Play as Worship?

Sit down, behave.  Can't you just be quiet and listen?  You are embarrassing me.

Let's be honest.  Anyone who has taken children to worship and said things like this, or at the very least thought them.  When I leave worship, I want to feel fed for the week ahead.  Refreshed, renewed.  However, worshipping with children often drains me more.  It's hard work.  When my boys were young, I had thought it would get better as they became school age.  On some Sundays, it is better.  On other Sundays, it's more difficult.

Let's face it, worshipping with children is tough.  It's hard work.  We often wonder if it's worth the effort.  Maybe we should just stay home.  After all, we could just worship on they days that the children can conveniently be carted off to Sunday School.  The attempt to worship in the midst of a fear that your child will rip the pages in the hymnal, ask an inappropriate question too loudly, make you appear like a poor parent, drop a toy into the pew in front of you, laugh/scream/cry during a moment of silence can feel like it isn't worth the effort.

IT IS!!!

In the middle of a Holden Evening prayer service one evening, I was becoming very frustrated with my then 7 and 10 year old boys.  I could understand the 5 and almost 2 year old playing and lack of participation, but surely the two older boys were capable of more.  Yes, we were in an informal setting, yes it was a family style event, but come on boys!  Get out from under the chairs, and quite playing with the battery operated tealight candles.  My frustration and annoyance was peaking and I bent low to tell them to get off the floor and worship with us when I saw what they had been doing. They had taken the extra battery operated tea lights under the chairs and with them built an illuminated cross.  They had huge smiles of accomplishment and asked if I liked their cross.  Later, the 7 year old told me that they built a cross with candles because Jesus is light.

Years before that, one year around Easter, I was shocked when I walked into the playroom to find my then 3 year old pushing over my then 6 month old from a sitting position to the floor.  The baby, popped back up, the 3 year old threw his hands in the air and yelled, "He has risen!  Alleluia!"  and they both exploded into a fit of giggles.  They played "the resurrection game" over, and over, and over that spring.

Let's not forget the times that each of my boys has "baptized" himself or a brother in the bathtub.

What had looked to me like play was them worshipping.  Did their worship look the same as mine?  No, but should it?  The teacher with a master's degree in education knows how important developmentally appropriate learning, not to mention the immense need that children have for hands-on, concrete learning opportunities before they can move to abstract concepts.  The early childhood educator in me is well aware that many children learn best through play and movement.

So why is it that I KNOW all these things and even applied them into my years of experience as a teacher, but fall short when giving my children worship opportunities.  In the last year and half, I have left classroom teaching and now serve as the Director of Faith Formation at our family's church.  This has made me more mindful of trying to provide my children with authentic, age appropriate worship experiences like our family summer worship experience planned with the kids where offering included them choosing a toy to donate, a message delivered by a 9 year old, and where the body and blood of Christ was served to all, including the dogs, in the form of saltine crackers and grape Kool-Aid.  There is no doubt in mind the Jesus was there in our backyard that Sunday morning as much as He was in any sanctuary space.  My children enjoyed our non-traditional yet traditional worship service immensely and look forward to making it a summer tradition.

While our backyard worship was an awe-spiring experience for our family (and Wookie and Ewok, our family dogs), how feasible is it to bring this type of experience to the whole congregation?  If we leave it to parents, how equipped do they feel to plan and lead this type of service themselves?

I can plan and lead the best Sunday School units in the world, the most engaging VBS experience ever and still fall short to give the families I serve what they thirst for. Authentic, engaging, worship opportunities for the family to experience together.  A common experience they could talk about together beyond Sunday morning.  A tool that helps them take their faith beyond Sunday morning, into the rest of their week.  As amazing as that sounds, how on God's great Earth is that ever going to happen?

When I first took my idea to the Pastors and worship coordinator at my church, I suspected there was a good chance it would be shut down.  I was elated when it was embraced and I am ecstatic, but nervous, to have our model of worship go live for a trial run this coming January.  After the holiday season, we will be inviting our whole congregation to worship in multi-generation and interactive style.  We have named this maiden voyage of our interactive worship "January Journey with Jesus".  Beginning with the first Sunday in January, we will journey with Jesus from his infancy through His baptism.

What does it mean to have in interactive worship service?  The best way I can think to describe it as as a Sunday School meets worship collision.  We will begin with traditional worship elements, including gathering music, Word and prayer.  When the service gets to the place where a sermon would normally be, people will be invited to choose from a host of stations.  Each week, people will be able to worship and learn in a way that they are drawn to whether it be creating a craft, trying a science experiment, playing a game, participating a Pastor led discussion about the scripture, doing a crossword or reflecting on a series of images projected.  As our activity time draws to a close, we will regather as a community to round out our worship experience with more traditional worship elements including Holy Communion, music and a blessing.

