Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
Our daughter is a few months from turning the magic age. Three, it seems, is to children what 16 is to teenagers and 21 is to college students. Worlds of possibility open at the age of 3.
Take, for instance, the Happy Meal. She will soon be eligible for the regular, not the under 3, toy every time. And we won’t feel guilty for giving her toys and books that say, “Small parts, not for children under 3.”
Perhaps most exciting is the entrance into the realm of board games. I grew up in a board game family. Some of my best memories are nights spent playing Monopoly with my grandparents or Taboo at Thanksgiving or Guesstures at Christmas. We’ve been reluctant to buy any kid-friendly board games because, while we think she’s brilliant (what parent doesn’t think their kid is a genius?), even we could recognize that she needed to be of a certain age before we attempted game play.
So, for Christmas, she received Chutes and Ladders. This week, especially, while her brother naps, she’s been asking to play it. She likes the fun pictures of the kids.
Here’s how one of our games tends to go:
I explain the rules to her.
She dances her game piece across the board.
I tell her she needs to spin.
She spins, then stops it with her fingers.
I tell her to spin and let go.
She spins.
I move her game piece to the correct spot.
She whines, “But Mommy, I want to go to the movies!” (one of the spots in the middle of the game board, at the top of a ladder is of a girl going to the movies).
I explain that she has to work her way up to that square.
She gets quiet.
I spin and move my piece.
She moves her piece to the middle of the board without spinning.
I swallow the urge to walk away from the game.
I explain the rules again.
She says she wants to go ice skating (another of the spots on the board).
I explain that the ice skating square is a bad one because it makes you go back toward the beginning.
You get the idea, I hope. I suspected this might be a problem for me earlier in the week when she was playing with her vTech laptop, too. I don’t know the age recommendation for that, but I’m pretty sure she’s at least a year too young for it. All she wants to do is push the buttons and click the mouse with no regard for the rules. I want her to learn, but most of the time I just want to grab the mouse and play the games for her.
I’m a rule-follower. I like precision and doing things the “right” way. Sometimes, I can’t even color with her because I want to color the characters the way they’re “supposed” to be. (Are Dora’s shorts red? What color are Boots’ ears? Is Spongebob all yellow? These are the pressing questions in my life.)
Then I remember that I don’t do things right all the time. I don’t always follow the rules. I’ve messed up. I’ve made mistakes. Sometimes God has stepped in to stop me from doing wrong. Other times, He let me make a mistake and learn from it. And I realize how much love there is in that non-action. And how incredibly difficult it must be.
I don’t want my kids to make mistakes, especially the grievous, hurtful kind that can change a life forever. But I also know that I can’t do everything for them in life. That some things they’ll have to learn on their own. And sometimes they’re going to do things the wrong way, and I’m going to have to watch them do it, learn from it and grow from it.
For now, that means loosening up a little while playing games. So what if she doesn’t follow the rules? She’s not even 3 yet. She will learn in time.
And maybe, if I chill out a little bit, she’ll even WANT me to teach her.
It started out as a good idea. Well, maybe even that’s a stretch. How many ideas from the mouth of an almost-three-year-old can truly be called “good”?
Two active children and winter, I’ve found, don’t mix well. Or maybe they don’t mix well because I’m more an indoor, sit on the couch and read type of winter person than say, head out and enjoy the snow kind of person. I like being outside. I don’t like the idea of putting 2 or 3 layers of clothing on 3 people, two of whom are running away from me while I’m trying to outfit them in winter attire.
This day, though, I almost had no choice. We had colored a picture for MeeMaw, for her birthday, and even though it was Saturday and her birthday was Monday, Isabelle, the 3-year-old, WOULD NOT REST until said picture was in the mailbox. Any attempt to explain to her that putting the letter in the mailbox Saturday was just like putting it in the box on Monday was futile. “NO. We HAVE to put it in the mailbox.” I might add that vehicle transportation was not an option as my husband was at work and wouldn’t be home till after dark.
So, I ventured into the unknown, a little fearfully, a little confidently. Certainly I could dress two children for an outdoor excursion a block and a half away, in winter, accomplish our mission and live to tell about it. I mean, it’s not like I was taking them on an Antarctic expedition.
Because it had snowed, I opted to dress Corban in his snow pants so he wouldn’t have to sit in snow in the wagon. If you have ever seen “A Christmas Story” you might guess what’s coming next. As I was outfitting his sister for the ride/walk, he fell flat on his face. If he wasn’t crying his little eyes out, I might have laughed. Isabelle wasn’t yet dressed, so I had to find a way to prop Corban up against me as I finished her weatherfitting. In my haste, I couldn’t make her snow boots fasten across her pantleg, so one boot was loosely secured on her foot.
Snowpants and jackets on, it was time for gloves and hats. Usually this isn’t a problem. Hats and gloves stay with the coats the kids usually wear, but since they were wearing their winter coats, I had to search for the other snow accessories. And for the life of me, I could not find two matching mittens for Corban. By this time I was flustered and rushed yet committed to the mailbox mission, so I grabbed the first two Corban-sized gloves I could find.
We made it out the door and remarkably, I strapped Corban into the wagon only to discover that the two mismatched mittens I’d found for Corban were both lefts. But we were already out of the house, so there was no turning back. Isabelle had decided to walk at least some of the way to the mailbox. She has a tendency to pick up on moods, so as we set out on our journey, she shuffled along muttering, “I’m sorry. I just want my Dad.” Could any other set of words break a mother’s heart like those did? I asked her why she wanted her Dad. “Because he would fix my boot,” she said.
Then and there, my attitude flipped. I apologized to Isabelle for being hyper and frustrated.
We were cold, but we accomplished what we set out to do. Corban sat sort of chill in the wagon, and Isabelle kept up with us as she walked. And MeeMaw received her picture, at least the week of her birthday.
Determination is an admirable quality, but I hope she saves these wild ideas for spring. I’m not sure I can handle many more winter outings like this.
Then again, cabin fever is the pits, too.
I’m learning to laugh about stuff like this. If I don’t, it’s going to be a VERY long winter.