Chip Off the Old Block

My daughter has been attending communion classes. Along with learning about communion, she has been learning acolyte duties. She served has acolyte for the first time yesterday at church. She’s a shy girl, gets really nervous going up in front of people.

I prayed a lot for her.

She walked into the sanctuary smiling and did a wonderful job. Ada proposed to her friend, G, that if she would sit with her up front her first time, she’d go sit with G up front her first time. It gave her a little extra confidence.

During the service, she had to light one of the advent candles. Our PMA nodded to her when it was time. Ada asked which one to light.

Jim: “The northwest candle.”

Ada: “Okay.”

Pause.

“Which way is northwest?”

Like her mother, she has no sense of direction indoors.

Jim smiled and said, “I’ll just go with you and show you.”

We love Jim.

She’ll celebrate her First Communion this coming weekend. We’re looking forward to it.

 

Book Fair

Our elementary school hosts a “book fair” every September. New books are brought in for kids to peruse and purchase, along with other “goodies.”

I usually send some money to school with each of my kids so they can purchase a couple of books. This money is typically accompanied by a note saying which books I’d like them to purchase. I usually send a couple bucks more than they’ll need so they can drop the spare change into a jug for their classroom to compete in a contest to win books for their class and a pizza party.

I’d recently gotten some cash at an ATM. All I had was $20 bills. I gave two of my kids their money to spend during their library time today. I instructed them to purchase a couple of books and bring home the change because I was sending more than usual. I would send some change with them for their classes tomorrow.

My youngest came blasting through the door when he got off the bus, tattling on his brother.

Garrett: “Reid didn’t buy books with his money!!!”

Excuse me?

Garrett: “He bought toys with his money!”

I looked to Reid. He produced a cell phone-looking eraser from his backpack. I asked where his books were.

Reid: “Mom, you didn’t send enough money for me to buy books after I got this (eraser) and this (pointing to his backpack).”

“What exactly are you pointing to? What is THIS?”

Reid: “A pointy finger.”

My temperament was quickly moving to an agitated state. I was envisioning a foam “fan finger.” No… it’s even better.

It was a sparkly plastic wand with a white gloved hand on the end, pointing.

It was literally a pointy finger — on a steeeeck.

Cell phone eraser and a pointy finger -- on a steeeeck.

“Where’s my change?”

Reid: “Mom, you only sent me ONE. There wasn’t enough money to get a book or bring change!!!”

“First of all, I sent you ONE twenty dollar bill. That is like TWENTY ones. Second, are you telling me that pointy finger cost like $15?”

I am holding it now. I flip it over to look at it.

A price tag.

$3.99

He purchased a $2 eraser and a $4 pointy finger. Add a little tax. He should have had what, $13 left?

“WHERE IS MY CHANGE?”

Reid: “I put it in the jug so we could win the pizza party!!!”

“Oh. My.”

The pointy finger is mine until Reid earns it back: the whole $20. So, I’ll be using it myself until then.

And believe me, I’m going to get my $20 worth out of it. People will be sick of the pointy finger at my house.

“Excuse me, Joe. Could you please reach that off the top shelf for me (pointy finger)?”

“Reid, you go pick up your dirty clothes right now (pointy finger)!”

Random stranger, asking directions…

“To get back to the highway, you’ll need to head south down this road (pointy finger), then head west to that road (pointy finger), then head south again on the next road (pointy finger).”

Oh yes. I’m going to get my $20 worth.

I’m thinking I should frequent auctions for a while. With my kids, perhaps? What a nice bidding finger it would make…

Ada purchased books with her money. Oh, and an eraser for herself too. (I’ll let that slide. And Reid can have his eraser too. But the pointy finger… that’s mine for a while.) Garrett goes on Thursday. I’m going to send him with $20 too. I’m pretty sure he’ll follow instructions perfectly after seeing my reaction today!

Moral of the story: Oh, who are we kidding? They’re kids; we’re parents. None of us are perfect. And no situation will happen exactly the same way again. I’ve learned; he’s learned (along with my other two, thanks to him). I’ll certainly be more cautious and more specific in the future, but it’ll be up to him to practice better judgement. Moments like these will stick in his mind to help him make his decisions.