As I mentioned, I am eager, ecstatic and also quite nervous to try this style of worship with our whole congregation.  I am praying that God will help us all to keep open minds while giving us faith like a child so we too can be drawn closer to Him through this process while also inviting the youngest worshippers closer too.

5 Quarters

"Did you flush the toilet?  Did you wash your hands?"  These are the questions I ask multiple times a day when I see one of my boys tearing out of the bathroom.  Whether they readily admit it or not, the answer is almost always no.  I do not understand this.  I have tried drilling it into them, beating them over the head with it again and again, but still, they "forget" these important steps in sequence of using voiding themselves.  Time and time again I turn them back around so they can head right back in there and complete the process.

Boys being boys, they have of course tried to figure out how it is that I know whether or not if they have indeed done these things without even listening to their verbal responses.  They seem to be truly stumped as to how I just know.  Of course, listening to hear for a flush followed by a rush of water is one way, but my boys aren't stupid and they figured that one out early.  They were truly amazed the first time someone turned on the sink but neglected to wash that mom caught on.  They of course then moved on to the wetting without washing of the hands trick, but somehow Mom still knew.

In the not so distant past Rob went in and out of the bathroom rather quickly.  When asked about flushing and washing (knowing the response should be affirmative and negative), Rob's word were quickly yes and yes, but his eyes told a different story.  Dad happened to be closer and made a move closer to Rob when Rob balled his hands up and said, "You can't small my hands."

Michael stepped closer and zoom, off ran Rob, "Only if you can catch me!" said a giggly blur.

"Mom! You should get this on video.  If you posted it on Youtube, you'd already have 5 quarters by now."

"Huh?  What do you mean Ray?"

"For every 1,000 hits or something like that, Youtube pays you a quarter.  You could make a lot of money that way!"

Don't Wake the Baby

Theo is not much a napper.  I imagine it's because our house is somewhat busy and he doesn't want to miss out on anything.  Or maybe it's because every time he drifts off someone startles him with a lightsaber, car motoring, or a fight over an electronic.  The fact that every time I lay him down he is accosted by the baby mauler Rob doesn't help either. One of the few times he may nap is if he falls asleep in transport and is left in his carseat.  Even this is rare, but welcome occasion.  So you can imagine my dilemma when left with the options to either wake the baby or deal with the uncomfortable fullness a nursing mom sometimes has when baby doesn't eat on schedule.  

"I wish Theo would wake up so he would eat.  I don't have the heart to wake him myself." I said on the side to Michael as I battled with this choice.

I'm not sure how he heard it because he was engrossed in some activity on his own, but Rob hear my plea and enthusiastically shouted with an ear to ear smile,  "I can do it!!!" as he set off to smother his baby brother in kisses and sure enough, wake him up.  What a helpful kid.

PASTA?!?!?!

If you read my blog from time to time, you may have picked up on certain patterns.  One of those being that dinner time can occasionally be a bit difficult at my house.  I always vowed that I would raise children who eat what was on the table or go hungry, and for the most part we stick to that philosophy, but it does lead to some interesting dining experiences.

You may recall the problem with pasta back in May 2011.  If not, you should check it out here in this blog entry: Power Play.  There's also the entry about how I overcame that, What's for Dinner?  And just this week about how I made one heck of a Chicken Alfredo: The Best Dinner.

Well this is a story about the leftovers from that very best dinner...

"What would you like for lunch?  A sandwich, the pizza from last night, or some of the pasta we had the other night?"

"WAIT!  Did you say pasta?!?!"  Oh boy!  Here goes Robby again.

"Yes, Rob I said pasta.  Pasta is another word for noodles.  All noodles are pasta.  Get over it already.  you love noodles.  Mac and cheese, chicken Alfredo, spaghetti, it's all pasta."

"But I don't like pasta!" Rob adamantly protested.  Great, way to go Billie Jo!  Ruin a slew of dinner ideas for the kid.

"Fine, would you feel better about it if I just said noodles?"

"Yes."  Whew, what a relief!

"Okay then.  Do you want some of the noodles with chicken and peas from the other night?"

"Yes please."

Oh my.

The Best Dinner

The other evening, dinner time was looming.  The boys were hungry, the baby was hungry, and I was tired.  So I headed to the pantry and found a jar of Alfredo sauce, opened the freezer and pulled out some chicken that I had cooked and cut in advanced, and put on a pot of water to boil some noodles.  I mixed it all together, added some peas, and viola! Chicken Alfredo was on the table.  I wasn't 100% sure how this would go over given the fact that the last time I made it, Rob refused to even take a bite.  So when Rob asked what it was, I knew better than to use the common name,, "chicken, peas and noodles," I said.

