These days...

Time seems to be not marching, but skipping happily through our home.  While we still have one in diapers, there is no longer a baby in our home but a full-fledged toddler.  I think Brandon and I are especially aware of this new phase of life.  No cumbersome nap schedules or complex feeding issues to worry about when we head out as a family.  But also nothing to truly slow us down in the same way, and thus, the pace has picked up a bit.  Now, we have to fight it back ourselves rather than relying on a baby to tie us down.  Here is our new two year old, leaning over the dock at his grandparents house to explore the lake water.  It was a warm T'giving!

This is Hannah "reading" her book.  She too has seemed so old lately as her legs have finally grown a bit longer.  (She is truly a petite ball of fire.)  She calls her book, "The Fellowship".  She has asked us to pay her a penny for each book she "reads" at night.  Last week she insisted her father buy her a flashlight for reading at night.  She doesn't want to learn her abcs, or work on phonics, but she is certain that she wants to be a reader one day like her big brother and sister.  

This last picture is for me.  All our indians dressed up and playing together.  While we do have lots of days of bickering and quarreling, we also have some days where I marvel at how well the five of them play "together", across ages and stages.  They grow, they change, and they continue to learn how to work and play together in each new season.  Plus, look at that little indian on the left, isn't that face great?

The song in my head...

I recently have started playing a few of my old piano pieces from lessons I took as a child.  I hurry to sit at the bench for a few minutes while John Mac pulls out his cello and chair to practice, trying to get a whole song in while he adjusts his endpin. I have loved remembering old pieces, seeing how my fingers can still follow the old patterns better than I can read the notes.  The other day I found an old piece that I have played in my head over the years more than any other.  It was a comfortable pattern to go to and for years I have played it in my mind and on the invisible keyboard before me.  It's a piece that I would play on my fingers on a desk as I was thinking for a test, or in those moments of time where I was waiting anxiously before an interview.  I found the piece this week and it was just as I had remembered it.  It has a bright and regular tempo, but unusual notes that create a surprising melody for such a metered beat.  I guess the combination has a special key to some part of my mind.
As I watch my kids learn and grow, I feel like they each have a piece of music that God placed in their lives.  It is interesting to me that I actually see it best in moments of stress, just as my playing often came out at those times.  I watch as one child problem solves with such creativity.  Another builds and draws.  One is always singing and hugging.  Different melodies, different strengths...And here is the tough part...this momma resonates more easily with some pieces than others.  Some are quite catchy for me and stick in my head and others take work for me to follow.  I always knew mothers loved all their children, but I didn't know until I was a mother that the work load involved in loving and learning your kids can really vary.  Some children walk and live in a way you hear and understand immediately; others you have to study.  One of our newborns I was certain was out to be the end of all music in my life.  It is only after years of studying him that I am starting to hear the melody of his mind.  The piano piece that I found this week, that I have in my head for years now, was actually a lot of work for me to learn as well.  It was a piece I was to play for a recital and it took hours and hours for it to become fluid and smooth.  The work involved is actually part of what ingrained it in the crevices of my mind.  God uses all of our work unto Him for good, and He molds and shapes us as we learn new music.

Almost two...

"Liam", as he refers to himself, is almost two years old.  He is excited about his birthday and in a spirited (and very verbal) manner he goes about the house singing:  "Happy Birthday to me, I'm a hundred and three....".  This is because he learns so much from his older siblings and unfortunately this is the most common rendition of Happy Birthday that is sung in our home right now.  Every child is different, and after five kids, you would think I would no longer be amazed at this....but I am stunned by how talkative William is, how extroverted he is, how good he is at remembering things and people at such a young age.  He sings the alphabet and counts up to twenty; (he beat his three and half year old sister at this who could care less about the alphabet song).  He is a joy to watch as he soaks in all that is around him.  I am actually not sure what to get him for his birthday.  I don't know what "birthday theme" he would like the best.  I don't even really know what his favorite food is (although it's pizza for the rest of us).  William though is a great gift to the rest of us.  So glad that God knows best what a family needs.  Here's hoping Mommy has enough smarts and energy to train this one well....I think we'll be ending with a bang.

