Sleep Out #1

Noah has been dreaming of a "sleep out" for months.  He talks about the food campers eat, the tools they need, "pinching tents," and the ninjas/pirates/porcupines which may or may not be involved.

The weather had finally leveled off at warm evening temperatures, and Josh was back home this weekend after what felt like weeks of travel, so Noah and I spent last week preparing for the big night: we bought a fire pit, real wood (at the grocery store - we only take authenticity so far), and s'mores ingredients and borrowed a tent from neighbors. The forecast predicted 60's and sunny.

Saturday dawned in the 50s and rainy. Then it cleared. Then it stormed. It was an emotional roller-coaster for our little (un)happy camper. By nightfall, it was clear and cold (for the first time in weeks!), so we plowed ahead.

Some of our favorite people joined us to kick off the big event - my brother, sister-in-law, and nephews (who Noah worships). We lit our first backyard fire, tried to convince Aaron it's not just pretty, and roasted marshmallows. Once sufficiently pumped full of sugar and wreaking of wood smoke, we sent the beloved cousins home. It was the moment of truth. My sweet husband and the mighty camper changed into warm, comfy clothes and marched out to their 5' x 6' tent (which bore a startling resemblance to a 3' x 4' igloo). They read Peter Rabbit by flashlight, and then curled up--literally--to sleep.

Until 2am, when Noah said, "I'm cold. I want to go in." Minutes later, as he groggily climbed into bed, he told Josh, "I'm only happy in my bed."

But the next morning, he was already talking about how his cool cousin Wesley has camped far away, in the woods. I suppose it's a good thing that his love for all things Wesley trumps his love for a warm bed...

Either way, I'm thankful this baby bump and chauvinistic historical stereotypes give me excellent excuses to let Daddy take the lead on this and all future "sleep outs" - as I'm guessing there will be many.

Church Shirts and Other No-Nos

Last month, Noah had a morning meltdown over the shirt I gave him to wear to school. One day he wants to wear red "because Kai the ninja wears red," another day he wants black "because spiders are black." While I often humor these whims, this morning I was rushing too fast to get us out the door. I wanted him to just obey.

It wasn't till he was buckled into the van that it occurred to me he hasn't had a melt-down in about two years. Maybe I should ask, "Why don't you want to wear that shirt?"

(deep breath) "The boys at school" (deep breath) "will make fun of me" (deep breath) "cause I'm wearing a church shirt."

The shirt was a button-down with a collar. A "church shirt."

Mom of the year. Right here.

I ran up, grabbed a t-shirt, and he changed in the parking lot. All was well. For the moment.

But I knew something big had changed. There had been hints, but this was the big red flag that he had indeed crossed over from blissful ignorance to self-consciousness, into the world that has invisible rules and social standings and measuring up or keeping up or being left out. Of "mean" and "teasing" and "best friends." Oy.

My growing boy with his beloved new castle and ship

"Coincidentally," I went to hear one of my favorite authors speak at a young moms event soon after and the other speaker at the event was a counselor talking about "resolving playground conflicts." The following week, our Wednesday night church program was supplemented with a seminar on bullying at school. Within two weeks time, I'd seen my first child enter the world of social norms, and I'd been given a vision for how those norms would evolve over the next 14 years. It was harrowing, but helpful.

Based on those speakers and many short conversations with Noah since, I've narrowed my focus during this stage to three key concepts I can help him understand:

1. Confidence: You are loved; you are never alone; and that means you can stand up for what is right. If someone treats you badly, 1. Ask them to stop, 2. Leave the area, 3. Tell an adult. You do not have to do what they say or make them happy. You can even wear a collared shirt to school! ;)

God is with you, a strong Warrior there to save you...He'll calm you with his love... (Zephaniah 3:17)

2. Discernment: You can choose who to play with, when, and how. Right now, he assumes that if someone wants to play with him, or is a male his age, they're friends. Not a bad perspective, really. BUT it can get you into trouble when that "friend" is not friendly (to you or someone else).

Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but the friend of fools will suffer harm. (Proverbs 13:20)

3. Compassion: God made and loves every person, so treat them with kindness. Even girls. If someone asks you to stop or makes a sad face because of what you're doing, you need to stop it. We do not need to make everyone happy, but we also don't want to make them sad (yeah, this is a tricky part).

What do you want people to do for you? Do it for them! (Luke 6:31)

Thankfully, we're still at the beginning, and he only grows one year at a time. Still, I'm always open to... Thoughts? Suggestions?

Two Good Reasons We're Having #3

B.C.

Last week, I was taking my anxiety out on the weeds in our yard when Noah poured a fistful of dirt over Aaron's head. Brown tears streaking down Aaron's face, dirt collecting in the corners of his eyes. I didn't even want to look in his mouth. So I carried my now-brown-haired child straight to the bath to be joined by his not-quite-penitent brother.

That's where we were when I got the message. I was sitting on the closed toilet, watching the boys splash water on each other, when I found out my mom has breast cancer.

She'd had a lump before which was benign. The doctor had thought this one was, too. But then he called them in for a surprise meeting, which is really never a good sign from your doctor, no matter how friendly he may be.

Which brings us back to the toilet seat and my dad's message: I was immediately confused. My head knew breast cancer is very common and very curable. They caught hers early, and it does not appear to be aggressive. She should be fine. Fine.

But my body seemed to think differently. Tense, nauseous, shocked. It just heard "cancer" and stopped and sat there. On that word. Wringing it out.