"Yum!" Rob enthusiastically replied.

Alright then.  Ray and Rob ate with must enthusiasm and eventually Ray declared, "This is probably the best meal we've had since the baby's been born!"

"Thanks," I think.  Never mind the home cooked meals I've made, sometimes you just have to take a compliment when you can.

And for those of you wondering about Sam, don't worry, he still kept the whine with dinner going refusing to try his food until the rest of us where long gone from the table.  He cleaned his plate while I washed dishes.  He did like it, he just wanted to make sure our dinner time wasn't enjoyable. ;)

Put a Bow on It

Robby doesn't just like babies, he LOVES babies.  If there is a baby around, he is right there cooing and ohing and ahhing.  Given that he is always at his side to hand him a toy, play with him, and even share food with, it was not to surprising when "Wobby" was one of his daycare baby buddies spoke.  So you can about imagine how he is with a baby brother of his own.  We are having to constantly remind him to let Theo sleep, to not pick up him constantly, to get off of him in his car seat, etc.

Just this morning I was peeling Robby off of the baby who was buckled in his car seat ready to go when Ray had one his stroke of brilliance.

"Robby, when we grow up, I'm going to adopt a baby, put a bow on his head, and put him under the Christmas tree for you cause you love babies so much."

"Okay!"  Robby liked that Christmas idea.

"Um, I don't think that's going to work," I interjected.

"Why?" they both asked.

"Well, because babies aren't puppies.  You can't just adopt one, and you don't just give them away to other people like that."

"What do you mean?"

"To adopt, people need to meet you and learn all about you to make sure you will be a good parent.  They come to your house to make sure it will be safe.  It can take a long time.  And they aren't going to let you adopt if you are planning to turn around and give the baby away."

"Oh," they seem disappointed, but seem to understand.

"Well, then, maybe my wife will have 2 boys and then she'll let you have one of those," Ray decided.

"Cool," said Rob.

"Good luck with that boys," I state.  I'm not thinking it will work out quite that way. ;)

It's All in the Name

Robby is really into writing his name right now.  He is very proud that has finally mastered the "r", knows  the right way to make a "b", how to do that tricky y.  "Robby" he writes at any chance he has.  We see it on paper after paper, all over his school folder, he wants to write his own name tags, and any other opportunity he has.

A few weeks back, Ray had found it humorous to write "Wash Me" on the back of the Yukon.  This irritates Michael to no end.  The boys and I got to hear all about how not only does it look stupid, it also scratches the paint.

I washed the Yukon, but it is a dark color, and in no time at all, there was a nice layer of dust on it again.  As we were climbing out at church the other day, I happened to notice there were more letters fingered into the dust.

"Hey, guys, who wrote on the Yukon?"

"Not me,"  "I didn't do it," quickly responded two innocent faced little boys.  One of the two, however, looked a little too wide-eyed and innocent.  You, know "the cat who just swallowed the canary" kind of look.

"Really?  Are you sure about that Rob?  It looks like it says R-o-b-b-y.  Why would someone else write your name on our truck?"

Gulp.  Smirk.

Maybe next time he'll at least think to write something else.  If he's really smart, he'll eventually come up with writing his brother's name.  But I'm not about to offer that suggestion.

Elbow Milk

After Michael has left for the day and Theo gets up for his early am feeding, I have a tendency to bring him into bed with me and snuggle him before the day starts.  Once he has had his fill and he lulls back to sleep, I get the house going for the day.  Rob quickly discovered that if he gets up and dressed fast enough, he too can have some 1 on 1 snuggle time with the littlest Wix.  This morning Sam also crawled up there.  So there sit 3 monkeys on my bed while I brush my teeth and try to jump start monkey #1, Ray.

"Mom!  Teddy is being silly.  He's trying to eat my arm."  Rob announces.

I smile in spite of the toothbrush hanging out of my mouth to acknowledge Rob's comment.  My boys are very much aware of the breastfeeding process.  I have nursed all of them and I refuse to constantly hide myself and baby away every few hours to simply nourish my child.  In our home, I nurse anywhere and everywhere from the kitchen to the the couch to bedtime story time.  Out and about I also nurse just about anywhere.  I try to be discrete and cover fairly well.  In my opinion, if someone sees something they don't want to see, they were looking to hard in the 1st place.

"Ha ha ha!  No, no silly baby.  You can't get milk there.  Mom, now Teddy's trying to suck on my chest!  Boys don't have milk!"  Rob continues.

"Yea, boys don't have elbows!  Milk comes from elbows that are right here," Sam says pointing to his chest.  "Only mommies have elbows here for making milk."

I almost sprayed toothpaste all over my bedroom.  We've been through the proper anatomy terms, but I guess Sam needs a refresher.

