On children...

R. Scott Rodin writes (from the forthcoming Stewardship Resource Bible):

Children are a gift from God (even in their twos and those teenage years). They are never "ours" in the sense that we have an absolute right of ownership over them. Our children can never be considered in abstracto from their relationship to us as God's gift to be stewarded and cherished. How tragic is our human history of abusing, manipulating, devaluing, and ultimately destroying the lives of the children entrusted to us by God. What impact would it have on our world if parents saw their children as precious gifts from God that require our loving and committed stewardship?

What a convicting lesson. It is far too easy for me to forget this, especially when I'm surrounded by culture that outsources every task of parenting to others, from saying good morning to the goodnight kiss. They need this assistance, they say, to "get a break" from these little beasts who have put a damper on the fun of life. And having children does change life.

I'll admit, Fish and Mud Pie's constant bickering drives me to distraction, especially when I'm so ill. And St. Nick's endless energy (except now that he's sick too) can exhaust me. This past week (or two, or more) has been challenging, not just in the "getting better" department. It's been hard not to resent the runny noses and constant demands. The little beings who don't stop or even slow down when I'm barely able to attend to them. If anything, my illness or fear or distraction makes them all the more desperate for affection, which heightens the tension. Only, it doesn't have to.

It's my prayer that Dr. D and I will always remember that these lives are entrusted to us, and our responsibility in raising them is a sacred act of devotion. Both to them and to God.

Everything We Need

I started a post a day or so ago, a rambly whiny post about how hard life has been the past eight days, ever since my persistent cough became something truly noxious. Add to that, everything else seeming to fall apart at once - dental troubles, our mini van needing repairs, Fish needing surgery ...

But whining isn't the response I need to have. I've prayed so much Scripture the past week and a half. On the way to doctor's visits, as I've held St. Nick as he smoldered with fever, over the phone with a pastor from our church. It's right there, as obvious as can be. God has given us everything we need.

Not very profound, that. But does it have to be, to be true?

Something Surprising ...

On the few days I've deemed as No Screen Days, the hours of Mud Pie's nap seem endless. "I'm bored! SO Bored!"

The computer has been broken for going on three weeks. They've all been "no screen days." But yesterday afternoon I sat down to have a cup of tea. No one was talking to me, no chorus of "I'm soooo bored!" but it was far from quiet.

I heard little voices - one at my feet. "Jabber jabber jabber." I don't know what Fish was saying, but it wasn't really him talking anyway. His Little People farmer was loading matchbox cars into the bed of a wagon. "Come on, everybody in, jabber jabber."

Another voice came from the dining room - a high-pitched shriek of "Noooooo!" But it was a quiet shriek. I went in to see St. Nick bent over a Lego contraption that looked startlingly like a medieval torture device. His little Lego man whisper-screamed again, "Don't eat me! Don't eat me! Arghhhhhh!!!!!"

I returned to my tea. I do remember these sounds, voices of play, but I'd forgotten them. I'm so glad they're back. And even if it took a thousand lost dollars for me to appreciate what I now have, I consider it money well spent.

Grace Notes

Homeschooling has been a bit of a drag the past few weeks. Our warm, beautiful spring turned back to snow; St. Nick has been hard to motivate because he's developed a single-minded fixation on Legos; Little Fish and Mud Pie have been ill. I also tend to beat myself up over little things - I don't run around very much so we don't go on educational outings more than once a month or so; my friend got caterpillars (yes, HeartMom, I mean you!) and the mere thought of caterpillars in the house sends shivers of horror up my spine. How can I be a good homeschooling mom if I don't leave the house? If I don't buy caterpillars?

I'd pretty much convinced myself that I wasn't a good homeschooling mom at all.

And then yesterday, before the snowstorm hit, I sent the boys out to play in the mud yard. Suddenly St. Nick hollered, "I found a baby porcupine! A baby porcupine is on the stairs!"

It wasn't a porcupine, although I can certainly see why he'd think it was. It was one of these not-so-little guys (those aren't blades of grass - they're tulip greens!):


And what is doubly amazing, is that I actually helped St. Nick make a habitat and put the critter in it (or rather, watched while he put the critter in it). It's now on our dining room window ledge, happily munching away on ivy and tulip leaves. A caterpillar! A real, live caterpillar that we will grow and watch turn into a moth!

I don't tend to read deeply spiritual meanings into everyday events, but I couldn't help but pray a quiet 'Thank You' for the one thing that would most encourage me in this homeschooling journey. A little Note of Grace, proof that God is there, and He does care, sent quite literally to my very doorstep.

