Gift Tag: All Over Us

As you may have read, I’ve opted for a theme word for 2009 rather than a set of resolutions. In my pursuit of harmony, the word that chose me, I’ve been prompted by some conversations this week to consider this question: How do you achieve harmony between folks who don’t agree? Different people with differing view points–not just life circumstances, but life choices and priorities and beliefs. Is it really possible to agree to disagree? Can friendship occur in that situation? Can harmony? Building relationships with like-minded pals is pretty easy. But, building and nurturing relationships with the unlike-minded is advanced harmony. It’s harmony coursework at the 5000 level. You have to want it, because harmonizing at that level takes some work.

As is often the case, Little Drummer Boy inadvertently taught me something. He reminded me that true harmony with my fellow man, woman and child has a ground rule. And, the lesson came in another episode of the “doo doo chronicles.”

Last week I was sitting at the dressing table in my bedroom trying to minimize the look of not enough sleep so as not to frighten any Saturday morning fellow grocery shoppers. Hub had been supervising while Squiggle and Little Drummer Boy watched a movie and Baby Girl watched Squiggle and Little Drummer Boy. It had given me the opportunity to grab a quick shower before morning errands, and I’d vacated the bathroom just in time for LDB’s second cup of juice to convince him it was “tee-tee” time.

His jaunt in the bathroom was suspiciously long, and I vaguely remember that no flushing sound preceded him bounding out of the door on the way to not missing any more of his movie. As I glanced down the hall between eye liner and blush, I caught him in a hurried shuffle with the back side of his Thomas the Train underwear in plain view and his blue jeans down around his ankles. How I love the innocence of a just-shy-of-four-year old’s utter disregard of pants down around the ankles, but… Cue concern: There are still a few finer points of potty ettiquette we haven’t covered yet–at least we haven’t covered them convincingly enough. And, no time like the present.

Mommy: “Sweetie, we don’t need to come out of the bathroom with our pants down.”
LDB: “Why?” [I love that boy]
Mommy: “Because it’s not modest.”
LDB: Quizzical look.
Mommy: “That means we need to cover ourselves.”
LDB: “Yeah, so we don’t show anyone our knees.” [If only. I'll remember that one for Baby Girl.]
Mommy: “Well, it’s ok for people to see our knees, but we don’t want to show anyone our bottom-boo.”
LDB: “Yes. Because if we doo-doo on them, it will get all over us.”

Righhhht. My insistence that Little Drummer Boy pull his pants up before going one step further was punctuated by giggles and reflection. Harmony in relationships does indeed have a baseline, a ground rule, reiterated in a hundred different refrains of the same tune.

What goes around comes around. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. “Whatever a man sows, this will he also reap.” (galatians 6:7)

So often that verse is used as a weapon, an accusation against the “opposition.” But, “if we doo-doo on them, it will get all over us.” It’s the basic principle of life God created and set in motion: you get what you give. When I give peace, when I give love, when I give hope, I can much more easily recognize it in others around me. I can’t make someone’s choices for him, but I can choose to extend love and peace and joy and hope. Harmony isn’t about agreeing. Harmony is about finding the common ground and the largeness of spirit to give what I want to receive. So, I’m thinking our doo-doo is best put in the potty, lest it get all over us.

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

Gift Tag: Cars, Rain and Manna

From Little Drummer Boy’s first driving to daycare “Good Morning Prayer” of 2009:

Dear God
Thank you for today.
Thank you for the sunshine [although it's cloudy/drizzly today] and everything You have made.
Thank you for the cars that drive [in response to Squiggle's insistence that we look for a bus going by?]
and the rain that pours
and the drops that pour
and manna…

I didn’t catch the rest because I was scrambling in my purse (while navigating the green arrow light) for a pen to write down the words of wisdom from my 3 1/2 year old…

Cars. Thank You, God, for the vehicles you park before us to get us to the place you want us to be. Thank You that You’ve continually kept the engine running on your plan while we go back in to take care of this and that.

Rain. Thank You, God, for the downpours that wash away the excess and the unnecessary–the stacked up clutter of our lives and spirits that slows us down as we get to where you want us to be. Thank You for nourishment disguised as storms, inducing the growth needed to put down roots where you want us to be.