"You are silly baby Theodore!" Sam concludes.

"Whoa!  Sam did you just call him Theodore???"  I inquire with wide eyes sure I must have misheard him.  He did almost break down in tears yesterday because some referred to the baby as Theodore.

"He he he!  I did.  That was silly.  His name is Teddy Roosevelt Bridge!" Sam laughs at himself.

The Stork

"Where do babies come from?" is a question that every parent must face at some point and time.  We start our children off with some real basic information on that matter.  At this time, Robby knows that Daddies have special seeds that they put in Mommies and God can help that grow into a baby.  He also know that the babies grow in Mommies' tummies until they are big enough to come out, at which time a doctor helps baby come into the world.  A simplistic, but fairly honest version in my opinion.

So when Robby learned about the idea of storks from Dumbo, he was a little confused.  I explained to him that was an old, silly story that people use to tell children about where babies come from.

"Oh.  That's good, cause one time, at Grandma's, I saw a stork.  It was a really big bird, and I was afraid it was going to try to take me," Robby confessed very relieved.

"Why were you afraid it would take you?" I inquired trying to hide my amusement both at his genuine concern and belief that he had seen a stork at Grandma's.

"I thought maybe it was going to take me to a new mom and I didn't want a new mom."

Aw, I love my Robby Roo.  I don't want the stork to take him to a new mom either.

Shots?! Gulp.

I almost forgot to share another first from our experience at the doctor office yesterday...

Rob is going to kindergarten and therefor he needed a few shots before the 1st day.  By a few, I mean 4.  Gulp.  1 mom, 3 kids, 4 shots.  This had potential for disaster written all over it.  At the word "immunizations" panic broke out.  But not by Rob.  No, Ray was the one freaking out.  "He has to get shots?!?!  I HATE shots!"  Ray's face was flushed.  Tears welled in his eyes.

"Ray, you are not getting any shots.  Just Rob and he's really tough."

"But I don't even want to see a needle!" A tear slipped over the rim of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

"Fine, you don't have to.  You can wait in the waiting room."

"Okay." Ray reluctantly agreed.

When the time came for Rob's immunizations, Ray retreated to read, Rob climbed up on my lap and took the 4 immunizations like Superman.  He barely even flinched and didn't shed a tear.  As the nurses and I made a big deal about how amazing and tough Rob was, Sam decided he wanted a chance.

"My turn!  My turn!  I want a shot now."

"That's a first," commented the nurse. "I don't think I've ever had a child want a shot before."

It only got more interesting as we explained to Sam that he wasn't getting a shot today and he dissolved into tears.

"Hey, Sam, how about we come back in October and you can get a flu shot then?  We can all get flu shots to keep our baby healthy."

"Okay," Sam sniffled and agreed.  Just don't tell your oldest brother I thought as the boys all picked out a lollipop.

Who would've thunk that only child getting the shots, would be the only child to not cry about it?!?!

3 Reasons I Love Raising Boys

I can't believe the number of people who act as if I should be deeply saddened by the upcoming birth of another boy.  "Maybe #5 will be a girl."  "It's too bad you aren't getting a girl."  "ANOTHER boy?!  You poor thing."  Would a girl be fun and exciting, sure.  But so will a boy!  I love my boys and can't imagine life without any one of them.  If given a chance to trade one of my boys for a girl, I couldn't and wouldn't.  They are each so wonderfully and uniquely made.  And besides that, don't you know people, little boys love their mamas forever!

Reason #1-Sam
The other day I was getting ready to lay with Sam for what he calls "fake rest time" (nap time, as opposed to "real rest time" or bed time.)  His shorts were damp from sprinkler fun so we left them to dry in the bathroom.  Upon climbing into my bed with me, he started tugging at his t-shirt.  "Mommy, help me.  I need to take this off so I can be your huzzbin."  I laughed as I helped him peel his shirt up over his head and then he snuggled into next to me for a lovely nap.

Reason #2-Robby Roo

"Robby Roo, why don't you stop growing, stay 5 and live with me forever?"

"I can't Mommy.  Everyone has to grow."

"Maybe I can find some medicine to help you stop."

"I have to grow up, but I can live with you forever."

"I think you will grow up and probably get married.  I don't think your wife will want to live with me."

"Yup, she will.  I will find a wife and she can help you with all the cooking and cleaning!"

It wasn't just the words, but look of sincerity and devotion in his eyes as he spoke.

Reason #3-Ray
It was a near perfect summer evening.  Swimming and pizza topped off with a backyard fire.  Michael and I sat on an old beater love seat watching our boys chase fireflies and roast marshmallows.  When Michael got up to assist one of the boys with the roasting process, Ray ran over, snagged his seat, put his hand on his shoulder and pulled me back till my head rested on his shoulder.  It was such a sweet, loving gesture and topped off an evening that will live in my memory forever.

