaster.

Relaxing is no longer an adjective that floats to the surface of my mind when I envision Sunday mornings.

Pre-children years included favorite music filling the house as we emptied our coffee cups and played footsie under the kitchen table.

Post-children years include the music of wailing as we squeeze our crew into uncomfortable church clothes intermingled with the sound of laughter as they streak through the house after their baths decked out in their “nuder-man” outfits (yes, that means naked!).  Meanwhile, the coffee maker sits collecting dust on the counter and the only thing being emptied at breakfast now are my cups of patience and joy as bowls of cereal topple off the table and lakes of milk form on my freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

All of this really gets me in the mood to go to church and be spiritual.  That’s why I’m relieved that real church isn’t a showcase for saints (oops, I missed that anointing for sainthood!) but rather a hospital for sinners.

After what happened this last Sunday, I was more than ready to raise my white hankie in surrender and admit that I sin with the best of them.  Glory hallelujah!

The children were lassoed and decked out in their outfits that included (for the boys) white long sleeved shirts and khakis (with strict instructions to not touch or even THINK about anything dirty), the mountain of Cheerios were swept up and the lake of milk was sopped up as my little soldiers were marched to the door to begin our "Exodus".  I typically begin the “Exodus” from our house about half an hour before we actually need to LEAVE for any given event as history has evidenced Murphy’s Law is a FACT with four children under age five.  

One baby loaded in the car seat and placed in the van, check.

One little girl buckled into her car seat with a handful of fruit snacks to keep her momentarily happy, check.

One three year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read, check.

One four year old boy buckled into his seat with a book to read as well, check.

One Momma still wearing slippers…oh, snap…check.

“Okay, guys--Momma has to grab some shoes, I’ll be right back so just relax and STAY IN THE VAN, okay?”

They all nodded and I was foolishly deceived into thinking this is what things would look like when I reappeared.  I raced back outside…where I ran smack dab into my four year old son whose hand was submerged up to his elbow in a bucket of DIRT.

I did a double-take, what’s this?!  I immediately noticed His white polo shirt was now a lovely shade of brown and then he noticed a moment later that I had smoke coming out of my ears.

“Oh, Momma…" Gideon said, "I had to check to make sure the worms we caught yesterday are all alive.  Oh, wow--yup, they are.  Okay, I’ll get into the van now…oh, wait--I guess I have a little dirt on me…”

I would like to say I was very spiritual at that moment and reflected on the joys of boys and laughed about it all.  I would like to say that…but, I’ll shoot straight with ya’ll: I didn’t.  I did one of those First/Middle/Last-Name-of-Your-Child-Hollers that probably woke up the neighbors that were hoping to sleep in on a Sunday morning.  I have (quite infrequently) my saint moments, then, the rest of the time, I’m a sinner.

When Gideon and I climbed back into the van a few minutes later (with a clean shirt and dirt still under his fingernails), a little smile was starting to replace my crabby-Momma-face (thank God, that is such a bad look on me!).  When Gideon caught my eye in the mirror as he buckled back into his seat, I winked at him and his face lit up in a smile of his own, all was forgiven.  If God can forgive me for being a SPAZ about LITTLE things, for freaking out when I should take a moment to think before I speak, then how much MORE should I be quick to forgive my children who sometimes mess up in little ways.

I backed out of our driveway and headed towards the hospital for sinners…that was just the kind of place I needed to be on a Sunday morning like this.  I had some dirt of my own that needed to be cleaned up.

The Crazy Arby Derby

I loaded my crew into our mini-van and grabbed my cell phone while I was backing out of the Arby’s parking lot.  I couldn’t wait to call my husband.

“Well, that was fun taking all the kids to Arby’s for lunch.”

“Wait a minute!”  My husband replied on the other end, “Did you just say ALL THE KIDS, ARBY’S and FUN in the SAME sentence?”