Manna. Thank You, God, for shining the light on this day’s provision, this day’s step toward where you want us to be.  Thank You that enough is sweet like honey and ripe for savoring.  Thank You that though we are not yet where You want us to be, Your provision in the wandering is steadfast.

And, thank You for the countless bedtime Bible stories that have incorporated “manna” into my baby’s vocabulary. Thank You for for the sponge-like stage that calls such a word to his mind unexpectedly.  Thank You for the innocence found in the unlikeliest of teachers.

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

Gift Tag: Lessons in Dignity

We are entrenched in potty training at my house these days.  And, let me tell you:  Nothing can make both Mommy and little boy slam dance between tears and giggles quite like a little “tee tee” and “doo doo” time.  Who knew that pull-ups and their contents would become such acceptable dinner conversation topics?  Red suckers, the promise of a Tigger movie, Elmo and Thomas the Train “big boy underwear” and some irrational cheering and possible dancing — these are the tools of the potty trade!  Yes, we are all sharing in the pride of my 3 1/2 year-old’s excited “I put my ‘tee tee’ in the potty!”

Little Drummer Boy was slow to try out the “big potty,” slow to look at the “big potty,” slow to hear us even mention the “big potty.”  He was perfectly content to go on about his business until his pull-ups were completely full and leaking.  We knew that once he overcame the hurdle of just trying it, his “training phase” would be done.  He would be an accident-free expert.  That’s just how he does things.  And, that’s pretty much how it was with his “tee tee.”

“Doo doo” is another story.

LDB has always been the more modest of my two boys, especially about his “dirty britches.”  He’s also the one who is most resistant to change in his routine and way of doing things.  Those qualities have made for a longer “doo doo” training time, and one prone to accidents.  Several times over the past few weeks, Little Drummer Boy has made himself scarce when the urge hit, and Mommy’s searching has turned up toddler tears and full underwear.  He seems to have taken to heart our instruction that “doo doo is a private thing!”  So, I try to stay on the look out for a missing 3-year-old.

Last week, a “Don’t come in here, Mommy” was the tell-tale sign that another chapter in the “doo doo” chronicles was imminent.  It came just after little brother Squiggle had finished his bath–step one in the one-two punch of our nightly bath/bedtime rituals.  With Mommy and Daddy tag-teaming the process and everyone tired from the day, I’m sad to say that we are sometimes not our best selves during the bath and bed hour. This night we had “doo doo” in the britches, “tee tee” on the pants, tears in Little Drummer Boy’s eyes and impatience in Mommy’s attitude to contend with–all in the 10-minute space before bath time.  It wasn’t one of my proudest moments, to say the least.

I took off LDB’s shoes, socks and pants, and cleaned him up, all the while nagging about the finer points of letting Mommy know when you “need to doo doo.”  I knew Hub was about to get LDB’s bath ready, so despite tears, I convinced him that we did not need to put his shoes back on.  Amidst many “no”s and “but, I NEED to put my pants on,” I also coerced him to walk back to his room (without anything covering his “bottom-boo”) to get a pull up.  With Little Drummer Boy’s concern growing and my patience dwindling, I had the brilliant idea that he could just stand there and wait a few minutes for Daddy to get the bath going — no wasted pull-up, no wasted pants, no wasted time.  Obviously, I hadn’t been listening.  There, with hands over his eyes and tears welling up, my Little Drummer Boy revealed his heart and got my attention.

“I don’t want to stand here (sob)… with no pants on.”

It was the voice of frustration and hurt.  It was the cry of having obeyed despite his own little personal cost.  Then, I knew.  I had taken his dignity.  For my own convenience.  And, it broke my heart.  I had made my sweet, modest baby boy walk from the bathroom to his room and stand there–half naked and exposed–in full view of Daddy and his brother while I lectured him on what he really “needed to do” when he had “doo doo.”  I had shown him complete and total disrespect as a person.  Yes, a quick look in the internal mirror proved that “doo doo” was the least stinky thing in the room at that moment.  I immediately got a clean pull-up and tried to soothe his spirit.