I called my dad to see how they were doing. We were all in shock, and I could tell, but he also sounded... reassuringly normal. I asked to talk to mom, but he said she was teaching.

"Teaching??"

"Yeah. It's Tuesday night."

Josh called Dad a few minutes later to check in, but Dad had to run into a meeting.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I know they're going to be fine -- why I've always known they're going to be fine. We spent the next day on the phone with them, discussing treatment options, but all the while I heard and knew that my parents really believe what they teach. They believe God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all good. Cancer doesn't challenge or change that truth, it just proves the truth's value, its priceless value...its phenomenal value.

A dear friend of mine recently had the opposite diagnosis: a "benign" but life-threatening brain tumor. What should have been harmless wasn't, which meant she faced an all-day surgery with her skull wide open and a terrifying list of risks. But she didn't flinch. Through the shock and tears and pain and turmoil of it all, she has leaned on God and his trustworthiness more than ever before. Not as a crutch, but in his rightful role as her loving God and Savior.

My friend came out of surgery Tuesday in better condition than any of us dared hope. Able to think, talk, and even walk. Her recovery thus far is stunning. And I hope for nothing less for my mom.

In the meantime, I am so grateful that none of us waited for a crisis to figure out what we really believe. To paraphrase Nicole Mullen, we know that we know that we know that we know...that God is good, that it's all part of His plan, and that we can trust Him. Even if it takes my body a little while to get the message.

The Lap

I used to think we'd need 3-4 stools in the kitchen.

Not when Daddy's home...

Jouer (to play)

The Wall St. Journal recently published an article about common differences in French and American parenting styles. It was inspiring. Quiet but consistent authority, delayed gratification, independence, high expectations -- who would've thought we could learn so much from the French?

Frankly, I have never found it overly tempting to spend all day catering to and entertaining my boys. Their idea of a good time generally involves piling a random assortment of small objects into a vehicle, accompanied by sounds that don't form into any known words. Instead, I usually focus the time I play with them on activities I can enjoy (i.e. building a lego house or pillow fort, reading pretty much anything, walking downtown, watching Wildkratts, etc). But these mutually-agreeable activities do not the day fill. So the boys spend hours each week playing on their own. An excellent skill, right? Yes! But does this prevent me from feeling guilty that I don't spend more time with the dreaded Hot-wheels? Of course not! I am an American, after all.

Not only that, I am morning sick. Still. Between this reality and the French example, I've found two fabulous excuses to celebrate Noah and Aaron's playtime independence. They've always been good at playing on their own -- and playing together IF it was a 2-yr-old-friendly game (i.e. chase). But lately, Aaron has been able to join Noah in more mature, sedate activities (i.e. sitting in a chair for minutes strung together and playing with Play-doh). They still tackle and chase and--thankfully--ask for my participation plenty, but listening to them sit quietly and play with toys at the table brings a special kind of joy to this mother's heart.

Big and Small

Since I'm not feeling well, I've decided to break my own strike by writing about not feeling well. Enticing, eh? This is why I write to you who know and love me...

The last couple months have taught me a lot about imperfect health. For the first time, I've had two close friends experience major health issues -- one a brain tumor, another preterm labor (twins, 25wks). At the same time, I've experienced ridiculously minor health issues that have consistently disrupted my life. The contrast between my minuscule inconveniences and these friends' trauma has been breathtaking and instructive. 

It all began in November when I lost my voice for 2 weeks. It sounds almost silly, but it was debilitating. No phone calls. No conversations. One would think I'd get practice listening, but people don't want to talk when you can't respond. Even chance encounters during errands seemed to cause offense. People felt like I was depressed or mad, even if they knew I'd lost my voice. Our home was less cheerful as everyone adopted some of my silence. Even Aaron whispered to me. Not to mention the challenges and dangers of disciplining while mute. In the grand scheme of things, I would've thought vocal silence would be easy - even relaxing. Turns out, that's just how I feel when I have my voice.

As soon as my voice returned in December, my energy exited, leaving morning sickness in its place. This proved rather confusing. You see when I'm not pregnant and get upset, I don't cry, I feel nauseous. It's like a red flag to my brain that something in my life "ain't right." So the recurring nausea that comes with pregnancy made me feel like I was constantly in turmoil. Red flags everywhere. Everything was nauseating, so every decision felt like the wrong choice - whether it was about food, work, kids, you-name-it. And that's just a sliver of my first trimester issues. BUT I knew it was all for a good cause. I wanted to be pregnant. I am excited about this baby. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel with confidence.

Which means I've spent a lot of time these last few months in prayer. Praying for my friends whose troubles are not wreathed in optimism, who never asked for their ill health. Praying for Josh's grandfather who faces continuing complications. Praying for those who live with cancer or back pain or any number of issues that are indefinite, unwelcome, debilitating, and scary.

And God has responded by showing me how His grace is poured out to those who need it, when they need it. Our pastor recently preached about how our nightmares never include God in the picture. When we imagine the worst, we forget His providence in our lives. My two friends are experiencing close to the worst, and yet watching them do it has proven again that God may not be in imaginary troubles, but He is very present in real hardship. He is pouring out His mercy and strengthening those who need Him.

He's reminding me to give thanks for my health, but even more to give thanks for Him.

Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
   or, whine, Israel, saying,
"God has lost track of me.
   He doesn't care what happens to me"?
Don't you know anything? Haven't you been listening?
God doesn't come and go. God lasts.
   He's Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch his breath.
   And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
   gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
   young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
   They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don't get tired,
   they walk and don't lag behind. - Isaiah 40:27-31