I love my boys and they love me.  I would trade that for any amount of pink in the whole wide world.

A Wet Bed???

Boys are harder to potty train than girls.  Many boys do not night train till between the ages of 5 and 7.  My boys sleep like rocks.  I really like sleep and do not care for it being unnecessarily interrupted.  Combining all of these facts, we have taken a very laid back approach to night training at our house.  My boys will simply not wake up to use the bathroom in the middle of night, so I don't see any purpose in stressing myself of them about it.  We use pull-ups and wait till they keep them dry the majority of the time and then know we are ready to move on.

Rob is more or less ready, has a strong desire, and it is summer so it seemed like an appropriate time for less sleep and more laundry.  Off to be bed in his undies he went last night and I wasn't at all surprised to hear him at my bedside at 2 a.m.    As we worked toward cleaning him up and getting him back to bed, our conversation went a little something like this...

"Mom, I need new pajamas."

"Okay honey, did you wet the bed?"

"No, somehow my bed is just wet.  But I don't know how, because I didn't pee in it."

"It's okay, we'll go check it out and clean up the accident."

"I DIDN'T have an accident.  I wouldn't pee in my bed."

"I know you wouldn't on purpose honey, but that's why it's called an accident, because it was an accident, not something you meant to do."

"My bed is just wet.  It's not pee.  See?, my blanket is dry."

"Okay, honey. Good night, I love you, see you in the morning."

"Night Mom."  Quiet.  "Moooom!  My blanket smells potty!"

Wrestle!

First of all, I apologize for my lack of posts.  I guess we've been a bit distracted with life lately.  As I sometimes say, "Life gets in the way of life too often."

In addition to our regular jobs, school, etc. I took on a 2nd job directing our school's annual benefit auction.

Rob also took on the sport of wrestling.  He had a GREAT season.  When he started, we were just going to do practices.  When the coaches gave him a singlet to bring home, we decided what they heck, let's try a tournament.  He took 2nd.  So we tried another, we took 1st getting 2 pins, with the longest one taking 10 seconds.  This lead us to regions, where Rob took 1st.  Off to sections where Rob took 4th and qualified for State.  Additionally, so did the Austin Youth Wrestling team for the 1st time in history!  So we spent March 31 and April 1 at the Rochester Civic Center at Rob's 1st state meet.  No placing for Rob, but he wrestled hard and never gave up.  In one of the team competitions, he did get a pin, which was very exciting.

Not sure what the future holds for our little grappler, but we are very proud of his grit, determination, and effort.  I'm sure he has many successes in a variety of forms laying ahead of him if he tackles life in the same way!

We are proud to have been part of Austin Youth Wrestling team, who ended up placing 2nd in their pool.  And even more so, we are proud of you Rob!

Where IS that Camera?!?!

I have it said more than once in my life and say it frequently now as the mother of 3 unique boys, "Where IS that Camera?!?!"  Sometimes I am quite certain that our life would make a hit reality show or maybe an award winning primetime family comedy.  Yesterday was a perfect scenario...

Characters:  Michael-the father figure of the family.  Type A(a) personality.  All T's must be crossed and all i's must be dotted at all times, no exceptions.  Boots never go with shorts and black never goes with brown and that includes when toddlers put their own shoes on.

Robert-Middle child, age 5.  Traits: stubborn, spontaneous, stubborn, imaginative, stubborn, unique, stubborn, strong willed, and STUBBORN.

Billie Jo-the mother, but in this case, useless to all as she lies ill in bed.

Setting: While outside it is a cold and frosty Minnesota Saturday morning, the Wicks family is inside their rural single family residence.

Plot: Michael versus Rob.

Rob has been on a big shorts and tank top kick lately.  Don't ask me why.  I have no idea.  He certainly doesn't get it from me.  I am typing this in my hooded sweatshirt, fleece pants, wool socks and slippers.  Even still, yesterday morning he declared, "Summertime!  It's summertime outside!" and came out of his bedroom donning blue and white pin stripe shorts and a tank top.

When I took to my bedroom ill yesterday morning, Michael decided to round up the crew and head to Target.  There was a prescription waiting and we were nearly out of toilet paper.  (Sam is potty training and goes through A LOT lately, which reminds me of another blog entry to author...)  Michael told Rob he needed to wear pants so they could go to the store.  Rob refused.  Michael insisted.

Rob took off at top speed.  I heard my bedroom door quickly open and then latch.  Click!  The locked was pressed in.  Quick!  Under the covers Rob flew.  Whoosh!  Back out.  Approaching footsteps in the hallways.  Flip.  Under the bed.  Scurry, scurry, he was gone into my closet.

