loving on my kids today

We've started the Chef for a day program at our house. Each child is responsible for choosing a meal one night each week and then helping prepare it. It helps in so many ways. First, I have help planning our weekly menus. This is a huge help as I tend to get stuck in a rut. Second, I get one on one time with a child as we visit and learn while making dinner. Third, the other two kids get some time to play on their own.

We were playing hockey out on the pond today and Audrey was the first to get cold. It worked out perfectly since she and I were making Meatload mudslides for dinner. She picked it from the Dora the Explorer cookbook she got for Christmas from Grandpa and Grandma Fischer. We did some dishes, washed the table, and swept to get the kitchen ready for the big mess we were about to drop on it. Since, you know, cooking with kids is such a recipe for disastrous messes and big fun. We donned our aprons and got to cooking. She was so happy to do two of her favorite things: Spend alone time with me. Help with an important grown up job. She felt so fancy.

Two happy chefs

Her meal was a success and earned rave reviews from everyone, except for the vegetarian in the house. I'll take their word on it.

Isaac chopping on "Chef Isaac Night"

The hockey players came in, sweaty and ready for hot cocoa. It is so fun to play with them and watch them play together. Isaac is tenacious, the first kid out on the pond and the last one to go inside, always practicing dribbling and skating faster and faster. Then Elliot comes out to play and Isaac is just the best big brother. He hits it softly to Elliot, lets Elliot skate past him, and plays down to his level. It is just adorable.

Elliot's pretty hard core

Audrey can skate or she can play hockey, but it's a real challenge to do both at the same time. She still gives it her best shot.

hockey fun with the neighbors

Yep, just loving on my kids today.

How dare I?

Sometimes mamas do terrible, mean things like make their 3 1/2 year olds wash their hands after they go to the bathroom. The nerve! Sometimes 3 1/2 year olds have to vent their frustration with really mean words. Which is why I heard Elliot muttering, "Bad pumpkin mama" under his breath as the water streamed over his cute, still chubby, little soapy hands. Then he laughed because he thought it sounded silly.

Mr. Sparkly Rock star loves wearing his microphone and singing songs from church

Lovin' his Whalen shirt

He's even cute when he's frustrated, this one.

How we end our day

We read whatever chapter book we're working on at the time. Currently Elliot has chosen yet another Frog and Toad book. Apparently he is a proponent of the "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" camp. Audrey just finished "The Stray" and we'll probably start "The Littles" tomorrow. Isaac and I started "Robin Hood" tonight.

Elliot likes his back patted. To rub it tickles too much. He is the tickliest kid I know.

Audrey likes having me run my fingers through her hair. She smiles the whole time.

Isaac pulls his shirt up over his head, always reminding me of ET, and likes his back scratched. The first thing out of his mouth as I'm climbing up the loft is usually: "Will you scratch my back?" As if I forgot from yesterday.

Elliot gets lullaby, prayer, favorite part of the day, "You're hand in mine is a perfect fit, I love you ever little bit," homemade lullaby, and lots of kisses on his palms so he can put them on his cheek and think, "Mama loves elliot" when he misses me.

Audrey gets homemade lullaby, prayer, favorite part of the day, "I love you when you laugh, when you are sad, when you are angry, when I don't understand you. I love you because you are who you are." lullaby, and a kiss. Then she asks for another kiss and then she has one more thing to remind me just as I'm about to shut the door.

Isaac gets prayers, favorite part of the day, homemade lullaby, and "I love you best, I love you most, I love you high, I love you low, I love you deep, I love you wide, I love you, I love you, I love you. goodnight." He usually wants to talk about the book a little bit or remind me of something he read in the sports page.

The little things that help them unwind and relax before bed. The little things that end our day together.

just a game of basketball

6:30 Monday night and Isaac was all pumped to go to his second night of basketball practice. Upward basketball t-shirt? Check. Lynx jersey? Check. Shorts and tennies? Check. The kid was ready. More like chomping at the bit. We got there and he saw two kids from his team shooting hoops with a third kid he didn't know. These are kids he'd just met last week. (this si important information) He watched them play as he pulled his pants off. (Don't worry, Isaac, you were wearing shorts underneath.) I just hung back to see how this would play out.

mugging with his new lynx shirt

the moment when he solves the last scavenger hunt clue and realizes we have season tickets to see the Lynx

In fact, I was really interested to see how it would play out. Isaac was the kid at the birthday party or the Moms Club meeting or the children's museum that was hiding behind my leg watching. The one who watched for the first year of music class and the first six months of dance class before finally giving it a try. He sang all of the songs and did all of the dance moves at home, but never in public. He wasn't painfully shy, but he was very introverted. He got nervous around new people. He didn't like to take risks. He didn't like to do something in public until he had perfected it. Even when learning to walk, he never cruised or pulled up on things much. He just waited until he was strong enough to get up and walk. And walk and walk. He was kicking a soccer ball that same day. He was a cautious observer, and still is in many ways. So, yes, I was very interested.