Some caterpillar links:
NPWRC information on caterpillars.
Wikipedia on the Giant Leopard Moth (which we think this guy will become).
Bug Guide: A source for more great pictures of this and other creepy-crawlies. (Another picture.)

The Shouldn't-be-Secret Joys of Homeschooling

(This is republished from my old blog, which is gone now. Poor thing.)

I've been getting a lot of comments lately about homeschooling - ranging from, "I could Never do That!" to the not-so-veiled criticism of, "I could Never do That!" And both are usually followed by the question, "Why are you Doing That?!?" The longer I homeschool, and the more often I get this question, the more fatigued I find the answering. It's made me want to put together a tract on homeschooling - the reasons, answers to common objections, the joys and trials. Maybe I will, in my spare moments (BWAAAHAAHAHAHAAAW! Ahem, excuse me while I recover a moment.).

But, to be honest, the longer I homeschool, the easier it is for me to forget why I decided to do it in the first place. I need the tract so I have something to hand to those with honest questions, something that will give them more than my typical blank stare and "Ummmmm ...." By the time I remember what homeschooling is (a lifestyle!) and why I do it (Ummm ...), the topic of conversation has shifted, or the person speaking to me has decided that I am, indeed, insane and she really ought to be going now.

So, what is this homeschooling thing good for, anyway? Aren't I stunting my child's social development? Aren't I limiting his options for the future? Aren't I spending an awful lot of time doing something that others can do better, since they're trained in it; and an awful lot of money on something I could get, if I used the public schools, for free? Wouldn't I rather be - gasp - working?

Let me tell you a little story.

My oldest, St. Nick, was sharing our tiny backyard with his little brother and sister, while I did double-duty by watching them through the lens of my camera. Time passed, I got a few good shots, the kids played, and we were all getting cold. The snow had stopped for a day, leaving an abundance of mud, so my thoughts revolved around how to get the little ones inside and stripped to undies/diapers without getting a. all the mud in the house and b. the neighbors calling CPS on the woman who leaves her kids on the stoop in their underwear/diaper in April in Michigan. I had just managed to get two of the three inside when St. Nick Screamed from the back door, "MOMMY! I FOUND A BABY PORCUPINE!!!"

Had he said he'd found a dragon or a bag of gold or a brain in a jar, I'd have said, "Oh, that's nice dear," and gone on with washing little hands. But it is Michigan, and we do have porcupines, don't we? Except not usually in the city. But who knows? We have a skunk living in the alley, somewhere. So really, why not a porcupine?

I hurried to the back door only to stop in my tracks. Nicholas was pointing at something that appeared to be stuck in the mat on the back steps. "There, Mom! It's a baby porcupine!"

Why, it did look an awful lot like a porcupine - all black with little spines sticking out. But it also looked a bit creepy-crawly and the familiar hair-raising was happening on the back of my neck. There's nothing I hate more than creepy crawlies.

"I don't think that's a porcupine, Nicholas."

"Yes, it is! Look at it!"

"No, I think it's a ... a ... a caterpillar?"

He got down on his knees and peered at it. "I see lots of legs - it IS! It IS a caterpillar!"

And then it happened. This thing called homeschooling took over. My thoughts went from, "Ewww! How will I get it OFF my MAT!" to "Wow! A caterpillar! A HUGE, DISGUSTING, FURRY Caterpillar! It could turn into a MOTH! We could WATCH it! Wouldn't that be COOL?!?" I did not share these thoughts with St. Nick, however, because watching it would entail putting it in the house, which would entail finding a jar and filling it with leaves and - EWWWWWW - getting the huge, disgusting, furry caterpillar into the jar. Somehow. I merely said, "Don't squish it, maybe we can watch it some more, okay?"

"What kind is it?"

And you know what? I was just as curious as St. Nick. We rushed inside and went to Google and after looking at a handful of creepy-crawling, icky-yucky photographs, decided it was a type of Woolly Bear caterpillar. Well, mystery solved. Great homeschool moment!

I started on lunch while St. Nick, at top volume (the only volume he has, sadly), told his brother about the Super Cool Caterpillar he found on the steps that looks just like a porcupine and will turn into a MOTH!