(Now this sort of thing may have disturbed some for their rest, but honestly, I was barely phased.  I peered out one eye for about 2.2 seconds.)

Click!  Michael unlocked the door.  "He's in the closet." I told Michael.  PHEM!  "He was in the closet."

Rob escaped through our laundry pass through into the laundry room next door.  He then locked that door.  And escaped again into the boys' bathroom through the next laundry pass through.  That is where he was apprehended and sentenced to a day in denim.

Conclusion: After some screaming and the promise of a slushie and popcorn, the W-X boys all have a successful outing to Target while Mom stays behind for a more successful attempt at resting.

Dinner with the W-X

I haven't blogged for awhile.  It isn't that things blog worthy don't happen, it's more about finding, or taking the time to actually write about them.  At dinner tonight I rolled my eyes and said, "I think I have to excuse myself now and go blog."  Let me back up to the thirty minutes prior...

As I as preparing to set dinner on the table, I looked at Michael and said, "Which of the boys will refuse to eat this?"  I had made what my mom called Swiss Steak, although as an adult I'm not sure that is an accurate reflection of what it really is.  I think my friend Mary's teenage son would have a much more accurate description of the meal with his classic "Another low budget meal at our house" line.  Dinner consisted of round steaks (which I have also frequently questioned the accuracy of that descriptor) baked in cream of mushroom and cream of celery soups.  Straight from the oven it is not the most appealing looking dish and for boyz, that can make or break dinner.

Upon first glance, Rob wrinkles up his nose and says, "EW!  I'm not eating that!"

"It's just meat with gravy Rob."

"I don't like gravy.  You know I HATE meat with gravy."

"Then you can eat some baked potato and green beans."

"NO!  Why do always make meat with gravy when you know I hate.  You always make things you know I don't like."

"Rob, that's not true.  I almost never make gravy.  Just eat some green beans and potato."

"No, I'm eating a lemontime."  (Or clementine, whatever.)

"You can have that after you at least try some of your dinner."

"NOOOOO!"  This sort of thing continued for another minute or so till Michael picked Rob up and hauled him to his bedroom.  Rob continued carrying on for a bit until we nearly done eating.  He resurfaced at the table with his big eyes looking rather sorrowful.

"I'm hungry.  But I don't like eating cold food."

"You're lucky we have a microwave.  Would you like me to warm your food up?"  Michael asked.

Rob nodded and Michael zapped.  As Michael set Rob's recently reheated entree in front of him, Rob stuns with me with his next question, "Can I have gravy on my potatoes?"

"What?!"

"Can I have some gravy on my potatoes?  But not on my meat.  I hate gravy on my meat."

Sigh.  "Sure you can bud."  Rob scarfs down his first serving of potatoes and gravy and asks for another.  The even bigger surprise, when I caught him slyly dipping his meat into the gravy when he thought no one was looking.

That was when I pushed my chair away and excuse myself to go blog.  But instead I started washing dishes.  As the last of the table was cleared and I was scrapping the leftovers into tupperware, Rob's head pops up along side the counter and says, "Mom, don't forget to save the gravy!!!"  I had to laugh as I scooped the last scoop of it into the container and secured the lid.  And then I logged on to my blog.

Another?!?!

Robby shocked me yesterday.  (Yes, that is a frequent occurrence, but this time, he really got me.)  I was making dinner when out of nowhere I felt a tap on my rear end (gotta love preschool height).  When I turned around, Robby's big eyes looked into mine and he asked, "Mom, can we have another baby now?"

I must have fluid in my ears and not have heard right.  "What?"

"Can we have another baby now?  Sam's not a baby anymore and I really, really want one.  I love babies.  Can we have another baby now?"

I replied as any good mother would, "Um, go talk to your dad."

Robby set rounded the corner, found Michael and repeated his request.  I eavesdropped curious to how Michael would gently let him down.  Imagine my surprise when he responded with what other than, yes, you guessed it, "Go talk to your mom."

So Robby turned right back my way with those pleading eyes that scream "Please, please, puh-lease?!?!"

"Go talk to God.  But if you do, ask for a sister.  Tell him Mom really likes pink."

And he did.  He put himself straight into a corner, folded his little chubby fingers around one another, squeezed those big eyes and began to pray.

"I did it Mom!  Now we have to wait and see!" announced Rob a few moments later.

I looked at Michael and smiled.  "Remember what happened last time one of our children prayed a prayer like that?"

"Yup.  We got Sam."  Ray's prayer for twin sisters and a mini-van may not have been fulfilled but Sam and a Yukon are close enough for me.  I wonder in what mysterious way God might respond to Rob's request...