I always feel naively optimistic upon entering any establishment to eat when I’m flying solo with my fab four in tow.  Either I’m subscribing to the “Ignorance is Bliss” theory or my hunger takes over the logical part of my brain that is screaming, “Don’t do it!  Get out while there is still time!” 

 

With the smell of curly fries and roast beef luring me in, I succumbed to the magical spell of Arby’s.  Once we were inside, I unloaded my four-year-old, three-year-old, and one-year-old into a booth and scooped the baby into my arms.  I would have to have to leave my three darlings for a moment to go up front and order, but I wouldn’t leave them alone, I was leaving behind the Holy Spirit, I mean-The Holy Fear of Their Momma!  

“Sit here,”  I said, locking eyes with my wiggly Judah to make sure he heard so he would be without excuse on the day of judgment, “Please be good.  Don’t stand on the table, on the booth or your brother’s head.  Don’t eat food off the floor, don’t lick the windows and most importantly, DON’T MOVE.  I’ll be right back with yummy food for those who have resisted the temptation of acting on every crazy thought that pops in their heads!!”  My children looked like angels as I backed…slowly…away, keeping them in my line of sight as I stepped into the food line to order.

Thankfully, only one lady stood in front of me in line.  Un-thankfully (is that a word?!), she had probably been a live witness to Noah’s Ark and the Great Flood and was apparently going to be paying for her entire order in…pennies!  Dear Lord, I prayed, this is going to take a miracle to get back to my kids in under a century.  Please make them behave.  

One glance towards those three little angels quickly assured me it would take a miracle to get my unattended children to behave, as in the good Lord Himself showing up (bolts of lightning and a loud, booming voice would sure sweeten the deal).

It was like “Home Alone: Arby’s Booth Edition” at the table, it looked like a game of The Muskrat and The Weasel was in full-swing as Jude, Gideon and EvaLee laughed gleefully and chased each other under the table and through the booth seats, stopping now and then to investigate a fry that was squished into the carpet.

I tried to appear calm and collected as I bounced Gabby on my hip and casually glanced at Grandma Penny at the counter.

“Let’s start over,”  The clerk smiled at the sweet little lady, “Here’s five pennies, six, seven, eight, nine….yes, mam’, the total is $6.84 again.  Okay, where was I?  Oh, yes: nine, ten, eleven…”

I tried not to lose my place in line as I did my best to send a discreet evil eye at the boys (EvaLee is still young enough to qualify for Momma‘s “Get-Out-of-Jail-Free-Card“) but they were too busy having fun to notice the smoke coming out of my ears.  They were all popping over the booth like a group of Jack-in-the-Boxes on speed.  Finally, Gideon caught my eye and I took the golden opportunity to hiss things like, “Sit down!” and “Be quiet, stop that!” without actually making any noise as I didn’t want to draw any more attention to them or me.  I figured the neon sign over the kids, flashing “CRAZY, HUNGRY, SILLY CHILDREN HERE!!” was enough excitement without the a side-show of their mother shouting and hopping around across the restaurant.  I was praying Gideon could read lips…and deeply furrowed brows.

Speaking of praying, I was also praying Grandma Penny would suddenly unearth a ten dollar bill from her tiny knitted purse and we’d all get to order before the new year!  My heart sank as I heard the clerk still counting, “…seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven…”.  Sweet Jesus!  I was just reaching into my own purse to throw a twenty on the counter and save us all from celebrating our retirement in the Arby’s order-line when the clerk exclaimed, “…and that should do it, Mam’!  You’re all set!”

I breathed a sigh of relief when all of the sudden my ears filled with The Bang Heard ‘Round the World: my wiggly three-year-old, Judah, attempting to stand with full force under the table and banging his head as a result.  The sigh of relief I had just been breathing froze mid-breath as I waited for it…and waited…yes, there it was, THE CRY.

Judah’s waaaambulence went off in FULL glory, giving every fire-truck and police-car in town a run for their money.

