{The Dinner Helper -- It Works!}

Every once in a while I stumble upon an idea that helps me maintain that home rhythm that we moms so desperately try to cultivate. My most recent breakthrough is "The Dinner Helper."

First, though, some background. For several years I've used the "helper" system after learning about it from my friend, Darlene. Each child is assigned a day until all the days are taken. (Drew takes Monday and Thursday, Bethie has Tuesday and Friday, while Aidan has Wednesday and Saturday. Little Miss Avery Kate still resides loftily over the Sunday slot. No one has commented yet on the unfairness of this.)

On the child's "day," he is given all of the miscellaneous responsibilities that come up, such as setting the table for dinner or taking out the trash. Not only does this child have the day's responsibilities, however. They are also blessed with the simple privileges that brighten a kid's day, such as choosing the radio station in the car, running an errand with Dad or eating from . . . The Orange Plate. (Hey -- The Orange Plate is a coveted item in our home!).

So anyway, we've used this system successfully for a number of years and tailored it as the kids have gotten older. One of the helper duties we've always used is dinner detail. I was finding, however, that the "helping" wasn't necessarily always . . . helpful. Dinnertime is somewhat frenzied anyway -- pulling together last minute ingredients, fielding questions from the other room, feeling tired and hungry, etc. So I felt even more frazzled when I had to list off all of the things I needed my helper to do. I can multitask, but I'm not Wonder Woman. (I used to think I was, though. You see, my sister and I had these awesome Underoos . . . .)

Instead of freaking out, desperate Normal Woman devised a new plan. I call it, The Dinner Helper Checklist.

This really works, folks! I have posted a chart on the fridge with a very detailed list of Dinner Helper tasks. My helper walks up to the chart, reads what they need to do and they do it. While they're setting the table, I can focus on the soup or the muffins or the salad. I don't need to think or shout out orders. Our responsibilities merge so nicely that dinner gets to the table in a much more pleasant and efficient manner.

Here's a peek at our list:

1. Clear off the table.
2. Fill 6 glasses with fresh water.
3. Make sure each chair has a napkin.*
4. Place 6 forks/spoons at each seat.
5. Ask Mom about condiments.**
6. Help Mom bring plates to the table.
7. Ring the dinner bell!

*I use cloth napkins that the kids can tie around the chair rails.
**This includes all the extras, like salad dressing, sour cream, Parmesan cheese, etc.

I've noticed that giving specific details really helps. (I'm not sure why they have a hard time remembering that there are six of us, but Jamie and I actually get water now that I've posted the number.) I'm thinking I'll also post a diagram of a place setting so they remember where everything goes.


Emily Post's Basic Place Setting

The older ones often help with actual dinner prep, too, which is a lifesaver. Everyone's favorite part, of course, is number seven: ringing the bell.

After dinner, my helper looks at the second list. (All family members are supposed to clear their own place settings, but I've included that as number one in case someone forgets or gets sidetracked. Someone like, oh, say, Little Miss Avery Kate. Or . . . Mom. Yes, it happens.)

1. Clear away plates and utensils.
2. Clear away and rinse glasses.***
3. Put lids on condiments, condiments in fridge.
4. Tie napkins on chairs.
5. Wipe table with dishcloth.
6. Sweep the floor.
7. Push in chairs.

***We keep the kids' glasses in a row on the counter during the day to cut back on extra dishes. They use various jars, all different heights, so they know that the tallest is Drew's and the shortest is Avery's. After meals I ask them to rinse their glasses and put them back on the counter. I pop them into the dishwasher after everyone's in bed.

I've found that not only does this system help my children contribute to the family and develop responsibility, but it also keeps me on track. If they're on number six and ready to bring food to the table, my goal is to have the plates dished up and ready to pass off by that point. It also gives me a sense of shared accomplishment and camaraderie with my child. We can look together at our work and say, "Hey! We did it!"

It Pays for All

Do all mothers with small children brace themselves just slightly on their birthdays? I'm not talking about the panic that comes in response to aging. It's the deep breath that anticipates all the . . . glitter. And glue. And popsicle sticks. And tissue paper. And beads. And pom-poms. All. Over. The. Floor. These things that, when wadded together into a marvelous work of art, become mama's birthday present. Because mama's babies really, really wanna give.

There's a whirlwind of activity on mama's birthday: The warning shouts if mama's footsteps happen to approach, "Don't look!!!!" The slamming of doors. "She's coming!!!!" The sound of tape being pulled (liberally) from its dispenser. The rustle of paper, the scratching of pencils, the innocent smiles and the twinkling eyes.

And then the giving. Mama opens her treasures. Suddenly, the mess doesn't matter one bit. She beholds the eyes, peers into the hearts, and sees nothing but love. The glue might have some drying to do, and the glitter might stick stubbornly to mama's face. (You know what I'm talking about. Glitter just doesn't respond to a gentle whisk.) But that's okay. Because, as L.M. Montgomery once wrote,

I am indeed a most happy and thankful woman. Motherhood is heaven. It pays for all.


"DEAR MOM I LOVE YOU YOU'LL BE MY BEST MOM EVER LOVE AVERY"

It doesn't get any better than that.

By All These Lovely Tokens

September
Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian's bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes' sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer's best of weather,
And autumn's best of cheer.