Dear Davidson College,

I came to visit you recently.  I wanted to see what it felt like to walk the brick sidewalks, to smell the old hallways.  The days I remember best I spent in your musty library gazing out the window...just thinking...and studying.  I had late night conversations with friends while sharing pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream sitting on your benches; it shaped my views and solidified some core of who I am today.  My professors let me ask questions over coffee or in their office, they were never too busy.   When I went to visit last week, I bounded up the stairs of Chambers building to the old auditorium in which I listened to my humanities lectures.  They were my favorite classes.  There I learned the big picture of history and ideas.  All the little pieces started to come together as professors from each department spoke to us.  It was there that I learned what I value most from Davidson College: to love to learn for the sake of learning alone.  My education until that point had been learning to produce, to pass a test, to fill in the writing formula, to get into college.  I had not realized it, but it had always been about the outcome rather than the process.  But at Davidson, my learning went from black and white to color; I learned to love learning.  I read significant writings, worked through pivotal ideas and realized how they had shaped and changed culture, in my chemistry class just as well as in my art history class.  It was the beginning of a new way to live.  Each day a day to learn, from books, from people...And so off I went to medical school.  And then to practice medicine, while still learning, still looking up various diseases, reading articles on new forms of treatment.  And then I became a parent and read even more books; books on child development, books on parenting.
Now I return to visit this warm place in my mind and I am sad to realize there is no real place for me here.  This old house, these relatives have no recollection of me.  Oh, this has nothing to do with age and stage.  There are many my age still welcomed heartily by your college.  It has to do with production.  You see, I took my love of learning and left a professional career to teach five small children.  I wanted them to love the sound of a well-written poem, to observe carefully with their eyes and try hard to draw the lines they see, to learn the truth and order of math as a building block.  I wanted them to love to learn, just as I had learned from you.  To begin their lives knowing that the learning is the thing, not the product.  But without my professional accolades, without a significant income to donate, without a speaking career or published product...I am just a ghost haunting the halls that were once mine.  It seems odd that while learning is cherished in an uncommonly good measure there, just like the rest of academia, production must be valued as well.  I am raising up your children though, another generation to love learning just as you taught me to do. I do wish there was still room for me on the bench.
Sincerely,
Me

Some days...

Some days William wakes up very happy.  He is busy talking to himself in the crib and we argue over who will get to interrupt his monologue and see his smile of joy first thing in the morning.  Other days, we find him quieter, or sometimes even demanding us to come and rescue him by name.  "DADDY!", he screams insistently.  On those mornings, he is fussy and clingy.  He wants what he wants, when he wants, and he demands in no uncertain terms that we are not to put him down, but to carry him around.  He clutches his sippy cup of milk and a shoulder and rides about the house.  On the "grumpy" mornings, we draw straws as to who will carry William and who gets to roam free to shower, dress and such for the day ahead.  As a fifth child, William gets some patience and grace that he doesn't even realize he's receiving.  You see, if he were my first or second child, I would be scared these grumpy mornings were signs of rampant selfishness, a monster that must not be fed or tolerated for one instant.  I would have been concerned to "give in" to his demands to be carried, to be held.  These grumpy mornings would have been red flags of danger in the midst of calm.  "My child?  Selfish and demanding?".  The truth is, after some years of mothering, now I know this young child is rampantly selfish.  Just like I am, just like his four siblings are that were born ahead of him.  These "grumpy mornings" are no surprise but evidence of the real thing, the monster inside us all.  And rather than being frightened by the selfish monster that we have to tame, I have found sometimes the best way forward is to love on it.  Sometimes being carried around with undeserved patience is exactly what will coax William into happiness again.  And aren't we all that way?  I can be full of self-pity, only aware of my own burdens...when the light of gift of kindness or an act of friendship will turn me around.  You brought me a cup of coffee?  You sent a card for no reason?  Thank you for your kindness; it moves me out of myself because I see the kindness of Jesus in your deed.  When we are surprised by kindness and grace we are able to climb out of the selfish tree and back down into the world.   And don't be surprised that some days we just need that more than others.

Hosea 11:4: I led them with cords of kindness, with the bands of love, and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws, and I bent down to them and fed them.

For me, it is easy to think that math and reading and writing...these are the things we "learn" to do.  I was good at this kind of "learning" in school.  It is hard to remember that there is a lot of life to be "learned" outside of books.  I was sharing with a friend how hard it has been for me to train our kids to do chores, to help clean and keep things orderly. I don't like the delegating, the follow through, the detailed teaching required.... I was wishing I was more like this friend, who naturally trains and delegates in all that she does around her home.  She stopped me and told me about how for her, it was teaching children from books that was difficult.  She spent many hours thinking through how her kids would learn best from books.  Teaching her kids to clean a bathroom, though, for her, was what came easily.   She reminded me that just as she had to work on the books, the academic learning...I need to work on the chores, the daily character training of practical work.  It was this "aha" moment for me...yes, it is all learning...just different types.  Some come easily, some do not...but it's all good work to be done.  Yesterday, Caroline had her first sewing lesson.  She loved it and I honestly did as well.  She is a careful thoughtful worker and it was good to realize she is ready for lots of "learning" outside of the classroom as an eight year old girl.  

A few vocabulary words to begin:
rainbrella (from Hannah):  what you use to shield yourself from getting wet in the rain
cheese grill (from John Mac): one of the best sandwiches ever....
All little kids have interesting words, but these two words have persisted despite years of correction....

A thought:
It is wrong to see pumpkins while there is humidity and you are breaking a sweat.  The smell of dry leaves really should accompany temperatures below eighty degrees.  Just as I was frustrated with the April snows in the great North, I am equally frustrated by the warm pumpkin weather down South!

A picture:
A little brother runs to take his big brother the bottle of gatorade he left in the car.  Big brother is in full baseball uniform and already throwing his practice throws.  Little brother runs so fast, leaves the bottle right at big brother's feet.  He returns to Momma quite pleased with a task accomplished.  He waits patiently through the game; runs around beneath bleachers, plays tag with friends.  Afterwards he is given a baseball hat from the coaches, an extra one they had...just like his big brother's.  He wears the red "NT" inscribed baseball hat the whole next day, sleeps with it at the top of his bed.  Imitation is the truest form of flattery.