Which is why my heart shattered with pride when Isaac, my kid, jumped right into the game and grabbed a rebound. He dribbled out and took a shot. Someone else rebounded and he started defending someone. He did that. And I just watched in awe of how far he's come. It may have looked like just a game of basketball between some second and third graders, but it was a whole lot more for Isaac and his proud mama.

When I decided maybe we were right the first time

Jim and I weren't having kids. For six years we were firmly rooted in couplehood, but not parenthood. And we were okay with that. Until we weren't. And then we wanted a kid in a bad way. We talked a lot about the state of the world and if we wanted to love and raise and nurture kids in a world filled with anger and hate and war. We wondered if there was enough right to counteract the wrong and enough love to overwhelm the hate. And we decided yes. So we had a kid, and a kid, and a kid. And gosh, how we loved those squishy little fat content babies and continue to revel in their goodness in a world that can feel overwhelmingly bad.

We volunteered on Wednesday night. We prepared and shared a meal with three families experiencing homelessness. We played basketball and made a cardboard box house and chased footballs and played farm. I heard stories of fleeing from corrupt, evil governments, rape, torture, freedom of speech, hate, fear. I saw a mother visibly shrink as she considered what she'd endured and all her children had endured because of the words she writes against her government. I saw her eyes fill with tears that never spilled over as she rubbed her face in disbelief at the warm, furnished, beautiful home that she fled in terror. I wondered, if she starts to cry, will she ever be able to stop? I heard her tell stories about her 6-year-old that holds knives to his throat and can't be left alone with child scissors. About her 12-year-old that started wetting his bed and sucking his thumb raw. About her 16-year-old that must move from school to school because of fighting. Of anger and fear and evil felt by her children and reflected through her children.

I do not know this family's life. I only know what I was told. I want it to be a fabrication, an excuse for how this family ended up in this situation. I want to believe it could never really happen like that. But I also realize that even if it didn't happen to her, it happens to others and even if it didn't happen to her, she's living and breathing as though it did. It is her reality and her family's reality. And I don't know how children get over that. Moving from town to town and state to state. Looking over their shoulder, living in constant, never-ending, gut-wrenching fear. Children with worries so deep I could see them etched into their furrowed brows and morphing the bright, curious eyes of childhood into the blank, furious stare of hopelessness.

And I thought, maybe we were right the first time.

There is so much evil and I have these three kids that I love so much and I want them to remain untouched by the atrocities of this world. I want them to know of them, to be empathetic and knowledgable about hardship, to care deeply and live generously, but to walk a path free of palpable evil that reaches out to grab them and pull them in and take their wonder and joy and turn it into indifference and anger. But somedays that feels too hard. It feels like it is surrounding us on all sides and waiting, like a predator. And I don't want to overprotect them, but I also don't want to turn my back.

And I know intuitively that there is enough love. That there is God and good and kindness. But that doesn't quiet my dreams or shush my fears because a reality finds me in my quiet moments, when the kids are sleeping and the dishwasher is humming and the stories of Wednesday night haunt me and the newspaper articles taunt me. I am not enough. Our love is not enough. This life we live, these lives we created, are part of a big world that is full of beauty so intense that a sunset can bring tears to our eyes and of kindness so unexpected that I can believe in humanity again. But there is more to it than that. There is anger burning so fiercely that it can propel airplanes into buildings. There is hatred percolating through veins so intensely that wildflowers or highways or villages provide an innocent looking cover for mass graves in China and Germany and Mexico and Sudan.

And that haunts me.

And I wonder, again, if we did the right thing.

I cannot imagine a life without these three kids who bring a light to my life that I will never deserve. Who take way too long to tie their shoes, and just forget about it if we're talking coats and hats and mittens, too. Who ask questions all the live long day and spill food on the floor as though our table has holes in it. Who tap each other or sing loudly in the car simply to annoy the other.

Who sing each other sweet lullabies while they're playing house and invent games involving homemade spelunking hats, strobe flashlights, and kitchen towels fashioned around their head a la Mary, mother of Jesus, or Little Red Riding Hood. Who drop everything for a good, old fashioned dance party or another chapter from their latest book. Who laugh with a gusto that shakes me for its innocence and simplicity.

So every night I pray, please don't let me ruin them. Some nights I add in please line their path with goodness. Please let their life mistakes, which, of course, are inevitable, be gentle. Please let the people they meet and love build them up more than tear them down. Please let them never, ever, for one little second question my love. Please let them know you. Please let them laugh more than cry and persevere always. Please let them work to better this world, in whatever way you've prepared for them using all of the gifts you've instilled in them.

