Murdering Fred

I discovered something rather depressing about myself tonight: I am a PANSY Momma!  This realization dawned on me during my special night out at the park with the kids while I was attempting to get a worm on the hook of the boy’s fishing pole.  

For the last few weeks, the boys have overturned every rock this side of the Mississippi in search of the biggest and juiciest worms to take fishing with them.  Taking them fishing is really something my husband, Bob, does with such joy and expertise and I’ve always been happy to chill with my little ladies and shop or…change their diapers (we haven’t quite graduated to Ladies’ Night Out yet!).

But the last few weeks my Hard Workin’ Marlboro Man (just calling him that because he wears cowboy boots to EVERY function imaginable, not because he likes to smoke ‘em…just to clarify) has been making hay while the sun shines (I.e., the real estate biz is hopping so he’s working 24/7).  Meanwhile, the boy’s worm collection in their buckets is reaching Guinness Book of World Records status so I decided if I didn’t want the worms in our backyard to out populate our town’s population, I better take those little Huck Finns fishin’.

I mean, really, they’re only 3 and 4 years old…how hard can it be?  

They were bursting at their overall seams when I announced this afternoon we were heading to a nearby river to go fishing!  The worms were transferred with lots of T.L.C. to a travel-worthy tote, one WITH a lid as we have enough wiggly-worms in carseats that I didn't want REAL wiggly-worms all over the floor too! The poles were then loaded into the van with a couple seriously excited fisherman tumbling in after them.

The river looked smooth and golden in the light of dusk and the floating dock echoed the sound of the boy’s shoes as they pounded to the end of it, thrusting their lines into the waters within no time.  Their little sister was right on their heels holding the tote with the sacred collection of worms.  Oh, right…the worms!  They pulled up their lines and hurried over to me, time was a-wasting!  

“Mommy, can you get a worm on my hook, I gotta get back to fishing so I can catch a big one!”

No problem, I assured them, reaching into the tote and pulling out a worm.  I had never actually done this but it couldn’t be that difficult.  I felt a little squeamish right away just squeezing the slimy little guy between my fingers but when I attempted to poke him with the little hook, I was shocked to see him flinch.

Did the worm just FLINCH in pain?!  My heart began to race.  Was this going to hurt the little dude?  I tried again, same reaction, the worm jerked away from the needle.  I took a jagged breath as my son’s sneakers shuffled back and forth in the corner of my eye.  I could feel him watching me, waiting for me to do IT.

Great, now I have a witness to this murder.  My heart was pounding harder…faster.  Maybe if I closed my eyes…

I tried again but, with my eyes closed but that made my imagination to run wild: this worm was alive!  I mean, his mom is probably pulling dinner (a piece of dirt?) out of the oven right now and wondering if he (George?  Billy?  Fred?  He did kinda look like a Fred…) would be home soon.  Maybe Fred had been voted “Best Blue Eyes” in his high school yearbook (do worms even have eyes?!).  Fred could be engaged for Pete’s sake!  His wedding could be tomorrow for all I know and here I am, trying to turn him into a Fish Sandwich the eve of the most important day of his worm-life!  The least I could do would be to give him a little something for the pain before I stab him with a HOOK!  

I threw Fred to the ground, my hands still shaking.

What kind of person am I?!  What kind of example am I being to the boys?!  What kind of Mother would murder a nice guy like Fred!?  I’m a PANSY and never even knew it!
“Momma…aren’t you gonna put that worm on my hook?”

I took a deep breath, gotta hold it together for the kids.  I had no idea that fishing was such a violent-contact sport.  Think of all the little Freds out there who die so that we can eat fish!
“Um…you know, buddy, I think we’ll just use the rubber baits today and you can use Fred, I mean--the worms, next time when Daddy takes you.”

It was a fish-less fishing trip but we did catch some good memories and a beautiful orange sun was sinking beyond the hills as we drove home.  I smiled to myself, I had caught a Big One and I wasn’t going to let it get away…a Big Realization about raising a family with my better half.  Their strength may be my weakness and my weakness (or pansy-ness!) may be their strength.  I can’t do it ALL.  I need my man and he needs me (I may not be able to take down Fred but once they bring home the fish, I can fry up a mean walleye!).  

I think there will be one Hard Workin’ Marlboro Man waiting at home that is due a big kiss of gratitude for little things (like taking the boys fishing for REAL) that I never before appreciated.

Now, Fred may have a different point of view…

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!

We DID Start the FIRE!