Eight years ago I found a used copy of Helen Ferris' Favorite Poems Old and New, an excellent poetry anthology for children. I quickly fell in love with September, and proceeded to read it to my little preschooler, Drew. He picked up a line here and there, but his favorite thing to chant was, "From dewy lanes!" (Dewy is a very fun word to say. Go ahead. Try it.) I can still hear his little voice shouting out that stanza and see that merry twinkle in his eye.

Every September since then, we've revisited these lines. This year was no exception. I opened the worn volume, and as soon as I said, "September . . . ." they knew what was coming. They all took part in shouting about the "dewy lanes" (because, you'll remember, dewy is a very fun word to say), and the school year was duly commenced.

Tuesday morning I looked over my wee brood and marveled. Drew, now in 7th grade, Bethie in 4th, Aidan in 2nd and Little Miss Avery Kate in Kindergarten. I read to these rapidly growing people of the beauty of September, of the "lovely tokens" that greet us each year -- the apples, the sedges, the butterflies -- and my cup overflowed as my heart continued to add it's own "lovely tokens" to the list: the comforting rhythm of September, children who are eager to learn, freshly sharpened pencils, a basket full of library books . . . .

My prayer for this year is that my list of lovely tokens won't be forgotten. The list continues daily, because my Father has loveliness to lavish daily. My freshly sharpened pencil is in hand, my eyes are open, my heart is yearning, and I'm ready. Oh, how I love September.

Apple Picking by Camille Pissarro 1886

Life With Little Miss Avery Kate: The Haircut

This evening I cut Avery's hair. She's been asking for "short like Bethie" for quite some time. Don't worry -- I wasn't about to part with that much silky-wispy baby hair. But she was still very pleased to see how dramatic the change was after parting with just a few inches.

She sat on the old wooden high chair in the kitchen, her baby towel from Noni wrapped around her shoulders. This was her first real cut. She's had wee, hesitant trims before. In the past I just couldn't bring myself to hack off any more than an inch. But somehow, tonight, it seemed right.

I combed through the damp tangles, parted and sectioned off the brown strands, glanced at Jamie for moral support, then dove in. With each cut, memories were evoked. My first thought was one of thankfulness. Several years ago I endured a hair fiasco with a four-year-old Bethie in which she gave herself a hair cut. Just some nice, obvious chops here and there -- bangs, top, back. Boy, was she a sight. (I'm really rather surprised that Avery never attempted this rash display of independence. But she seems content with chopping the hair from her stuffed animals. Not that I condone this.) So tonight I was thankful that I was cutting hair not because it needed repair, but because the time was right.

I thought about the soft little curls at the ends of her hair that probably won't appear again. Her baby curls. The curls that have been with us for five years. And I thought about how grown up it was to have a hair cut and be in kindergarten and have a new backpack and start ballet all in the same week.

After every snip she asked, "Is it done?" And after every snip I said, "Not yet. I'll tell you when it's done." Yet she still asked -- after every snip -- "Is it done?"

Finally, it was done. I looked at that blunt cut across her back, and it made her look so confident, so assured, so . . . . big.

She ran to the mirror and announced, "Whoa. It's short." I was nervous. It was still well past her shoulders. Surely it wasn't too short. "Do you like it, honey?" She smiled and twirled the strands, "Yes!" And ran to show her brothers and sister. They all seemed to experience some sort of brief mourning over the loss of her baby hair, but with a quick wink from mom they caught the prompt. "It looks so pretty, Avery!" She glowed.

Then she asked for curls. So I swept the mane into a ponytail while a mama-ache lodged somewhere in my chest. That ponytail was a big girl ponytail. We got out the sponge rollers, she found the green ones, and we rolled. After securing the bun with a hankie, I whisked my baby to bed. A story and prayer later, I tucked another hankie into her hand for the sniffles that had plagued her all day. And my baby-but-not-a-baby drifted off.

I know that when she wakes up in the morning, she'll suddenly remember. She'll feel the rollers and it will all come back to her. She had her hair cut. She'll want the rollers out, she'll run to the mirror, and she'll smile. And my big girl -- she'll be beautiful.

And Now We're Five

I blinked, and my baby turned five. This child who is full of life, energy and a thousand questions, this child who leaves laughter in her wake.



This child who is content -- as long as there's . . .

A snack in her hand . . .







An animal to love . . .





A brother to torment . . .



A Daddy to hold . . .



A bowl to lick . . .



A project to start . . .



A sister to admire . . .



A book to read . . .



A doll to dress . . .



A world to explore . . .







A knife to handle . . .



And a host of admirers . . .



Yes, she's really very low maintenance . . . .

Even so, my prayer for her -- and each one of my babes -- ascends to our Father each night:

Lord, would you bless my Little Miss Avery Kate. I pray that she would grow to love and serve you with all of her heart, soul, mind and strength. Would you grow in her the fruit of Your Spirit, which is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. I pray that she would be like a little lamb who would hear Your voice and know it, and that she would trust You all the days of her life, knowing that one day she will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Would You put your hedge of protection about her, and guard her coming in and going forth from this time forth and forever. Would You grant her wisdom, Father -- wisdom to make good choices out of her love for You. Would you bless her with the heart of a servant, that she might look for ways to help those in need. And now may she lie down and sleep in peace, for You alone, oh Lord, will make her to dwell in safety.