{Not Too Spooky}

I've been told that a child can be analyzed by careful observation of his or her artwork. A child that feels safe and secure will portray himself with open fingers, while an insecure or frightened child will draw balled-up fists on the ends of his stick figures. I've not studied this further, but the idea intrigues me.

My girl typically draws the cliche rainbow, meadow and wildflower pictures you'd expect from a child. A tree on the left, the sun in the upper right hand corner. No balled up fists. God's in His heaven and all's right with the world.

But occasionally I do happen across fanged creatures and other gruesome caricatures. For some reason, a dragon or Ninja from Aidan doesn't cause me to bat a lash. But when Miss Kate produces the grim, it catches me off guard. What am I to make of it?

A recent work, hastily sketched in colored pencil, appeared on my desk. It was not sunshine and roses, but a charming little phantom.


Miss Kate, aware that I don't tend to embrace creatures from the dark side, added the reassuring title, "Not Tooo Spooky!"

According to the artist, the specter earned this distinction for two reasons:

1. His speech bubble says "hi." He's polite and welcoming.

2. He has fire coming from his rear end. Apparently this, too, lends a certain charm to ghosts. (I had no idea.)

So if you're ever approached by a phantom who greets you with a chipper "Hello!" and has fire issuing from his hind quarters, fear not. This ghost is not too spooky. You'll be just fine.


P.S. I am a little hesitant to hand this piece of artwork over for psychoanalysis. Let's just say this confident girl has a unique streak of creativity. Which is certainly nothing to be scared of. I hope.

{Can I Help?}

Is it possible for a mother to collapse under the weight of too much cuteness?

If so, please bring out the stretcher.

'Cause this mama's goin' down.

{Everything I Needed to Know I Learned From a Six-Year-Old}

She says what she thinks. Sometimes it's embarrassing. Sometimes it causes me to immediately turn around and seek a different aisle in the grocery store, lest we pass someone who might bear the brunt of her candor.

And sometimes she speaks wisdom. Like a perfectly outlined sermon, my six-year-old has recently set before me three points that I just can't get out of my mind. Perhaps the Lord is speaking to me? You know how it goes, "Out of the mouths of babes . . . ."

So if you'll allow me, here's a bit of gospel preachin'. From a first grader.

1. Contentment
The other day, Miss Kate was perched on the bathroom counter as I rolled up her hair in sponge curlers. She loves this ritual and would probably sit through it daily if I had the patience for it. As we rolled and she gabbed, she gazed at herself in the mirror and in a very matter-of-fact manner declared, "I like being me."

It was cute and sweet and earth shattering at the same time. Not everyone can say this about themselves. But when we acknowledge that we've been created in His image and when we seek to live in that perfect design for our lives, we can truly begin to say that we like who we are. This is the key to contentment.


2. Dependence
She really wanted to pour her own milk. From the completely full gallon jug. I said okay. It sloshed and spilled and she very quickly realized that help was in order. She wasn't discouraged or frustrated. She simply set down that jug and asked for help with the admission, "I'm still not quite capable." How easy was that? And again, very eye-opening as I completed the milk-pouring mission.


3. Trust
We were walking through the park when she announced that she really needed to use the restroom. Now. Thankfully, there were a number of public restrooms nearby. It was quite discouraging, however, to find that they were locked. She danced and wiggled. I knew that there was another restroom across the park, behind a large cluster of trees. I promised my fidgety girl that I'd get her to the next stop, although it was a bit of a walk. She peered ahead then looked up with complete trust in her sparkly blue eyes. "I don't see it, but I believe you." She grabbed my hand and stepped forward.

Amen.

In review.

* The key to contentment? Be thankful for you.

* The cure for pride? (Lest we get too carried away with point one . . .) Admit that you're not capable on your own.

* The best way to walk? In complete trust. He sees beyond the trees. (Aren't you glad?)

And now if you'll please stand for the benediction: "May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Amen."

You are dismissed.

{Playing School}

I was running behind schedule this morning and suggested that Avery might like to sit at my writing desk to do her school work while I put on my makeup. She thought this was a lovely idea. So lovely, in fact, that she said, "I know! Let's play school!"

This was funny for two reasons:

1. We do school every day.
2. It usually makes her angry.

But I certainly wasn't going to say anything about that. She merrily plopped down with her sponge curls and a clipboard (clipboards are very fun to use when playing school) and whisked through two assignments with cheerful perfection.

It was shocking.

Her work completed, she demanded with a Shirley Temple grin, "Now dismiss me!"

I summoned my best schoolmarm voice and said, "Push in your chairs, boys and girls. Class dismissed!"

She obediently pushed in her chair and ran out of the room screaming. She paused in the doorway long enough to explain the sudden burst of emotion: "That's what they do."