Please let your peace be felt by this troubled world.
Please.
please

Isaac's poem for creative writing

Cool Blue

Blue is rain and sky
and the feeling of ice.
Blue is the taste of ice cream.
Blue cheese and spearamint smell blue.
Slavery makes me feel blue.
Blue is the sound of the ice cracking.
Death and rainy wind are blue.
Blue is winter.

cute stuff kids say

Isaac was getting into bed tonight. I prayed. He prayed. He, as always prayed for the kids we sponsor, Cristian, Abukari, and Ivona. He leaned over the edge of his loft and said, "Mama, I've been thinking and I think Cristian and Abukari and Ivona are part of our family." I couldn't have agreed more.

Elliot was "exhausted" after a late night at St. Paul's. He asked if I could carry him upstairs from the car. I hefted him out of the car and he asked, "Am I heavy?" I replied, "You're just right." He squeezed me and said, "When I'm a grown up, I'll be able to carry you. . . but you'll still snuggle me." (sigh) love me some Elliot

Audrey is a reading machine. She is gaining confidence to sound out longer words and her voice gets enthusiastic, sad, and curious depending on the sentence. It is so darn adorable. She has a reading book that we're working through, but she asked if she could also read a chapter from Frog and Toad each day because she just likes to read to me. What a special time to share with a special girl.

life in a station wagon

There are times the kids are lined up, three in a row, busting at the seams, reminiscent of sardines, when every little word or breath or tap is meant to drive a sibling crazy. And it works all too well. They argue over who is touching the arm of their carseat and who is singing an annoying song and who is ignoring them. It is not fun. I long for a big ol' SUV with room for one kid in each row.

Then there are times that the kids are lined up, three in a row, busting at the seams, reminiscent of sardines, when the kids are cracking each other up and making up new games and telling hilarious stories and making their mama smile. Thankfully, today was one of these days. Isaac learned about painting planets and the night sky in art today and kept the fun going in the car. He and Audrey completely covered their faces with their winter hats and pretended the darkness was another planet. They floated around on their new planet, oohing and aahing all of the wondrous sights, talking about meteors and astroids, inviting their "baby" to join them on the adventure. Elliot didn't have a hat, but he gladly joined them in space, tethered himself to the car, and floated around. They explained where they were going and what they were seeing. The laughter and imagination had me smiling in the front seat, a little envious of their creative minds and freedom. Finally they returned to the planet earth and asked Elliot to come down. It took some coaxing, but he finally agreed.

And once again, they were kids lined up, three in a row, busting at the seams, reminiscent of sardines, but they were exploring the planet earth in a rover. The adventures and laughs continued and no one even breathed too loudly to ruin all of the fun.

Merry Christmas? Happy Holidays?

Our Christmas wasn't merry. Our holidays weren't happy. Interesting? Yes. Eventful? Sure. Dramatic? Absolutely. The whole week from Christmas to New Year's Day passed in a blur and Jim and I sat down last night to try to figure out what happened to that week. Neither of us could come up with anything concrete, so I guess it's just gone.

Even though our time wasn't what anyone hoped for and wasn't beautifully and neatly wrapped up in a shiny red bow, we shared a few moments that I want to remember always.

Elliot's face as he told me the gum was his favorite gift because he's "always wanted (his) own pack of gum."

Audrey sitting down right after she opened her gifts to write thank you notes on her new stationery.

Isaac playing endless games of Perplexus and waking up to the sound of that metal ball rolling around the around the orb.

A cousin sleepover with Maclain where we started the game, "witch." I was the witch and was so happy that the kids brought their cousin over because my recipe called for three boys and one girl. We chased each other and shrieked and tied each other up with night night blankies and had a fantastic, spooky time together.

Watching the snow fall on New Year's Eve, big, beautiful, mesmerizing flakes, blanketing our world and hopefully ushering in a better, brighter New Year.

Playing board games and eating snacky-dinner as a family on New Year's Night. Laughing and cooperating and negotiating and recommitting to this family and this love and this life and all the adventures that will come our way whether we like them or not and all the adventures that we'll plan for and get surprised by anyway.

So no, it wasn't your traditional Merry Christmas. But I'd bet my money on a Happy 2012.

subtle

A kid flailing in the snow, arms flying, body contorting, screams deafening, is a good indicator that, although they already had "reading hour," it is time for a nap.

A kid waking up, wrapping his arms and legs around his mama, rubbing her cheek with his soft, warm from sleep cheek, and saying, "Nice mama," is a good indicator that the nap worked.

Kids. Subtlety is not their strong suit.