At this point I was muttering, "School-flool, I don't need caterpillars in my house to homeschool." Every thought of getting that furry thing into a jar was making my breath catch. I Do Not Like insects, bugs, spiders of any sort. Even Ladybugs are a stretch. I can handle looking at them, but touching one is out of the question. Same goes for butterflies. A Woolly Bear caterpillar? Not a chance.

All through lunch I eyed a huge, seldom-used vase on the window ledge, I thought of how I could cover the top in plastic wrap, fix a rubber band around it, poke holes ... that would be such a lovely caterpillar home. We could watch it build a cocoon and emerge as something winged and wriggly. I wouldn't mind watching that - I've never seen it myself.

I got the vase down. I got the plastic wrap out. And finally, I asked St. Nick, "What do you think the caterpillar would like in his home?"

He nearly exploded with glee.

But I set down one rule. "You, Nicholas, you have to be brave and put the caterpillar in the vase yourself. Can you do that?"

He eagerly agreed. So long as he could use a spoon to pick it up.

While the little ones played in their food (the baby would have to have a bath after lunch because of this), St. Nick and I went outside, found the caterpillar still on the porch, put some soil and sticks and plants in the vase. And while I stood a good ten feet away, St. Nick expertly nudged the bug onto his gardening spade and dropped it in the habitat.

So, why do I homeschool? I have lots of reasons, and most of them have to do with education and family and what's best for St. Nick. But some of them are selfish - all about me. I homeschool because every day it stretches me in ways I never thought I'd be stretched, and every day I have the excitement and privilege and joy of learning, seeing, doing things that I never got to do when I was a child.

I never thought I'd have a caterpillar in my house, and I never thought I'd be as eager as my kids to see what the "little guy" was doing when I got up this morning. Here he is - smile for the camera baby! Isn't he cute?

Hard Hearts

Tonight Dr. D read some of the Beeke book (Building on the Rock vol. 4), a story about a boy with a hard heart who didn't believe what he was taught and ran away and so on. St. Nick was very disinterested in this story - he took an active interest in being disinterested, actually.

I had been reading to Little Fish, so I asked St. Nick for a summary - he said he didn't remember, so Daddy told about it. And while he was telling me about the story, St. Nick began to ask questions and soon he was crying! He didn't like the boy having a hard heart and running away!

Well, I cuddled him and asked him about his feelings and he started getting angry, saying it was Daddy's fault for reading these mean stories. His tears slowed as he moved his emotions onto someone else. Instead of being defensive or upset, I talked about this, and suggested maybe he felt that the boy with the hard heart was him. Waterworks started again. He did feel that, and felt afraid of being alone and I think just generally afraid of what would happen if his heart stayed hard.

This became such a good moment to talk and pray and have hugs and kisses. This is the focus of homeschooling, I think. To soften that heart for all of us.

One Small Triumph

In the unlikeliest of places, I had my first Moment of Triumph about homeschooling.

We all went to the dentist this morning. LoonyMom, Dr. D, St. Nick, Little Fish, and even Mud Pie. Always an adventure. I spent most of my time with Little Fish (who had his first exam and did GREAT!) and with Mud Pie and Little Fish both.

Daddy had to relate events to me, and for some reason, this makes the story all the more special. I guess while I had Little Fish in for our cleaning, the receptionists started up a conversation with St. Nick. This is a mistake. He is the most chatty child on the face of the planet - the only time he is not speaking is when he's asleep. And even then he's been known to say a few words.

So, they started in on the usual topics, "How old are you?" Five. "What's your favorite number?" Five. "Are you in school?" Like the smartypants he is, he replies, "I go to school. I go to Home School!"

"Oh."

And the conversation would be done. Except St. Nick doesn't end a conversation until it is ended for him by someone else. Finally, this had to happen, but not long after, as he and Daddy were having their teeth checked, the conversation picked back up again, this time with the dentist and his assistant.

"So you're homeschooled, huh?" And Dr. D (aka Daddy, in case that wasn't obvious) prods, "Can you read that sign?"

St. Nick eyes the advertisement on the wall. A big grinning mouth of brilliantly white teeth. "Ask Us How," he says without hesitation.

The dentist is impressed. Then he makes the mistake of asking St. Nick what he's learning about. This is a sampling of what St. Nick discussed: Ancient Egypt, the pyramids which were tombs for the pharaoh and built by the Hebrews who were whipped because they were slaves. And Moses who was sent to lead them out of slavery. And the ten plagues (he named eight of the ten). And our indoor garden (bean plants in a windowbox). And his sense of sight and how his pupil gets big in the dark but shrinks when he turns the light on.

