Hypothetical

Ever imagine what it would have been like to have been born in another time period or place?  I wonder why God chose here and now for us.  Why did God choose this era of expensive gas, ridiculous political jargon, frustration over health insurance, too-busy lifestyles, consumerism, and cable t.v.?  Why didn't he choose to have us exist 100 years ago, or 1,000?  What if we'd taken a different road?

I don't know. I won't know.

Certain things might have been very good in a different time.  

I would probably be more prepared to run a home and family if I'd been raised for that specific purpose.  

I'd be better at making bread.

There would be far fewer distractions.

I wouldn't own so much stuff, or feel the need to.

I'd be ok with being dirtier.

I might know the worth and the cost of knowing God, and be closer to him.

But today I am thankful.

Long ago, I wouldn't have been granted an education.  I might not know how to read.

My vision would be so terrible without glasses or laser surgery that I'd barely be able to see.

My teeth would be crooked.

If I'd been born in China, they might have bound my feet.

If I'd been born in India, I might live in a garbage dump.

If I'd been born in parts of Africa, I might be circumcised and married by adolescence.

If I'd been born in the Middle East, my arms and legs would always be hidden from the light of day.

I would never have traveled far.

I wouldn't have friends all over the world.

My parents would have chosen someone else for me to marry.

My youngest would have died soon after birth without surgery.

Without antibiotics, my four year old might have died when the splinter in his finger got infected.

My husband might have died from dehydration when he got a bad case of the flu.

I wouldn't know how to drive.

I wouldn't know how to blow a bubble with bubble gum.

I might not know how to swim.

I wouldn't have named my blog Teenage Mutant Ninja Toddlers.

I might be burned at the stake for owning and reading a Bible.

We are here, now, for a reason.  I could sing the shoulda, coulda, woulda's.  I could wonder "what if?"  But I could be content; get on with living.  Purposefully and fully.  And I've had my morning coffee.  Praise God for the era of morning coffee!  Time to go live the day.  

Exhale sharply

My two year old fed my one year old baby a piece of his bread and jelly.  Baby was sitting on a library book.  On the rug.
I sighed.

Somebody unrolled the toilet paper to find their perfect piece.  It was apparently at the end of the roll.  I re-rolled it.
I sighed again.

There was dried yogurt on the window.  The baby got stuck under the piano again.  Three pairs of muddy boots were shaken off on the freshly vacuumed rug.
I breathed out in despair.

My husband asked me if I could make him a cup of coffee as he sat down to start a homeschool lesson with the kids.  Navigating blindly behind the ample laundry pile in my arms, I responded with a muffled "Uh-huh."  Sure I'll  be the good little housewife and add one more thing to my to-do list in the next five minutes.  He caught the exhale that followed.
"Sigh!" He mimicked emphatically.  "Your life is so miserable, huh."

I frowned as he hit the nerve, but let the sensation linger.  I was sounding pretty depressed with life.  A few minutes later, bearing a warm mug of coffee as a peace offering, I plunked down next to the boys as he finished reading their Bible story.  He accepted the cup, eyeing me gently.  "You didn't spit in it, did you?" he smiled at me.
"No." I returned.  "I guess its not so bad."
"Bad?" One of the minions questioned.  "Its bad to spit?!?"
"Only outside!"  Mommy started the etiquette lesson and the day moved on.

Do not grow weary in doing good.  2 Thessalonians 3:10
I read it this morning; it was a reminder, but I should have taken it as a warning to be more careful.  I know sighing can be destructive and sapping.  I sigh to celebrate a pity party.  It robs me of joy as well as anyone else who is the recipient of my attitude.  And I let it.  

My home should be a peaceful haven for my family.  Its not always happy, light and bubbly.  Its definitely not always (well, ever) quiet and clean.  But I can, and do, set the mood of the busily humming life within these walls.  Its my great and sacred purpose as a housewife to be the heartbeat of the home.  Thats not easy, but it is a wonderful job description.  I am not a slave or a prisoner in this house.  I am Mom, and I wouldn't trade that title for any position, wealth, or power.  