I’ve struggled over the last few days to understand why the experience affected me so much.  It was one of those moments that happen a hundred times in a week when we reason, cajole or scold to get something accomplished in a home with two toddlers and a baby.  LDB was over it almost immediately and on to more fun things.  But, I sat down and cried.  It was profoundly sad to me on several levels.

I was sad because Little Drummer Boy knew he was naked.  He knew he was exposed, and he was self-conscious about it.  It wasn’t the first time, I know, but it was another sign of growing up.  Somehow, without me realizing it, he had lost a little more of his innocence, the carefree freedom of being unaware.  And, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden when they realized they were naked, he felt the desire to be covered.  His heart cry reminded me again that things are not as they really should be, as God made them to be.  As beautiful and as loving as my beloved children are, they are still dirty without God.  And, I want them to know Him.

I was sad because I saw my own selfishness.  I had allowed my own schedule to prevail.  I was ashamed that my Little Drummer Boy had to shout his heart’s cry to be heard above MY voice.

I was sad because I valued something worthless over what is priceless.  I had focused on the inconvenience of dirtying another pair of pants rather than on nurturing a confident respect in his body and spirit.  In the zeal to train him, I overlooked an opportunity to affirm his modest attitude, something highly rare these days.

I was sad because I exposed him instead of covering him.  Something I thought I would never intentionally do to another human, I had done to my own child.  I had taken his dignity.  My first reaction should have been to cover –to shield and protect in the most intimate way as God did in that first Garden.  The mark of love is that it covers.  I want that to characterize my home.

We sometimes have the mistaken impression that children don’t need the same covering grown-ups do.  Sure, we cover their toes at bedtime and their ears at play time.  But, we often leave their heart desires exposed, assuming somehow that their feelings may not be as valid because they are young and immature.  I’ve realized how often I forget to show due respect to the baby people in my house simply because they are children.  Too often, I talk about them like they are not in the room, just because they may not understand the words.  Too often, I discuss one’s shortcomings while the other may be listening.  Too often, I ignore their concerns in favor of what works for me because I’m the adult.

Dignity and respect are rare commodities in our culture today.  Once lost, they are often hard to get back.  The latest episode in our “doo doo” chronicles was a valued lesson in protecting the baby humans under my care.  I want to so infuse my children’s lives with dignity–with respect and worth–that they know how to recognize it, desire to emulate it and strive to give it to others.

“Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins.” (1 peter 4:8)

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

6th Day of Thanksgiving: Two Years with Squiggle

My little Squiggle Man is two years old today!  He doubled my joy on that Tuesday before Thanksgiving in 2006, a joy that continues to grow every day.  His birth made one of my most memorable Thanksgiving holidays.  When I went to the doctor on the Friday before, he decided that we would induce labor on Tuesday, November 21.  We had already determined that Squiggle would be the namesake of both of my grandfathers.  It wasn’t until I got home from the doctor’s office that the date sunk in.  He would be born on November 21, my Grandaddy’s birthday.  We knew, then, his name was well-chosen.  By 10am, I had him in my arms.  After two nights in the hospital, we brought him home–on Thanksgiving Day.

I remember that day as one of the most peaceful and joyful holidays I’ve experienced.  It was sunny and crisp, but not too cold.  A beautiful Autumn day.  We hardly knew it was a holiday, but we had much to be thankful for.  I was so glad to see and touch him on the outside and to be relieved from the pressure of having his 8 lbs 15 oz taking over my belly.  We got home just after lunch with big brother Little Drummer Boy all dressed up and proud of his new playmate.  I remember just wanting to soak them both up.  My nights at Oktibbeha County Hospital with Hub bunking in had been the only nights we’d spent away from Drummer Boy since he was born.  I was so happy to have them both home in our house–safe, healthy and in hugging distance.

It took us until the early afternoon to get home, get settled in and realize we were hungry.  Starkville is a university town, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving every other year brings in fans for the State/Ole Miss football game.  We’d never been in town for Thanksgiving, but we hoped the extra visitors for the upcoming game meant the standard take-out options would be open despite the holiday.  We called around and found out Ruby Tuesdays was one of the few restaurants available and placed our order.  There, around the table with a high-chair and a basinette, we enjoyed Thanksgiving lunch from black styrofoam take-out boxes–loaded fries, the sustenance of gratitude.