This is why I had to sit in the waiting room with Mud Pie (who ate nearly a whole pack of graham crackers) and Little Fish for so long.

But the dentist was impressed, his staff was impressed, and everyone was amazed a homeschooled kid could be so socially competent and such a, well, a smartypants at just five years of age.

And this just three days after LoonyMom was not so smart, and when asked why she homeschools said something along the lines of, "Uhhhhhh."

Three Weeks Down, Twenty or so Years to Go

I'm looking at baby pictures of Mud Pie - she is so beautiful. And crazy St. Nick. Can I freeze these kids now? Can I hold on to them at this moment in time and never forget the little details - the terror of the first thunderstorm, the awe of swimming goggles, the fun of a wading pool and a hose?

This is what I wanted. It really is. I didn't want what we had last year: harried race to school to drop off St. Nick, frenzied hours at home batting Little Fish away so I could quick get some things done, race back, hurry through lunch, off to naps, up to get Dr. D from work, back for dinner, errands, bed. I lost precious time with St. Nick - with all of them, really. Mud Pie's first year is lost to me. A blur of car rides, papers to sign, field trips, obligations.

Our home is family now. Do I have more work to do? Less down time? (No down time.) A harder task of juggling home, husband, kids, writing? Yes. But I also know more. I know what crafts St. Nick enjoys most and what books get his imagination going. I get to see it. I don't have to wait for a Progress Report - a stranger's assessment of my child - who is, to her, a stranger as well. I know him, and after three weeks of homeschooling, I know him better than I did three weeks ago. Better than I would after three weeks or even a year of letting someone else do what God entrusted me to do in the first place.

Am I in this for the long haul? You better believe it.

Amazing Love

Today I'm 30. The Big Three Oh.

Started off with an argument with Hubby, three sick kids, and a phone call.

The phone call made all the difference. It was my friend, calling to wish me a happy birthday and offering to take my oldest to the library with her three kids and keep him over for lunch. And when she came over, she had flowers, a card and a slice of chocolate cake.

I wasn't sure what to do or what to think - beyond being grateful and amazed and a little chagrined (I'm not quite sure when her birthday is). And a little sad that my mother will be taking us out for dinner tonight and my husband hasn't given my birthday more than two seconds of thought. I accept that he doesn't think about things like this, but it is a disappointment on the two days of the year I wish he would. (This one and Mother's Day.) Even perfect men have their flaws, I suppose.

I don't feel any different, being 30. I do feel different being a homeschool mom. I find out things about myself every day - like how I secretly do want uberkinderen and how competitive I am, and how if I continue to live vicariously through my children, I will put pressure on them to excel at things they might not even want to do. I'm a driven, moody, demanding, perfectionist of the worst sort.

So of course, accepting a gift from a friend, one given freely with nothing I have to do to repay it and nothing I had to do to earn it, except to love my friend (which I do!), is hard for me. Grace is hard for me too. I'd rather work hard for my salvation, and fail (as I know I would), and receive my due punishment, than to accept Grace. Free Gift? It makes me feel awkward, and a little desperate, and - God forbid - grateful.

There are many things I cannot do, many things I'm doing badly, yet I still have the love of my friends and the Grace of God. I'm not used to needing, but I know I do. I needed that phone call this morning, and I need the love of my friends, and I need that G thing. So, in case I haven't said it enough (not that anyone will ever read this), Thank You. I am grateful.

Nine Years Ago, Today

I stand beneath blistering lights at VanDyke Photography studio.

My dress brushes the floor when I turn, sweeps behind me when I take a step. Vintage 1960 ivory lace and satin, which I’d found at a Lansing antique store for $99. A dress that is perfectly me, entirely unique. The secret blessing of a tight budget. And I bought it (rather, my parents did) two months before engagement.

I knew. I had only known this man, the one I am waiting for at the photography studio, six months when I bought the dress, had only been dating him four. But I knew.

I like to say we met Goofing Off.

We were at work, in the upstairs hallway of Sunshine Community Church, sitting on the floor outside empty classrooms. The walls glowed with fresh paint and our job that day was to take a chemical solvent to the baseboards, to remove the slopped smears and drips of paint. The name of the product was Goof Off.

Maybe the fumes went to our heads, but our conversation turned to the future. What were our hopes? What did we want most out of life?

“We’re done with the girls, with the bride’s parents,” the photographer says. “Shall we bring in the groom?”