But if I forget how noble and sweet even the menial parts of my work are, bitterness seeps in.  Eventually, it seeps out too, and it poisons the whole atmosphere of my home.  No matter how much laundry I do, or diaper changing, or vacuuming, or homeschool teaching, or meal planning, or even planning quiet evenings with my husband, it is not particularly helpful if my home is still full of bitterness, unrest, and oppression.  

Jesus, the king of the universe, served His friends and family daily, in menial ways.  Was he any less a king because he washed his disciples' grime-crusted feet?  He touched the lepers, the dead bodies, filthy demon-possessed men, the bleeding women, the snotty children.  He hung out with smelly, sweaty fishermen.  Did they feel his bitterness at his servanthood?  

No, he didn't sigh at their neediness.  Daily, even when he was tired, hungry, hot, frazzled by the crowds, he loved them.  He served them.  He died for them.

I should be able to re-roll toilet paper and make my husband a cup of coffee with a joyful heart.  Jesus would do it for me, King of heaven, Lord of all men.  I, queen of my castle, can do it for my own ankle biters.  And I get to teach them to spit.  Who else can?  That's just special. 

To lie down under his smiles

I thought of her the other day as I wrangled all four boys through a multi-specialist doctor visit for the baby.  We survived, so did the doctors, though the hearing test was a bit difficult with my two year old knocking on the door of the not-so-sound-proof booth.  Still, I was proud of my little brood for not having any meltdowns, or critiquing any strangers too loudly, not running too fast in the halls, and not licking the glass of the doctors' fish tanks.  They aren't that bad, as kids go.  In public.  On Wednesdays.  In a leap year.
But I've been thinking of a woman who served the Lord by raising 11 children in the years before running water, electricity, antibiotics, minivans and educational public television.  I am humbled by the enduring example of Sarah Edwards.

The power went out as I started to write this.  Appropriate; get me in the mood as I type on battery power on my laptop; I'll have a taste of how her evenings must have felt.  Blogging by candlelight, keeping the fridge closed to retain the cold; relegated to snacking on old chocolate bars in the pantry.  My respect for her hard life is growing even now.  Can you imagine life without ice cream in the freezer?!?

In 1727, seventeen year old Sarah was married to a young preacher named Jonathan Edwards, pastor of a church in Northampton, Massachusetts.  He was an intense man, brilliant, philosophical and introverted.  By his own admission, he was not full of social graces.  He had graduated from Yale at age 19 to begin preaching.  The Great Awakening, a revival that spread throughout New England in the mid eighteenth century, began in his parish.  He wrote many forceful sermons which endure today, including "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," and "Religious Affections."  His life ended in 1758, shortly after he accepted the position of president at what would become Princeton University.
Sarah, a thinker in her own right, was his opposite and perfect counterpart, outgoing and gracious, and the consummate hostess to the steady stream of visitors which flowed through their parsonage.  She carried the bulk of the job of raising their eleven children, disciplining, clothing, and feeding them all, cleaning and maintaining the home, caring for their farm, entertaining guests and filling her marriage with love and spiritual insight which her husband highly valued.  She freed him to study, write, and attend to his congregation.  He normally spent 13 hours daily in his study, though he always set aside one hour of the day to engage with his children.  Sarah was responsible for the rest.
(At first I didn't think that sounded like much, but I stopped to consider it.  A daily, guaranteed full hour together with no t.v., phones, or internet, not spent catching up with the bills, or reading, or in the garage working on some man project, would mean a great deal of interaction and conversation in a family.  It sounds quite nice, actually.)
There is fair evidence to show they did their job.  A study was done in 1900 on John and Sarah's descendants.  By that year, their marriage had produced:
"13 college presidents
65 professors
100 lawyers and the dean of a law school
30 judges
65 physicians and the dean of a medical school
80 holders of public office, including:
3 US senators
mayors of 3 large cities
governors of 3 states
a vice president of the US
a controller of the US Treasury
Members of the family wrote 135 books...edited 18 journals and periodicals.  They entered the ministry in platoons and sent one hundred missionaries overseas, as well as stocking many mission boards with lay trustees." (You can find this in a book called Marriage to a Difficult Man by Elizabeth Dodds, pages 31-32, which I have just started reading and want to share a bit.)
The study went on to list all kinds of industries and businesses that descendants of the Edwards owned or had charge of.  "There is scarcely any great American industry that has not had one of this family among its chief promoters... Has any other mother contributed more vitally to the leadership of a nation?"