He bolted like an Olympic Sprinter towards me (I always wonder how much pain they could be feeling if they can run with that amount of focus and speed!) and jumped into my arms where he received (in addition to the attention of EVERY Arby’s patron) a kiss from me that silenced all his woes.  Just like that, he smiled and returned to the Boisterous Party at Booth #5.

I finally placed our order and reunited with my long-lost sanity and children.  We were just finishing the last of our milkshakes when a stooped elderly gentleman approached our table, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in towards us,

“Your children are so well behaved.”  

A milkshake never taste so interesting as when it comes through one’s nose when they attempt to suppress delirious laughter.

“Thank you, sir,”  I replied, “Um…you mean these children?  Did you see them while I was in line?”

He smiled and nodded, “Yes, I sure did and they are good.  I was so blessed watching you all eat and how nice of kids you have here.  I was just remembering my own children.  My baby boy just turned forty-five.”

Wow, forty-five, I thought, when my oldest is four, that feels like centuries away!  But time is short…life is short.  I thanked the sweet old man and as I watched him shuffle out the door, it felt as if life suddenly slowed down a bit.  I turned around and looked at each of my children, trying to freeze in my memory that moment in time, a moment I would never have again: Gabby chewing on a French-fry, covered in drool, EvaLee loudly slurping the last of a milkshake with a happy expression on her round face, Judah trying to nonchalantly slide under the booth (for the hundredth time, what exactly is the attraction to that spot!?) while I shook my head “no”, and Gideon jabbering away with his report from the front-line about any sibling that was committing a misdemeanor I may have missed.

Yep, that’s life sometimes.  Messy, loud, hectic…and fun.  I wouldn’t trade it for a million quiet dinners with the most famous people of the world at the fanciest restaurant in town.  So when I called Bob a few minutes later and said, “Well, that was fun taking all the kids to Arby’s for lunch.”, I really DID mean it.

Super-Soaper!!

There’s a good rule of thumb that we adhere to like a religion around the Cole household: our three-year-old, Judah, and a toilet are not to be left alone in the same room for more than two minutes.  If this rule is not upheld, don’t come crying to me (only I’m usually the one crying, so how does that work?!).

I had just pressed the start button on the dishwasher yesterday after cleaning up after dinner when my internal “Judah bathroom alarm” begin to go off.  I hadn’t heard any excessive flushing or running water coming from the bathroom so I wasn’t too worried but when I hollered his name from the bottom of the stairs and he appeared at the top, I knew trouble could always be found when one diligently seeks it…water not required.

There Judah stood.  Naked as a jaybird and shining like a greased pig from head-to-toe.  Good Lord, what now?!

“Jude, did you put on baby lotion?”  I was trying to be optimistic, hopeful and…unrealistic.

“No, BIG boy lotion!”  he replied, but as he hopped happily down the stairs, my nose felt like it had just toured a Bath and Body Works factory.  I swiped him with my finger to confirm my suspicion, yep: soap.  My boy was slimed from head to toe in a thick layer of juicy liquid watermelon soap.

I then remembered my famous last words when he was heading up to the bathroom, “Make sure you wash your hands with soap.”  The J-man puts a new spin on enthusiasm, give him an inch and he runs with an idea a mile.

“Honey, you are supposed to wash just your hands with soap.”  I sighed as I lifted him by his slippery arm-pits and carried him towards the tub.

“But Mommy, me DID wash my hands with soap.  Me put soap on everything!”

As I hosed him down with the shower-head, I confirmed the soap had indeed been applied to everything-including huge globs all over his hair.  Five minutes later, my three-year-old was the most watermelon scented and cleanest kid East of the Mississippi.  

I wrapped him in a towel, deeply inhaled his watermelon-infused hair and sent a word-of-thanks Heavenward.

Thank God for enthusiastic kids.

And thank God for unexpected moments in my hectic days to stop and smell the watermelon.

Note: A new rule has been added to the Cole household: Judah and the toilet AND soap

are not to be left alone in the same room.