We Are Fun People

Our neighbors are on a streak lately.  We keep noticing lots of cars at their home, but can't locate the invitation in our mailbox.  The first time, I assumed it was an oversight.  The second time, I convinced myself it was a family only party.  But this last weekend, my boys took notice.

"Mom!  Look!  Tom and Mary are having a party.  AGAIN!  And they forgot to invite us!"  said Ray.

"Yea, we are fun people.  They must not know it," agreed Rob.

"Maybe we should tell them," continued Ray.

"Maybe they think you are a party pooper Mom.  Do they even know what a party pooper is?" asked Rob.

"You are NOT a party pooper Mom.  You are like the opposite of a party pooper," declared Ray.

"Yea, you are the oppostie of a party pooper.  You are a fun person.  We are a fun family!" exclaimed Rob.

Could someone please send the FYI to our neighbors now?!?!  ;)  But I guess I'll forgive them for not inviting me the family bridal shower after all...

Part-Time Slave???

You know those conversations children have when adults aren't around?  Or at least our of eyeshot...  Those are my favorite ones to eavesdrop in on.  My boys talk about some of the most interesting stuff and I get such amazing insight into the ways their minds work.

If you follow my blog at all, you are well aware the Rob is fascinated by presidents.  Abraham Lincoln is a true hero in his eyes and he and Ray both think the Civil War is a fascinating piece of American History and so it and relevant aspects are frequent conversation pieces in our home.

As I made lunch the other day, this is a bit of their conversation...

"You know Rob, Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves with the Civil War."

"Yea, I know that."

"You know, you probably would have been a part time slave if it wasn't for Lincoln."

"Yea probably."

"And Papa too.  His skin is a little bit darker too. You and Papa both have darkish skin.  It's not really black, but it's not white like mine."

"Yea.  I know."

"But you are only a little bit dark so you would've only been a part-time slave.  That means you'd work for someone in the morning but then you would've had the afternoon off to do whatever you want.  Papa is a little darker than you so he would've had to work longer."

"Yea."

"Part-time slaves were easier to free that full-time slaves.  I bet Lincoln was able to free them first so you would've got to free early in the war."

"YEAH!"

"They had to fight the war a long time to free all the full-time slaves."

"But he did it and now all the slaves are free!"

Hmmmm....  Something tells me we have some details to smooth out here...

Goodbye Grandma

The last few weeks have been difficult in the larger Wx family.  We have had to prepare and finally say goodbye to a staple of the family.  If we are the bread, she was the soft butter that she always kept on the table.  Grandma Wx was an amazing woman and she will be greatly missed.  Michael and his siblings were fortunate enough to have grown up across the road from their grandmother.  With her farmhouse directly across from theirs, there was a great deal of work and visiting to be done with her.  When I joined the family 10 years ago, there were a lot of things that made me feel like an in-law, but Grandma was never one of them.

My children also loved the woman they called Great Grandma so you can imagine that it was with difficulty that they said goodbye.  Ray had experienced a funeral once before with the passing of my grandmother a few years back, but it is a vague memory for him and not a memory at all for Rob who was just a baby at the time.

Grandma lived a full 87 years.  Her love of life affected the lives of her 4 children, 15 grandchildren, and 29 great grandchildren.  (And that doesn't even count the children and grandchildren she gained by marriage!)  One thing that amazed everyone was when she decided in her 60's to go take care of old people at the nursing home.  She never missed a day of work in 16 years and retired in 2003.

In the last few years, Grandma's health was not what it had been.  Two weeks before her death, she fell and broke her hip.  She did well through the surgery but the complications of pneumonia and blood pressure fluctuation proved challenging. As she tried to rally, her family gathered around her bedside and Michael and I tried to explain what was happening to our children.  When we would leave them with my Mom or Sue because family said it might be tonight, Ray and Rob would get wet eyes because they didn't want Great Grandma to die.  In the morning they would climb into my bed and with sad eyes ask if Great Grandma had died.  When I would say no, she was still alive, their smiles and cheers always lifted my spirit.

 Last week, family gathered at Grandma's bedside daily as the end become more and more evident.  I will never forget sitting there Thursday night into the early morning hours of Friday watching her children and grandchildren gathered around her, holding her hands, stroking her hair, telling stories, singing songs and reminding her she had nothing to fear.  Grandma knew Jesus and with that, we all knew where her place in eternity lie.  The love in that room was so powerful and such a testimony to the woman she was and the life she lived.

When Michael and I left at 2:30 a.m., we truly expected to wake up in the morning and learn she was gone.  But she wasn't.  We went off to work and school while her children and some grandchildren stayed at her bedside.  Close to noon that day, we learned that Grandma had left her pain and sorrows behind to join her husband and other family on the other side of the pearly gates.