Talk about a legacy.  I'm glad at the end of the day that my descendants are still alive and the house is still standing.  Maybe I should set my sights a bit higher.  I will grant myself a bit of leeway; after all, she had a servant or two, and her five oldest children were girls.  Those facts probably decreased some of the mayhem.  But she didn't have flushable toilets or grocery stores down the street either... Or a dishwasher, washing machine, central heating, electricity, a local hospital, a government, a car, a computer, a refrigerator, or Facebook.  And she left an impact.  I don't want to be raising cain; I want to be raising the bar.  I think it is right to be challenged by her example.  It is all for God.  I want to make the effort count!

Her husband once quoted her (I read this first in Faithful Women and Their Extraordinary God by Noel Piper),
"Oh how good...is it to work for God in the day-time, and at night to lie down under his smiles!.. But worldly business has been attended to with great alarcity, as part of the service of God... it being done thus, it was found to be as good as prayer."

When the Egg teaches the Chicken

I have, and am, learning a great deal from my children.  Permit me to share a few lessons from the past six years.

1.  Its OK to cry.  Sometimes.

2.  Mud is just awesome.

3.  Being forgiven feels good.

4.  Sleep is just awesome.

5.  There are a few really good kids' books out there.  A few.

6.  If you're shy, let Gavin do the talking.

7.  Don't panic if the smoke alarm goes off; check to see if Mommy's in the kitchen, then wave vigorously at it until the smoke goes away and the baby calms down.  Works every time.  

8.  There's not much a piece of candy - or chocolate - and a cuddle can't heal.

9.  Grandmas are just awesome.

10. Greet the day with relish.  Don't spread relish on the walls.

11. Waking up early means more time to do important stuff.  Read, eat, and wrestle.

12. Schedules make unpredictable life more manageable.

13. Sticks are the best toys.  Cardboard boxes are a close second.

14. Pray regularly for your washer and dryer.  And thank God for running water.

15. Snuggling a baby calms you both down.

16. Chocolate milk and crackers can help reconcile a crummy afternoon, whether you are 3 or 30.

17. Sometimes it takes more than one time to learn a lesson.

18. Practice makes better.

19. Folks under at least four years old cannot lie or practice deceit successfully.  That is a blessing and an honor, and we should all wish for that kind of innocence.

20. Being a mommy is just awesome.  

2 be or not 2 be

A day in the life of my two year old boy.


Its 6:45 am.  I can't tell time.  I just hear the garbage truck outside and know that means it must be time to get up.
"Mom!  Mom!"  I command.  Get me out of this crib so I can get to the window.  Time is of the essence!
The baby hears me.  He agrees.  Now my big brothers in the bunk beds across the room hear me sounding the alarm.  All hands on deck!  This only happens once a week; don't miss the garbage truck!

Mom finally trudges in, still in her pjs.  Our friendly welcoming chorus greets her.
"Open the curtain!"  My brother fusses.
"Get me!  Get me up!" I tell her.
"Wahhh!" Agrees the baby.
She complies, but too slowly.  We stand at the window, enraptured.  All too soon, the truck has disappeared down the street.  First order of business over; now on to the next.
"I want milk!"  I remember.  The baby agrees.
We trundle downstairs.  The floor is cold, but near the wood stove is warm.  Somebody already poured us each a cup.  Mine's blue.
Mom nurses the baby and drinks her coffee.  She is slow today.  I am hungry.  I take the toy garbage truck from my brother because I'm two, and hungry.  She tells me to give it back.  She doesn't understand.  I glower at her until she returns me a look that makes my backside tingle.  Hmm.  I don't really want the truck anyway.
Finally we have breakfast.  Eggs?  I'd rather have candy.  Maybe if I go to the bathroom she will give me candy.  Potty training is great.
One measly gummy candy?  And I have to wear underwear?  I'm not sure if this is worth it.  Buzz Lightyear does look really good on my backside though.

