not 'til you're 12, son.

Elder lad, at dinner: "Dad, when I'm 16, can I use your miter [saw]?"

gulp.

fun non-fiction

Some of our favorite books of late are non-fiction (at least mostly), highly imaginative, and great good fun.

In Dinothesaurus: Prehistoric Poems and Paintings, Douglas Florian combines fabulous illustration with clever rhyming text and word play. Highlighting herbivores and carnivores throughout the ages, Florian brings to life those ginormous creatures now extinct. In ways both witty and insightful, each page is illustrated with incredible detail and thoughtfulness such that we can really get an idea of the individuality of each dinosaur. Those charged with reading aloud will appreciate the pronunciation guide (especially for such creatures as the Micropachycephalosaurus).  

Uproarious laughter rang out from the lads' room one recent bedtime as my beloved read John, Paul, George and Ben to them -- one page in particular over and over and over (at their giggly request).  Charmingly illustrated and written by Lane Smith, this one introduces young readers to four (five, actually) of our country's Founding Fathers (with an obvious nod to The Fab Four from across the pond).  Smith takes some liberties (no pun intended), so there's a true and false section at the end for the sake of checking facts.

When I was in elementary school, I used to collect paint chips.  I'd type the names into a long Word document catalog I constructed.  How does one land a job naming paint colors anyway?  After school today the lads requested watercolors and paint brushes for their foray into art on the back porch.  They came up with some pretty interesting colors.  In An Eye for Color: The Story of Josef Albers, Natasha Wing (who grew up next door to the artist in Connecticut and later studied art) chronicles the study of colors and how they interact that German artist Josef Albers made his life's work. 

I am often struck by the creativity some authors and artists are able to employ in bringing history to life for young children.  These stories are fine examples.

And while I'm in the non-fiction way, I would be remiss if I didn't mention Hill of Fire -- a perennial favorite of my elder lad's after having seen it on Reading Rainbow.  He's had a long-standing fascination with volcanoes, so this is right up his alley.  The story, by Thomas P. Lewis and illustrated by Joan Sandin, is of a poor Mexican farmer who complains that every day is the same -- nothing ever happens.  To his surprise, the ground he's tilling one hot day opens without warning one morning in February 1943...

mercy

Just as I was about to go to bed last night, my elder lad appeared at the bathroom door needing my assistance (he had awoken after having been asleep for a couple of hours already).  When I might have been inclined to gently insist that he do the things that needed to be done by himself (as he is at times inclined to let me do them for him if I am willing), I sensed that he really needed his mama's help.  And something told me to tell him simply, "I love you."  This changed the entire dynamic between us, as he had come into the bathroom in a very ill humor, and afterward seemed relieved. Together we took care of business, he crawled back into his bed, and fell fast asleep.

Contrast this scene with the one that played out upon our arrival home this morning from a fun outing.  Everyone was hungry, tired, cranky -- and edgy.  Each of us snarked at the other until we were at last seated for lunch (which took some convincing).  Soon a smile emerged from someone's face, and then laughter.

How I wish I'd handled the second situation more like the first.  I wish I'd focused on the task at hand of getting lunch on the table, instead of getting caught up in the drama that was unfolding.  In so doing, I would've shown today what I showed last night:

mercy.

I just read this interesting post about a mother's works of mercy day in and day out, and it really resonated with me.  There is a major difference in my handling of the two situations: in the former I was able to be merciful, recognizing and responding to the need underneath the snarly exterior instead of reacting more negatively.

I really get upset with myself when I give into the weakness toward irritability and snappishness like I did at lunch time, but I realize that being merciful with myself (without excusing the poor behavior) is necessary in order to model mercy for my children, which is really the lesson I want them to learn. I also want to help them learn to recognize when they are feeling tired, hungry, cranky, or a combination of such things, and how to help themselves by tending to their needs without lashing out at other people (such as picking on one's sibling or speaking rudely to one's mother).

I wish them to learn mercy, both by experiencing it from us, and in extending it to each other and those around them.  Such a thing is best learned by observation and experience, as we all well know in our own experiences of Christ's infinite mercy and the mercy we've received at the hands of others. 

When I don't meet my expectations, I can all too easily dwell on my slip-up.  Ultimately this only serves to distract me from taking care of my children.  The best I can do is to apologize for my mistake, make amends, seek forgiveness, recognize what contributed to my mistake so as to prevent it happening in the future, and move on.

In my quest for everyday sanctity, I have to be merciful with myself.  Maybe my children will see the steps I take (especially if I spell them out and am consistent about them), and God willing learn from my mistakes without having to make their own. At least I hope so.

When it comes to my expectations for my children, I have to remind myself that they are in fact children and that they will occasionally mess up.  This is (usually) nothing personal against me.  It's just a fact of childhood.  We all make mistakes, after all.  Our mistakes do affect others, so when we make them we must take steps to make things right as much as we are able.  And when we have been wronged, we are called to extend mercy and forgiveness.  I hope to equip my bambini with the tools to meet their needs without harming other people.  In our fallen world, I know this won't always work out.