We had our traditional Thanksgiving meal on Saturday with a few sleepless newborn nights under our belt.  We cooked it and ate it at my house.  Although we spread the table with the same dishes cooked from the same recipes, it was another first.  Every year before and since, the menu has been reserved for Grandmother’s house, MeMa’s house or Mama’s house.  Still, it was a precious change filled with the comfort and joy of being in the first place your children belong.

The blessing of getting to know Squiggle is just two years in the making now.  We are basking in joy that pops in and out, sitting just beneath the surface of the frustration inherent in parenting a toddler through those first tough lessons.  As with Little Drummer Boy (and I’m sure Baby Girl to follow), we are sometimes heavy with the realization that so much of who he is becoming is who we are, and who we are training him to be.

Squiggle is intensly resolved.  Some might call it strong-willed, that character trait we so often admire in adults, but chide in toddlers.  Even in the womb he was resolved.  He would straighten both his legs out to push against the constraints–one foot on each side under my ribs.  It took more than a few pokes and pushing back on his heels to get him to move, releasing my lungs to take a deep breath.  He came out of the womb determined to make his own way.  Even as an infant, he would never simply rest his head on my shoulder like his brother did.  He would always push back to take in his surroundings.  Only now does his loving spirit sometimes give in and allow me that fleeting luxury at bedtime.  Squiggle is passionate about everything.  He does everything and feels everything at 110%, fully giving himself to it.  He is the most fun-loving of my children, the most willing to test his wings with abandon.  This trait has prompted more than one person to tell me, “he will be the one to watch.”  He learned to smile very quickly, and practices often, along with his trademark squeal-fueled giggle and the universal animal roar he has made his own.  His eyes often reveal the twinkle of joyful mischief within, and he is the one most likely to fling himself into your arms–for two seconds before moving on to the next passion.

I love this picture from our first photo shoot.  He’s wearing the same white outfit each of my children have worn home from the hospital, and a baby blue sweater–the perks of being born in November.  I see an earnest expression, brow almost furrowed in thought. I still see that today sometimes when he is trying to make sense of his little world–resolving his passion for whatever is before him with the joy of life his heart seems to exude.  He will be a spectacular man.

God, please help us to get him there with his vibrant spirit unfettered.

Gift Tag: The Hug Store

Little Drummer Boy (my 3 1/2 year old) and I have a little game that goes something like this…

Mommy:  Do you have a hug for me today?
LDB: No. (said with a giggle)
Mommy: Oh no!  I need a hug.  Don’t you have one for me?
LDB:  No. (more giggling)
Mommy:  Do you have one in your pocket?
LDB:  (extended pause)  Ummm. Yes.
And, he pulls an imaginary hug out of his pocket and gives it to me.  Nice.

Sometimes…

Mommy: Are you sure you don’t have a hug for me?  I really need a hug this morning.
LDB: But, I have one at school.
Mommy:  You have it at school?
LDB:  Yes. (said with a giggle)
Mommy:  Are you going to bring it home for me?
LDB: Yes.
Mommy:  I wish I had a hug right now.
LDB: But, I don’t have any more hugs.
He usually relents and somehow finds one before he heads out the door.

There are a hundred variations.  Sometimes the game translates to a request for his “special” kisses–the ones that aren’t just a peck, but all slobber and giggles.  My usual response is “Oooh, I’m going to keep that all day long.”  It’s the dance we do.  And, I’m a willing participant.  I relish the process because I know one day (way before I’m ready) I’ll have to do a lot more begging that that to get a hug from my big man.  One day he’ll be the one leaning down for the hug instead of me.

One morning this week, the game took a slightly different turn…

Mommy:  You’re out of hugs?  But, I really wanted a hug.  Can you get another one?
LDB:  Yes, I can get one.  From The Hug Store.
Where does he get this stuff?  Laughter ensued from Mommy and Daddy, which made Little Drummer Boy giggle, too.  And, of course, I gave him a shake-down to find the one last hug hidden deep inside after all.

The Hug Store.  Talk about your retail therapy.
Who am I kidding?  What he’s offering, money can’t buy!

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)