I didn't plan on telling the boys until we were home and all together, but insightful and sensitive Rob asked when I picked him up from daycare, "Mom, is Great Grandma still alive?"

I looked into his big blue-green eyes and told him the truth.  "No honey.  She died today.  But that's okay, because do know where she is now?"

"She's with Jesus," Robby replied with a sad smile.

"Yes, she is," and I swallowed back my tears.

We gathered as a large family that evening for dinner and fellowship.  Some of us found our way to the floor surrounded by years worth of photos.  As we pointed and laughed, told stories, and remembered, Sam walked up to my mother-in-law, pointed at her and in a puzzled voice said, "You dead?"

"No honey, Grandma is not dead.  GREAT Grandma is dead."

"Great Grandma dead?"

"Yes, Great Grandma is dead.  The only who lives across the road."

"That chair?"  Sam asked pointing the rocking chair where Grandma sat nearly every Sunday and for any other family gathering.

"Yes.  Great Grandma who sat in that chair is dead."

"Oh.  Where she at?"

"She's gone honey.  She's in heaven now."

"She on the roof?"

"No, she is in heaven."

"She in the basement?"

"No, she is in heaven, with Jesus."

"Oh, she with Jesus."

As the time for the funeral drew near, Michael and I discussed if the boys should go and what they should wear.  We decided it would be good for them to go and have the experience now rather than wait and have it for the first time with someone they are even closer to.  When Rob heard Michael was wearing a suit, he got his own ideas about what he should wear.

"Can I dress like a president for Great Grandma's funeral?"

"Sure," I replied too quickly thinking a shirt and tie would suffice.

"I wanna look like George Washington!"  Rob said motioning near his neck,  "I want a fluffy white thing!"

Uh-oh.  "I don't think we'll find a shirt like that."

"Adams?"

"Hmm, no."

"Jefferson?"

"No."

"Jackson?"

"No."

"Who can I dress like?"

'How about Obama?"

"Okay.  Or what about W. Bush?"

"Fine."

The shirt and tie were not enough and my quest for a sport jacket only found one: a Calvin Klein version at the cost of $90.  But Rob was relentless.  We wanted to wear his tuxedo leftover from Ray's ring bear debut.  As I thought about if I should let him wear it or not, I finally asked myself what would Grandma say?  She'd surely say, "Yea, sure, whatever you got it fine."  I smiled as we compromised by letting him wear the jacket.

Word got around throughout the day that a future president was in the midst.  It was nice to see people smile as they told Rob they would be sure to vote for him someday.  I'm sure Grandma would have agreed.

When I Grow Up

Rob has a fascination with presidents lately.  The first presidential incident that I can recall was back in February this past winter.  President's Day was approaching and Ray, 1st grade at the time, was researching James A. Garfield and creating a presentation on him.  I remember our whole family driving down 4th street in our Yukon and Rob inquiring if Washington was dead.

"Wahsington?  George Washington, the president?"

"Yea, that's the one.  Is he dead?"

"Yes honey, he's dead.  He's been dead for a long long time."

"Oh."

We drove on further down the road while Rob apparently continued to ponder this.  A few minutes passed and he said, "What about Log?"

"Log?"

"Yea, Log."

"Log?  Like Lincoln logs?"

"Yea.  Lincoln Log!  Is he dead too?"

"OH!  You mean Abraham Lincoln.  Yes.  He is dead too."

"AW MAN!  ALL my favorite presidents are dead!!!"

As adorable as this was, I never dreamt it would be the beginning of a full fledge presidential fascination.  Rob colors pictures (which he hangs in chronological order), borrows books from the library, listens to videos on YouTube, sing songs, and spots president pictures everywhere.  I have to admit, he has taught me a great deal of history this summer.

The other morning Rob woke up way to early so as is customary in the Wx household, he curled up in bed with me.  He fell back asleep and woke up again at a more reasonable 7ish.  He barely peeked through his sleepy eyes and anxiously asked, "Mom, what do presidents eat?"

"Well, they eat food just like you."

"No, I mean, how do they get big and strong.  What do they eat?  What does Barack Obama eat?"  His voice sounded genuinely concerned and on edge.

"They are people just like you and me Robby.  They eat foods like fruits, vegetables, meat, just like you."

"Oh."  This time Rob sounded very relieved.

The relief didn't last for long because soon he was fighting back tears as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, looked at me and said, "Mom.  When I grow up, I want to president, but I don't want to die.  I don't want to die when I'm president like Lincoln.  I want to president and die when I'm done like Washington."

What was I to do?  I scooped him up, hugged him tightly and said, "I think you'd make a great president.  I'd vote for you.  And don't worry.  Now the president has lots of people to keep him safe."  As I squeezed him a little more I thought to myself, "And until then, I'll do what I can."