Being a younger sibling to three boys, one of whom was
a Warrior, had its influence on our baby
girl.
I found yesterday that Marike, age 11 months, already
sword fights with skill. Warrior Willie spared her none of his fierce energy as
he clashed his rattle against hers, in parry and thrust, thrust and parry.
"Careful, Barika!" he warned solicitously as
he closed in for another smash-up...
Willie's Cottage Prayer
"Thank-you that we can play all day...
Thank-you that we can eat yummy food....
Thank-you that we can eat all day…"
Sailing Bluebeard's Ship
A Near Drowning
We've enjoyed our little pool a lot this summer...
until last week when Marike nearly drowned in it. Apart from falling, banging
one's head, and getting a concussion, I've always wondered how a toddler would
drown in such shallow water. But with the vivid picture imprinted on my mind of
my baby on her back, arms and legs flailing while water washes over her face, I
wonder no more.
She did manage to turn herself around and get herself
up, just as I heroically arrived to save her - having split two toes open on
the way. (Then the kids had to save me from fainting into the pool, as I felt
like doing in my combined relief and pain and bloodiness...)
But she was so worth the effort. As Anna put it so well, "We'd rather
have our sweet baby than your toes, right, Mom?"
Convalescing Baby
Poor Babs. I don't usually feel the need to go to the
doctor for stomach flu, but she was so sick that we did one trip to the doctor
and one trip to the hospital. Both times we were told that she was still
hydrated and doing okay. Saturday she
became more perky, gave us coy looks and smiles, babbled more, roamed, and
threw the first temper tantrum of her life – all of which were very positive
signs of recovery.
Willie prayed at breakfast yesterday, "Thank-you
that we can have milk in our bowl. Thank-you for the yummy, yummy, yummy,
oatmeal that Mommy could make for us. Thank-you that baby was a little bit of
sick. Thank-you that Baby can close her eyes. Thank-you that Baby is eating
up...."
I peeked and saw that Baby was covering one eye with
one hand, and with the other hand she was shoveling oatmeal in her mouth as
fast as she could.
This morning she ate two bowls of oatmeal - a first for
her - then went begging for portions from the other kids' bowls, rubbing her
chest and saying, "Beeeeep! Beeeep!" (please! please!)
Praise God!
When she wants to be particularly ingratiating she
"beeps" while rubbing all the way from her chest down to her toes,
quite irresistibly.
Trying to Break a Habit
The thumbs that were such handy pacifiers when the kids
were babies were quite a bother later. Here is a tale from the days when we were
trying to help Wills outgrow his thumb-sucking habit.
As part of the process, he had to learn to keep a
"mitten shirt" on at night. Of course, he could easily get out of the
shirt - and he did. I offered him a banana if he kept it on all night. I
offered him raisins. But more often than not, when we came to check him on our
way to bed, we found he had worked his hands out of his mitten sleeves again.
His protest every morning was, "I didn't see me do that!"
Finally Joseph suggested, "He likes pennies."
"All right, Willie," I said, thinking it
over. "How many pennies should I give you in the morning if you keep your
mitten shirt on all night?"
He thought it over. I was guessing he'd say "a
hundred!" since that's how high he can count. But I was anticipating a
shrewdness that was yet beyond him.
"TWO!" he shouted gleefully.
"Okay," I said calmly - shrewdly hiding my
own glee at how cheaply a new habit might be bought with this innocent little
negotiator. "You keep your mitten shirt on tonight, and I'll give you TWO
pennies - AND a wallet you can keep them in."
For two days Willie triumphantly kept his end of the
deal. And with four whole pennies in his wallet, and with Jo offering to sell
his toys and his snack for Willie's pennies, Willie was feeling pretty
powerful. It didn't take long for him to realize he'd undersold himself.
"Actually," he said to me, "I think you
should give me FOUR pennies when I keep my mitten shirt on."
"Okay," I agreed.
("Isn't it
kinda like rewarding him for having a bad habit?" Our sensible
ten-year-old wanted to know.
"I gave you a whole quarter when you kept your
mittens on at night when you were four."
"Oh," she said, mollified.)
The four cents a day still seemed like a pretty good
deal to me, but about a week later Willie upped his demands again.
"I know!" he said with sudden inspiration, as
I was counting out his four pennies. "You should also give me a credit
card! Yah!"
Very funny, Willie. (He didn't think it was funny.)
I won't say it didn't cross my mind at this point that
perhaps I was trading his bad habit for a worse problem, but I didn't really
realize how serious the situation was until one morning when were sitting at
the kitchen table memorizing Matthew 6. As I explained to the children the
meaning of the word "mammon", Willie's eyes lit up.
" I LOVE mammon!"
The rest of us exchanged chagrined looks.
"But Willie, do you love money more than you love
God?" Though I tried to sound calm, my anxiety to have Willie undo his
terrible declaration was showing itself. The correct answer was so obviously
"no" as to make the question ridiculous.
But Willie is not famous for cluing into the obvious.
"Yes!" he said gleefully.
I could see six eyebrows shoot up around the table, as A,
J & J looked for my response.
Of course, I should have seen this coming. And it was, in
a way, a good thing - it forced me to converse with my kids, just as I have to
converse with myself, on the temporary nature of money, and its very limited
usefulness, as compared with things eternal.
Afterwards, I had to question whether offering a monetary
reward had created the problem. Wasn't I encouraging him to love money?
I don't think so. Yes, I wanted him to value it more
than he valued his bad habit. But it's our own sin that tends to makes idols
out of God's gifts. God hasn't stopped giving me pennies, even though I'm prone
to make more of them than of Him.
March 17, 2013
I was telling the family over dinner how impressed I
was that Willie wrote 1000000 on my bulletin in church and then said, “that’s a
million!” I’m not sure how he knew this. Anyways, Jimmy had to put in, “Well,
there are 493 numbers.”
“No, Jim!” Four of us jumped at him - and I as his
homeschool mom was especially mortified at this inexplicable mistake on his
part. Is this the kid I thought was so brilliant? In grade 3 he thinks the
biggest number is 493??
“No wait!” he said, clarifying with an embarrassed
laugh. “ I MEAN, there are 493 SONGS! In the Hymnal!”
As for William writing numbers on my bulletin in church
– am I on a slippery slope here, folks? Can we call it note taking if he’s
writing numbers? I don’t know… I’m getting soft in my old age… I never let any
of our kids scribble on bulletins in church before. He did take some notes,
first, if that helps.
“I’m going to write ‘lest’, Mom".
Lest is such a good church word.
Sweet William
Willie announced recently (out of the blue): "I have come to love you, Mommy."
(A bit later, as I was fondly recollecting this sweet
comment while I buttered my toast, I glanced up to see Willie grinning at me.
"Mommy, you look funny when you smile at your bread like that!")
Sweet Baby
Babyboo was still fast asleep when I went up to get her
up from a nap one afternoon. I watched her for a moment; she was stretched out
like a lazy cat in the sunshine, and was smiling in her sleep. I whispered,
"Hi, Beautiful."
She rolled over lazily, opened her eyes, saw me, and said, "Boo!"
She rolled over lazily, opened her eyes, saw me, and said, "Boo!"
I love one-year-olds. :)
Marike’s First Coherent Prayer
“Dear Lord. Thank-you - got haircut. Jesus’ name.
Amen!”