They start their school stuff.  I love homeschool.  I'm working steadily through the crayon box.  Almost half the wrappers have been picked off.  Not bad.  Today I'll do mauve and dandelion.  They look better without that paper.  I'll keep them in my pocket for later; never know when you'll need to make something dandelion colored.
Its quiet upstairs.  Maybe I left my car near my bed.  Why is the door closed?  Oh, I found the baby in his bed.  Is he sleeping?  I'll poke him to find out.  Nope.  Not sleeping.  "Mom! He's awake!"

I see the fridge.  I must be hungry.  This stool will hold the door open.  There's a yogurt on the top shelf.  Got it.  There should be some scissors in the drawer that I can use to open the cover.  Ugh, they're so dull.  Maybe there's something else I can cut.  Hmm.  That's a pretty book.  My favorite.  I can cut that page out...
Mom is so mean.  I don't like her.  This discipline thing is much more tolerable when Shiloh is getting it.

Finally, lunch time.  Wait.  Sandwiches?  I don't like sandwiches.  The jelly is pretty tasty though.  But its hidden on the inside.  The bread needs a hole so we can see the jelly.  Mmm.  Tasty hole.  It needs another hole.  So sticky.  I'll put those crusty parts on the baby's high chair tray.  Sticky hands.  I need to wipe them on something.  There's the chalkboard.  That will do.    Mom can't catch me with that cold cloth to wipe me off.  I'm fast.  Oh, she got my right hand wiped on that pass.  I'll do another lap though the house.  Oh, the other hand!  I think she's been practicing.  A few more laps will feel good.  I love to run!  Gavin's chasing me.  Even better!  Oh, caught!  Ouch!  Hey, who gave you permission to run, anyway?  I'm just allowed, because I'm two.

Why does Mommy tell me its nap time when I take Shiloh's truck?  Its the same story every day.  Just when life starts to really seem unfair, she says I have to sleep.  I'm not sleepy.  Not sleepy at all.  I do like my pillow though, so soft and covered with beautiful race car pictures.  Ahh.  It makes me want to suck my thumb...