This work of motherhood is humbling.  Mama's mistakes are plainly there for her children to see.  I hope how I handle my handling of my mistakes will be of use to them when they must own up to theirs, and I hope they will dispense mercy with each other as freely as they do their laughter and forgiveness.

books by John Burningham

At siesta time I snuggled up with my two lads (the lass was already asleep) and read It's A Secret by the prolific John Burningham -- new in 2009.  What fun it was!  A young girl wonders what her family cat does at night when everyone else is sleeping (apparently the cat is let out to roam overnight, and returns in the morning).  She sneaks down one night to discover the cat dressed to the nines and about to head out for a night on the town.  He allows her to come with him (only after donning her own party frock) after she promises to keep their doings a secret.  The neighbor boy notices them and finagles an invitation of his own to the festivities. 

We've read a couple other of Burningham's books, published several years ago -- Mr. Gumpy's Motor Car and Mr. Gumpy's Outing.  These involve a couple of children and a menagerie of animals insisting on being part of one adventure or another.  These were both enjoyable, too (the protagonist's name is a large part of the fun), though It's A Secret would be my favorite among the three.

Burningham's tales are imaginative and fun, great for reading aloud and fostering creativity.

happy hour

There comes a time of day when bambini and Mama wear kinda thin.  For us, this is around 4:30 or 5pm.  It's late in the day but not yet quite time for dinner, Daddy's not home yet, and we're all running a little low on energy.  Other mamas may have more colorful names for this particular time period, but I like to refer to it as "happy hour" -- a description I can't take credit for but choose to use in order to retain a sense of hopefulness.

Navigating the day takes some strategy.  This includes siesta time after lunch -- something upon which I am insistent because of the overall impact its inclusion or omission can have on the rest of the day.  My two lads don't fall asleep very often anymore, but we do settle down and read together for a while.  This gives me a chance to put my feet up for a minute, and more importantly a chance to reconnect with the bambini if we've been either busy doing separate things (like them playing while I tend to household duties) or out and about.  I try to make siesta time last at least 45 minutes to an hour.  The lass often drifts off to sleep while I read (if she hasn't already fallen asleep).  It's a highlight of our daily routine.

Infrequent naps can make things dicey later, though, so to weather Happy Hour, here are some things I try to take note of and address...

• hunger (mine and theirs): I try to offer a snack with protein after school (or at least by 4pm on stay-home days).  My own fatigue by this point in the day can easily dissolve into irritability (which I pray to be free of) unless I can recognize that I myself need some protein too at this time (although endorphins via dark chocolate are also highly appropriate at this time, this can be tricky if I'm not willing to share -- which I'm often not right about then).
• busyness: it's during Happy Hour that I might be trying to round up things for dinner and get it going so that it's ready when my beloved gets home, though lately we've been trying to have simpler meals or those we've prepared in advance and are simply reheating.  If I'm able to get down on the floor with and play with the bambini or read a book (or four) to them instead of scurrying around the kitchen, we all tend to fare a little better.
• humor (or lack thereof): oftentimes, we need some levity to keep our spirits buoyed as we eagerly await Daddy's return home.  Mama has her ways of accomplishing this, as do the bambini (some within house rules, some outside them; Mama's challenge is to channel things in the former direction).
• energy expenditure: especially on days when the elder lad doesn't go to preschool, it really helps the lads to get outside and run around.  The past few days have been temperate enough for them to muck around in the mess of the melting snow and the mud beneath it.  This means bath time immediately afterward, but that works in our favor for an earlier bedtime.
• media consumption: sometimes after the reading part of siesta time or after school I will turn on the TV for a show or two (favorites are Curious George, Dinosaur Train, and Good Eats -- pre-screened, of course).  But I'm careful not to let the TV stay on very long.  The longer it's on, the more likely moods are to deteriorate.

Still, in spite of experience and forethought and everyone's best efforts, Happy Hour can still wreak havoc on the early evening all the way through lights out.  No one wants this, and we all resolve to start fresh in the morning and do better tomorrow.  I pray and hope for a good night's rest, a peaceful day, and a sense of humor to keep us afloat through these days of early childhood that will too soon be gone.

Cheers~

the Bonnie box comes full circle.

Growing up, I passed along a lot of my outgrown clothes to a girl five years younger than me.  Our families are close like family, though we're not related.  She called the periodic windfall "the Bonnie box," and apparently it was something very exciting for her.  I'm honored she felt that way.

Now that we're both mothers, we refer to each other as "sister mama," as we've long thought of each other as sisters.  We live close to four hours apart, so we don't get to see each other very often, but we find ways to stay in touch.

So imagine the glee when a couple of days my lass received a box of clothes in the mail from my childhood friend's younger daughter, several months older than my lass.  My lass may be too young to fully own the delight of the occasion, so for now I'll do it for her.  She may be our only girl, but like her brothers before her, there's someone a little further down the path of life sharing her hand me downs.

future foodies

My lads might be selective in their food choices, but they sure can speak about them articulately:

The elder lad, when asked if he wanted some veggie chips in his lunch for school like he'd had at dinner the previous night: "No. They're too zesty for school."
 
The younger lad, enjoying some homemade jam made with love by one of my beloved's aunts and her family on his biscuit, described it as "very tasty."  When I told him who had made it, he said "that was very kind of her to share it with me."

Indeed.  Maybe someday they'll be posting such keen observations alongside their auntie and mama.

As for the lass, she might prove to be the next Nigella Lawson (whose lexicon and wit I admire very much).  My girl's healthy appetite is quite varied, and I suspect her burgeoning vocabulary (presently consisting of a few signs and an impressive array of vocalizations and facial expressions) might rival that of Nigella's someday.