I wasn’t going for The Mother Teresa Award when I had the *brilliant* idea (a.k.a, INSANE!) a few days ago to trek my fab four through an assisted living facility laden with hand-made May Day baskets of treats to “bless” the elderly people living there.  While I didn’t think I was being outstanding, I certainly didn’t think I would end up having an Evil Knievel affect on the elderly that day rather than a loving Mother Teresa one.  Our visit involved us starting a FIRE and scaring the daylights out of the residents…like I said, my idea was so brilliant!


I’ve been on this “let’s do it with PURPOSE” kick lately.  Whether I’m whipping up some mashed potatoes or making an art project with the kids, I have been pausing to ask, “How could this meal/project/time make a difference for eternity?”  With four pre-school children underfoot every moment of my day, this question may seem a bit far-fetched at times (I should probably be thinking instead, “How can I SURVIVE until bedtime?”) and my husband does sometimes call me unrealistic.  Of course, I much prefer the term “optimistic”!

May Day was just around the corner (thought the actually presence of Spring is still M.I.A!) and my crew and I worked as long as their attention spans would last (about five minutes) to create some fun little May Day baskets and cards.  After this crafting tornado died down, I was left in a wake of glitter, uncapped markers and sheer joy: I love doing life with my children…messes and all!  

As I stared at the May Day Museum spread out to dry on my kitchen counter, I thought: we should take these to some elderly people because older people are sometimes lonely and they usually love children!  Not to mention, my kids would be enriched by interacting with the older generation as well.  Hey, I thought excitedly, this is a WIN-WIN.

May Day dawned gloomy and cold but that didn’t matter because we were bringing our own sunshine!  I loaded up the kids in the van to make the appointment we had at a local assisted living facility and the kids were all smiles as they held hands and entered the living room of  the group home, everything was going according to plan.

Then, once again, LIFE happened…or, as some may say (aka, my husband whose fateful laugh at the proposal of my idea was ringing in my head at that moment): REALITY.  My Little Rays of Sunshine were too busy stuffing their faces with all the candy from the May Baskets to notice any of the sweet little grandmas that came out to say hello.  I tried to give them discreet nudges and little whisper-warnings of being grounded until their 18th birthday if they shoved another piece of candy in their mouths, all while attempting to converse politely with the aforementioned grandmas.  

Since I was holding on to my baby, Gabby, the only one that didn’t look like a chipmunk, I couldn’t actually stop the May Day Mutiny.  Fortunately, none of the residents seemed to notice the May Day Baskets being handed to them by my children were all empty.  The residents did seem to enjoy interacting with the little ones, and my kids also seemed to enjoy the new faces of the elderly.


In fact, I was just breathing a sigh of relief when my nose caught wind of a strange smell…the smell of something burning…the smell of FIRE!  I turned around and saw my four-year-old son standing next to a candle at the kitchen table with a flaming candy wrapper about to burn the tips of his fingers.  I did one of those “Mommy-Air-Jordan” moves (that I’m still hurting from days later) and pretty much flew across the room without my feet ever hitting the floor.  I grabbed the wrapper to save my son’s finger and then realized, Oh, snap.  What do I do with this?  

The only thing that came to mind at that HOT moment was my fifth grade assembly class when the fire department came and taught us the fire safety basics: Stop, Drop and Roll.  So I stopped holding the burning wrapper, dropped it onto the lovely linoleum floor and rolled my tennis shoe on top, burning a little hole into the floor and wishing the hole were big enough for me to crawl into and die of embarrassment!


Meanwhile, the residents looked on in shock and I wondered who we should call first; the fire station to put out the fire, the ambulance to care for the residents we nearly gave heart attacks to, or the police station to arrest me for being so unrealistic in my expectations that it is probably considered illegal!  


After my son also recovered from his shock (“Mom, I didn’t know it would do that!!  I didn’t think…I was just seeing what it would do…”) and joined me in cleaning the floor while apologizing profusely, I felt like the new Evil Knievel of assisted living homes, “Able to start dangerous fires, can leap across walkers in a single bound and (with the assistance of curious little helpers) cause crazy chaos wherever she goes!”  I wondered if there were a secret "Blackball List" that Assisted Living Homes swapped and if I would make tomorrow’s front page.  

After a bit more small talk and head pattings (the elderly to the children), we made our escape…the taste of humble pie still lingering in my mouth.  Ah, LIFE…REALITY is so…unpredictable sometimes!


Well, at least we gave them something to talk about!

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.