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~

Waking Up

After junior high, I pretty well stopped being a bandwagon person. For instance:

I don't own an iPhone. I don't wear Uggs. I'm not on a diet. And I don't have a blog. (Never mind.)

But a few weeks ago, I had a bandwagon urge I just could not resist. My friends jumped off a bridge, and strangely enough . . . so did I.

(Figuratively speaking. No worries!)

I bought One Thousand Gifts.

If you don't own a copy, I'm sorry to announce that:       1) I'm not having a giveaway because 2) my extra copy is already borrowed. But I'm not sorry to announce that: 1) You should get a copy anyhow because 2) seriously, it's only $9!

In the spirit of One Thousand Gifts, I thought I'd share a few treasures from our lives this week. Searching for them in the everyday muddle of sickness and clutter has made a difference for us; I pray they bring you a smile, too:

#355 - My spirited Princess, who'd rather take a nap than apologize. Yes, again.

#356 - Coffee with Almond Joy creamer.

#358 - Shiny wood floors, smudged by tiny feet.

#372 - The Royal Princess' tutu.

#373 - The way a church gathers around those who grieve.

Isn't it strange that as our church family prepares for a beloved member's funeral, the list still grows? The comfort, generosity, selflessness, and love that emerge from grief -- those truly are gifts.

Are you looking for your gifts this week?

Searching everywhere,
Becki~

*Thank you, Ann Voskamp, for helping open my eyes.

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.

Just for Tuesday: A Story

Today's Tuesday. (Bear with me; it gets better.)

Let's just be honest: Tuesday's probably not your favorite day of the week. Who loves Tuesdays? TGI Tuesday? C'mon. We all know Tuesday needs help.

So I brought you some! (You're welcome.) For your reading pleasure, I present a brief parenting adventure which may have happened last week.

This is my Royal Princess. Isn't she lovely? She adores babies; she doesn't know she is a baby.

Believe it or not, our Baby Royal Princess (BRP?) can talk up a storm. She knows a million words, and she'll repeat anything you say. So watch your mouth!

Last week, she was mean to her big brother. Really mean. She jumped on his face -- on purpose. Naturally, we told her to say, "Sorry."

Friend, do you know what she said instead? "No." (You can't believe it either, can you? She looks so sweet and compliant.)

But she ended up in baby time-out.

I went to check on the Princess after a minute and found her playing happily with dolls. Then I reminded her that she could come out if she'd just say, "Sorry."

Thinking maybe she didn't understand (it's possible, right?), I said, "Princess, say sorry. Can you say sorry? Sooorrrrrryyyyyyy."

For a minute, I really thought she understood. She got it. Victory!

But this is what she said:

"NO!"

"NoNoNoNoNoNoooooo!"

Changing tactics, I told her to say, "Please," since I knew for sure she could say that. She said, "No."

I said, "Say please?" ("No.")

"Say nice?" ("No.")

"Say yes?" ("No.") *sigh*

"Princess, are you hungry?" (*hesitant, but hungry* "Yes?")

And so we came to a lovely compromise.

The end.

I think I should start a series on parenting, don't you?

Your Supermom,
Becki*

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

Danger: Or The Top 5 Reasons This Blog Took So Long

In case you were wondering, I jotted down a few excuses reasons for my procrastination. :) Enjoy? 

5) The Expert Expectation: When I read blogs about cooking or mothering, I hear the writer's voice in my head. She sounds just like my first grade teacher, an expert who knows lots of things I just don't. And naturally, she's perfect. Her hair and nails are done, and when she takes a picture of her children, they don't have breakfast syrup stuck to their dinnertime chins.

But in the interest of truth-in-blogging, I state for the record: I'm not an expert at anything. My hair is a wreck, and my kids fell asleep with syrupy faces. (I think we like it that way.)

4) Picture Imperfection: Everyone knows the best blogs include beautiful pictures, so-called amateur shots taken with pricey cameras by experienced mamas. Picture-less blogs are so dull!

The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth: I'm no photographer. Thus --

It's really a shame, because my kids are so cute. They DESERVE a mother who can take amazing pictures. Hope they don't head off to find a mom who can do them justice. . .

 

3) Non-Thomas-Aquinas-ness: If you're a Christian who blogs, then naturally you'll be a Christian Blogger. You'll type out deep spiritual workings in poetic symbolism, and you'll post hard-hitting YouTube blurbs from favorite preachers. Definitely, for sure and for certain, you'll never explore topics like dirty socks, or your inability to enter your laundry room without crying.

My husband's advice to me? "Just blog about life." Blogs exist by the hundreds for spiritual exercises, and I'm intimidated by the thought of adding to the mix! So here I'll write about life as it comes, in days and months and years; and if "to live is Christ," then I'll pray our journey brings Him joy.

2) Blog-Speak: Bloggers say strange things. Case in point: Have you ever heard someone in real life use the word "Ahem"? Yeah, me neither. Or this: *Smile*? Creepy!

Resolved: No ahems. And I'm never going to use the word "blogosphere" again. Ever. *Smile*

1) Blogger's Block:  I already have it, and this is my first post. What does this mean about me? Will I make it in life? Am I a mess? Do I have What It Takes? Can you hear me now? Hello??

Anyway. For now, my plan is to write, and I do hope you'll read. This is our life; welcome to the adventure!

--Becki