If curlers and clipboards and Mama's desk and screaming are what it takes, then sign me up.

Class dismissed.

{Study Aids}

Some people listen to lively music while studying and enjoy the banter of nearby students. Others require a cozy, hushed room with a hot beverage in hand. (Can you guess which one is Jamie and which one is me?)

Miss Kate is emerging as an opinionated young first grader, and apparently has a few study requirements of her own. Hey, whatever works, right?

So how about you? Do you focus best with a little white noise or do you prefer silence?

{Day 24} :: At the Piano

This sitting exercise has revealed to me a number of things. One of them is my tendency to delegate. Now, delegation can be a very handy tool when multiple children exist in a home. It's great to be able to ask Bethie to help Avery with her reading lesson or to hand over Aidan's math questions to Drew. They enjoy helping each other and appreciate the grown-up responsibility.

But sometimes I delegate too much. And often when it comes to Miss Kate. Of course this is perhaps natural since she's the youngest and most needy. If I'm making dinner and she's screaming about trying to find her bike helmet, it makes perfect sense to ask big sister to help out.


Tonight as I tried (for the third time) to finish loading the dinner dishes, Miss Kate decided that she would like to practice the piano. She got three notes into her C scale and shouted, "Mom!!! Can you help me?" My first instinct was to look for Drew. But I stopped myself. The dishes could wait (again). It would be such a small sacrifice to sit beside my daughter on the piano bench.

We sat together, counting out her scale, remembering when to tuck her fingers (with me inwardly cringing and outwardly very rigid because she mostly forgot to tuck her fingers) and finally made it successfully through all eight notes. Three times. And now for the left hand!

When it was time to move on to her song, she was quite confident. She knew she had to stay on the chocolate notes and only once accidentally landed on a vanilla one.

And then we got to duet. It was rather giggly. Mostly because I cannot for the life of me play a song with six hundred flats. We tried again and again and again. I hit a multitude of wrong notes every single time. She giggled some more, hitting her chocolate notes with perfection.

It was an ideal way to not do the dishes. Again.

Read about the thirty-one day challenge over here.

Soar

Her brown hair danced in the wind as she raced, barefoot, down the shoreline. A brand-new birthday kite clenched in her fist, soaring above, Daddy running alongside, close and strong.

My heart, it soared, too. Soared with love for this child, now six, who amazes, delights, challenges and lives life to the fullest.

My dreams, they soared, too. My throat constricted as I dreamed of the future and remembered the past and I didn't care if that meant that I was crying right there on the beach.

Beauty has a way of doing that.

My prayers, they soared, too. Complete, utter gratitude lifted to the only One who could orchestrate the beauty before me. The beauty of a child becoming. The beauty of a life placed in eternity, placed here alongside my eternity.

I longed to dwell in that moment. To keep it, bottle it up and hold onto it with fists clenched tightly as though the kite might get away.

Because the truth is, it will get away.

It will soar on the wind, caught up in a dream that will dance on the wings of wild ambition. My fists cannot contain it.

But eternity can. The One who holds eternity can surely hold a kite string.

So I can let go. I can praise with open hands. And I can let my baby soar.

'Twas Two Weeks Before Christmas

'Twas two weeks before Christmas
And although it was late,
Up in the wee hours
Was Miss Avery Kate.

The others were tucked
In their beds with great care,
But Little Miss Muffet
Chose not to be there.

Perhaps 'twas the chocolate,
Or maybe the tea,
That kept our sweet pixie
From where she should be.

For into our room
With scarcely a clatter,
Tiptoed the baby;
We thought, "What's the matter?"

Her reason was simple --
She just needed to be
With her two favorite people:
Daddy and me.

I kissed her round cheeks,
And squeezed that girl tight,
Heard peaceful breathing,
And knew all was right.

{The Amiable Guinea Pig}

One of my favorite authors is Beatrix Potter. I was about to say, "One of my favorite children's authors," but I changed my mind. She's absolutely delightful no matter how old the reader might be. I love to snuggle up with Little Miss Avery Kate and read about Benjamin Bunny in his clogs and tam-o-shanter, the Fierce Bad Rabbit with savage whiskers, and the naughty kittens who sneak out to make "dear little muffins."

If you don't have her books sitting nearby, take a peek at this limerick. It will make you smile. I promise. Better yet, teach these clever words to a child. It's quite entertaining to hear a wee voice say, "amiable."



There once was an amiable guinea pig, 
Who brushed back his hair like a periwig --
He wore a sweet tie, 
As blue as the sky --
And his whiskers and buttons
Were very big.

Avery was four when I first read her this poem. She laughed so hard that we read it over and over and over. It wasn't long before she had it memorized. When she finally recited it to me, I realized why she had been laughing so hard. She understood the last line to read,

His whiskers and buns were very big.

We're still laughing.