Its time to get up already?  I just lay down for a minute!  I smell popcorn downstairs.  Good.  They have my snack ready.  Let's go, Mommy.  Cocoa?  The boys are drinking cocoa without me?  How dare they not wait.  I bet they ate all the marshmallows.  Oh, Mommy has mine.  No, I want to mix it.  Slower?  Why would anyone want to do it slower?  Fast is always better.
"Mommy, I spilled!"
Mmm, that powder tastes good.  I'll lick the rest off the table.  I'm like a kitty.  Hey, boys, lets play kitties and wrestle.  I can take you.  I am two.  Watch.  Ow!  "Mommeee! Gavin hit me!"
It is so satisfying to watch the older boys get scolded.  Ugh, my hands are covered in sticky chocolate powder.  Those piles of folded clothes look handy.  I'll just wipe my fingers on them.  And my nose.  That's a bit better.  Repeat.
C'mon, Shi.  Get your boots on.  I just dug out a good dump truck and the snow piles are calling our names.  Well, calling mine, at least.  But you may as well come along for someone to talk to.  Mittens?   I don't need mittens, Mom.  Those are for sissies.  It is so much harder to drive trucks with mittens.  Fine, if you insist, but I'm taking them off as soon as I get out there.
Brrrr.  How could Mom make me go out here?  My hands hurt, they're so cold.  Especially after I've wiped my nose on them a few times.  Ow.  I'll go kick the door until someone lets me in.  Barbarians, leaving me out here to freeze my fingers off.
Ahh, thawing out.  Hmm, That sofa looks inviting, warm with blankets.  We should watch a movie.  Shi will help me get it on.  Here, Shi, help me dig though the box of movies.  Just dump those on the floor; we don't need them; Mom won't mind.  Can you reach that bottom one?  Mighty Machines.  A true classic.
Good job, Shiloh, you got it in the movie player.  Can you make it go?  Oooh, Mom heard it.  Why would I want to go to the bathroom at a time like this, Mom?!? Such a hassle.  I'll go if Gav and Shiloh go too.  But I want to flush!
Movie's done.  Where's dinner?  Not ready?  I'll go get a monkey juice myself.  Drinkable yogurt, what a great invention.  The monkey on the packaging just makes me want more.  I guess monkeys like this stuff too.  No blue straws?  Really?  I'll dump the rest out just to make sure.  None.  Then I'll just poke two into the drink, pink and yellow.  Two's always better than one.  In fact, I'll get another monkey juice, that was good.
No?  "Mom, I'm hungry!"  Why would you stand between a kid and his monkey juice?  Your supper isn't ready and I don't want mashed potatoes anyway.  I'll pout and stay here, wedged in the fridge.  You can't make me leave.
You made me leave.  I'm mad at you, Mom.  Discipline makes me grumpy.  Now I'll go grab Gavin's ninja toys and run.  That will be vindication.  And fun.
"Mom, he hurt me!"
Ugh. No sympathy.  What is this house coming to?
Finally, food!
I don't want chicken and mashed potatoes.  Beans?  Carrots?  Again?  Can you at least make a hole in the potatoes and fill it with gravy?  It looks neat on Gavin's plate.  No, I have no plans to eat either the potatoes or the gravy.  But I can play with the gravy puddle.  All the carrots will stick straight up if I plunge them into the potatoes.  I'll peel the green beans open and dump all the beans in the gravy.  That is a spectacular masterpiece.  Well, no, not to eat.  That would be gross.
Freed from the table, finally.  I'll take off my shirt and put on my super cape.  I can wrestle now.  C'mon, boys.  See my muscles?  (You call them fists.)  I am flexing my knuckles.  Be afraid.

This is sweaty work, beating you boys up.  Bath time!  I love bath time.  Lightning McQueen can get a ride on the little tugboat.  Ugh, it got full of water.  I'll dump it out on Shiloh's head.
"Ow, Shi hit me, Mom!"
So I have to get out?  That is so unfair.  Well, I want the blue towel then.  No, don't wrap it around me; spread it flat so I can drive Lightning McQueen on the trim.  I'm so cold!
Firetruck pajamas are good.  But they'd look better with my super cape.  No, I don't want to read a book; I'm busy flying.  Dining room, living room, kitchen.  Repeat the loop. Again.  Again.  A few more laps and I'll have clocked 2 miles.
Bedtime?  I'm just getting warmed up!  Ugh, OK, I'll brush my teeth if the boys are.  But I want more toothpaste!  I want to put it on myself!  Mmm, tasty.  At least the back of my throat will smell minty fresh.  If you want to brush my teeth, you'll have to catch me.  I'm going to hide on the top bunk bed. Fly me into my bed!
Bed.  Thomas the train pillowcase?  Check.  Cookie monster to cuddle?  Check.  Lightning McQueen to hold?  Check.  Is each brother in his bed?  Check.  No, I don't want the blanket on.  Prayer, lights out.  OK, goodnight, Mommy.  Close the door.  Ahhh, quiet.
Wait 2 minutes.  Now.
"Mommeeee!  Cuddle me!"
There you are, Mommy.  I'm ready for my blanket now.  And Ben's crying again.  He was good until I called you back in.  Can you make him be quiet?  I'm trying to sleep now.  Thanks.  I love to suck my thumb and dream about candy....  Its a good life.  Can't wait till tomorrow.