 

Wardrobe Wars

I have three kids in school. We have battles over what I think they should wear and what they think they should wear fairly regularly.

Our worst fashion foe in the house? It’s not our 10-year-old daughter. And it’s not my youngest. It’s our 7-year-old SON, who wants nothing more than to farm the rest of his life.

It shocks me as well.

It’s been ongoing since he was in kindergarten. In the last weeks of school that year, I remember Reid accusing me of “dressing him for picture day every day.” I did no such thing. Jeans and tees. That’s all I ask. Preferably (okay — adamantly) ones without holes. I’m not talking marble-sized holes. Reid wants to wear the jeans he wears “to work.” The ones he’s worn to farm every day, knees worn from kneeling in the driveway or on the shop floor to help Joe work on things. We’re talking completely and totally BLOWN OUT knees. And they have to be faded as faded can get.

He’ll spend way too long looking for “faded jeans” each day. Faded jeans which really don’t exist in our house. I do my best to find a few pair in a lighter wash for him, but in his size and where we shop, it’s just not something readily available. We keep trying to explain to him the more you wear and wash a pair of jeans, the more faded they get. He’s just not willing to go to that kind of “work.” He only has 5 or 6 pair of jeans that really fit him which I consider appropriate to wear to school. He’ll go through the same 3 or 4 pair of jeans for quite some time in the mornings, tossing them aside, expecting me to give in and allow him to wear his work jeans to school.

I simply won’t budge. I’m a believer that if you want to do a good job and be successful, you should dress for success. No, I’m not going to send my kids to school in suits with power ties. I just expect them to wear clothes which are clean, comfortable and properly maintained so he can feel good and concentrate on his education. I don’t want him looking down at his blown-out knees, a physical reminder of where he would rather be! (I’ll post a little more about this another day.)

Yesterday was picture day at our elementary school. I had a couple of shirts picked out for the boys to wear, and Ada was content with the shirt I’d suggested she wear. When I made a last-minute suggestion to Garrett (youngest) that he wear the other shirt I had out because I thought it would fit him better than the other (which had apparently shrunk), he said, “I’m okay with that.”

But Reid — Reid was a whole other story. He fought me from the moment he saw the shirts I had picked out. He was determined to wear one of the shirts I had the boys wear last year ( because they looked more farmer to him). I explained that I’d prefer he not wear those because I wanted to be able to distinguish each grade’s pictures from the last. We finally compromised on another shirt similar to the ones I’d picked, but chosen entirely by Reid.

Some battles aren’t worth fighting. He still picked something decent looking. It was time to let it go.

What if something happened on the bus ride, like an accident? Does it really matter that he didn’t wear the shirt I picked out? No. What matters more is that he knows his mother will at least listen to his requests and compromise when necessary. What matters most is that he didn’t walk out the door with both of us angry or frustrated with the other.

That said, I still won’t allow him to wear his blown-out-knees jeans to school. That’s a battle I’ll fight, and he’ll concede to because he knows I’m right. I know he knows because he never leaves upset over blown-out knees. Most generally, Joe and I are good at repair efforts after disagreements so no one leaves the house upset. Too many times, after someone has lost a loved one unexpectedly, I’ve heard a friend or family member say “the last thing I said, was ________ before they left. I wish I’d said something nicer — told them I loved them.”

We don’t want to have any regrets.

Make sure YOU won’t have any regrets either.

 

“I just love first grade so much.”

On our kids’ second day of school, I went in the boys’ room to wake them for the day. As I walked up to my youngest, he was already awake, smiling from ear to ear.

Me: “Well, good morning, Smiley.”

Smiley: “I’m still so excited. I just love first grade so much.”

He loves his teacher, he loves seeing his friends everyday, and he loves recess.

His mama loves that he loves school.

 

Things My Kids Say

I have three kids. Garrett is 6, Reid is 7, and Ada is 10. They are kind, funny, creative… and brutally honest. I look forward to sharing some of their stories with you!