I was too young for him. Only nineteen, nine years his junior. He had fears, he will tell me later, that I was too young to know my own mind, too young to be trusted.

That day after Goofing Off, I knew. I wrote in my journal, “I think I met someone. I won’t say more because I always do that. I always say, ‘I know! This is the one! This is IT!’ and I have always been wrong. This time, hear me, journal. I will say nothing.” Several months later I sat beside my friend Lucy, visiting from the then Czech Republic, in the church narthex, and I pointed to the man in the maintenance uniform. “That’s him, that’s the man I’m going to marry.”

The photographers send everyone off the studio floor and out the doors. I look at them, confused. The assistant smiles at me. “He hasn’t seen you in your dress, has he?” I shake my head. She nods and follows the photographer out of the room.

One of my work responsibilities was to make up the schedule. Who would work concerts? Who would open Saturday morning, or close after services Sunday night? Tuesday evenings and Saturday mornings were our days. No one else worked with us, and only rarely did a call on the radio interrupt our conversations. Soon those conversations continued over late night cups of coffee and slices of pie, and soon those late nights became bleary drives back to my apartment in the predawn hours, exhausted, exhilarated, certain.

I will tell him later of the hours spent manipulating the schedule, accommodating fifteen or more employees’ preferences, their requested days off, and still holding on to Tuesdays and Saturdays. He will laugh. “I wondered why we were always working together.”

I wait in the empty studio. Of all the moments of that day, this I will remember. Black cloth drapes the walls, wires snake across the floor, the lights obscure my view of the door. I pace as time stretches on. I am not sure why I am alone, and I am beginning to worry—is there a problem? Was I supposed to have left with the rest?

I do not see him until he is standing at the edge of the circle of light. His eyes glisten. And again, I know.

Nine years later, three children, and conflicts and struggles that were not in our plan, I still know. I have changed and so has he, but my promise that day has not.

August 9, 1997
August 9, 2006
August 9 for the rest of my life.
Our Hearts, Our Souls, Our Love Forever.

What I Learned on my Summer Vacation

1. Toddlers have an inborn fear of water. They also develop unnatural attachments to their life jackets, and so refuse to take them off, even at mealtimes. (Or at least my toddler did. Little Fish spent a day standing on shore, watching the big kids swim. And he loved every minute of it.)

2. Big kids have more sense than I give them credit for (that is—a very little, which is still more than none at all). St. Nick never pushed his brother in the water, never fell in the water, never jumped in the water, never ventured into the deeps. He inherited my hesitation. He’ll get over it, but hopefully not for a few more years.

3. All cottages should come equipped not just with maids and chefs, but also with nannies.

4. But since they don’t, it’s okay not to know where all six (combined) kids are at any given moment.

5. It’s also okay to see an assortment of fearsome insects indoors. It’s a cottage—this is expected. The frog climbing up the window behind my husband’s head was a bit more of a surprise.

6. Frogs are every bit as amazing to grownups as they are to kids.

7. Macs may indeed be superior to PCs.

8. Even my husband agrees my swimsuit looks horrid (floral and skirted), but agrees it does not make me look fat. A workable trade-off, I think.

9. The fragrant breeze on the sun porch at 1am has the power to transport me to summer camp when I was eight. Early morning swimming lessons (which I failed), angst-ridden walks to the bathhouse in the dark, lonely hours in the cabin while the other girls swim with their friends. How good to be an adult, but how easily I remember those anxieties of childhood.

10. Babies will sleep anywhere.

11. Pete’s Strawberry Blonde tastes even better with friends.

12. Cloves still give me a stomachache.

13. Two men and four kids in a rowboat is a sight to behold.

14. Even first thing in the morning, after little sleep and with no makeup, my friend is still beautiful.

15. And even though she’s beautiful, my husband still looks only at me.

16. We have been blessed with incredible, fun, creative, cool, talented friends.

It was a magical weekend, both for us and for the children. I don’t think I have ever seen the kids so happy, or so tired. But there is one final thing I learned this weekend.

17. My world is too small; there are too many things I do not know and now long to know.

I long to row to the middle of the lake at midnight, and listen.
I long to wait there and watch dawn rise into the rippling bowl.
I long to slide down the hill in a toboggan in winter—with or without the kids.
I long to capture the magic. To hold on to it so it will never fade. I long to hold the glow on the children’s faces, to keep fresh the longing in my own heart. But no matter how many words I use, or how many photographs I take, the brilliance of the moment will fade, as it must.

This is the nature of magic.