Silly Question

As a graduate student in psychology, I've read a few ideas about how gender roles form. Do boys act like boys because they're born that way? Or are they rowdy because we raise them to act rowdy? And how do we explain girls' behavior? Nature or nurture?

It's a complicated question, and way out of my league. (You: *fainting with relief*) Yes, I'll leave that topic for another blogger -- maybe one who sleeps through the night. And who knows which day of the week it is. One who would definitely never do this.

Here, I'll just stick with the true story of our afternoon.

Today at the bookstore, a sweet cashier gave my kidlings each a free pack of silly bands. Royal Princess was quick to put them to use.

Stretchy rubber shapes + Royal Princess = bracelets. Naturally! Or whatever.

(By the way, isn't she dear?)

After I gave Little Man his silly bands, he ran to his room and played quietly for a long while. Upon emerging, he presented this:

In case you're not sure, that's Superboy. Tied up with silly bands. (Next time you think you're having a rough day, remember: You could be Superboy.)

Stretchy rubber shapes + Little Man = ropes to hold a captive.

In closing, I would just like to state for the record that: 1) As a child, I owned an indestructible Tonka truck;
2) on which I sat and made my little sisters pull me down the hall; until 3) they eventually disassembled my indestructible truck. (Looking back, I'm a little suspicious about how that all went down. . .)

At the end of the day, I'm not sure what this all means about the nature of life or gender or even silly bands. But I do know this: Both my kids are creative geniuses.

Raising Einsteins,
Becki~

Tired Much?

Staying home with your kidlets is a famously non-prestigious career. After years of tutoring, teaching, and administrating, my transition to home was an anxious one. I wondered if I could figure out what to do all day (haha!), if my kids would want even to spend their days with me, if I would fall into bed at night feeling unaccomplished.

And to be honest . . . sometimes I do hit the pillow feeling that way.

It's in those moments that I'm grateful for a camera. Glimpses of our day remind me that small things aren't insignificant; right smack in the middle of our mundane, routine days - we live out joy and fullness.

Yesterday as I flopped down onto our ottoman, the Princess promptly climbed onto my belly. Soon, Little Man hopped onto my knees, and they proceeded to pummel me. My view of the chaos:

(And yes, I shouted to The Preacher to please bring the camera; I was never a Boy Scout, after all!)

Later, Little Man and I spent a few before-bedtime minutes creating dragons and ships and amazing aeroplanes out of thin air. Or Trios. Whichever.

(Here, Little Man presents the, er . . . hind parts of the dog he built.)

At yesterday's end, I was tired - like I'm tired today, and every day after food and play and stories and training and giggles, and all the stuff of our short-long days.

I realized something, though, lying tired under my blankets: Sometimes it's worry and sickness and burdens that wear us out.

But most days, it's just fullness.

If your life is full tonight, even if it seems a bit overfull at times, you have good reason to smile as you drift to sleep. A full life earns a good rest.

A full life is something worth your tiredness.

Hebrews 6:10-12

Full and Sleepy,
Becki~

Shared here: Raising Homemakers and here:

A Mother's Love

Five years ago, a Little Man changed my life. He used to be really little.

Now, I have to ask him twice a week to stop growing so fast - not to stop, but just to slow down a bit so his old mama can keep up.

He never agrees. But I'm no quitter! I'll still be asking him when he's 87.

Everyone knows mommies show their love, in part, by feeding their kidlets. Yesterday an idea came into my head. Not a nice idea, necessarily. But an idea.

I fed him a Red Hot. (I love him, really I do! That's why it was just one.)*

Since he allowed me to catch his progression on film, I'll share the experience with you. (*applause*)

"This isn't so bad!"

"See, it's a Red Hot."

"Uh oh."

"Help!"

So he promptly bit the Red Hot and ran away from his Mean Ol' Mama. The end.

Bless his heart! (For those who aren't Southerners, that means, "Poor thing!") When I ask him if he wants more tomorrow, I wonder what he'll say? You never know with five-year-olds.

Mother of the Year,
Becki~

*Disclosure: No children were harmed in the making of this post. When I first asked Little Man whether he wanted a Red Hot, he laughingly replied, "No!" Then I popped five into my mouth, and he found his courage. Ahmen.

Some of You

Yesterday I was thinking about myself (which you never do, but bear with me just this once, ok?), and I realized something. When I walk through my house, all I see is a multitude of things undone: Need to sweep again. Pick up granola bar wrapper. Hurry and clean up cereal before someone smashes it. Well, scratch that. Vacuum smashed cereal crumbs.

It came to me that something's wrong with that -- all that focus, I mean, directed toward making our home into Ye Olde Museum.

Around here, two little tiny folks chase my heels. Today my husband The Preacher said, "I think it's cool the kids follow you everywhere you go." Hm.

And so The Preacher made me think of someone. Way back in Sunday school, didn't we learn about a guy with a bunch of (kinda clueless) people trailing after him all the time? People who asked him a bunch of questions and then fussed over the answers? People who argued about who was his favorite? People who didn't see the big picture - but chased His heels all the same?

This morning, I told my son it was time to pray; out of the blue, he declared in his Little Preacher voice: "Just like Daddy said at church, 'Some of you been prayin', some of you been workin', some of you been usin' the potty, some of you been playin' with toys. But did you ask the Lord?'"

I'm not sure what made him think of that (and I'm absolutely certain he wasn't quoting his daddy verbatim!) - but it's food for thought, isn't it? I've been prayin' and workin' and . . . y'know, all that. "But did you ask the Lord?"

So I think it's time to shift my focus. There's something amazing hidden under this parenting thing. If it takes a little digging to find it, then I've got my shovel ready. Tomorrow's a new day! *smile* ;)

(And with that, friends, I'll see you Monday! Well, unless something ridiculous happens tomorrow, in which case I'll be forced to keep you posted.) 

--Becki

Shared here: Time-Warp Wife!
And here:

The Big Kid Myth

My son turned five recently, an occasion for the history books. In life, most years pass with little fanfare. But some - some precious few years - mean something.

Five is one of those years. Little Man knew this intuitively; he asked me tonight, "Mommy, did you make Special Sauce for me back when I was four, or just when I was five?"*

When curious strangers discover my son's age, they ask about kindergarten and teachers and schools. Strangers want to know whether my son can read or spell his name. I laugh and tell Strangers that Little Man can read and write, but his birthday made him too young for kindergarten. And inside I think:

How did this child come to be five, anyway? Five: The year when people don't ask about binkies and sleeping through the night, but reading and writing. I promise you, this was last Saturday:

And this . . . this was tonight.

Before my mama heart breaks in half, I comfort myself; Five-Year-Olds still wear Superman pajamas. And when they're feeling a little cruddy, they still show up on the couch, where they still fit just right snuggled into Daddy's arms.

So for now, I'm not believing the hype about Big Kids. As long as I can still fit my arms around his neck, he'll be my Little Man.

Even when he's taller than me next week.

*Special Sauce Exclusive Recipe: Mix mayonnaise and barbecue sauce. Voila! ;) 

-Becki