What Oxen and Kids Have in Common

Proverbs 14:4 says, "Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox."

I never would have thought that this particular verse would stand out to me so much. I don't have oxen and I don't have a crib. Truth be told, I don't want either.

But I love this verse. I love it because every time I read it, this is what I hear:

"Where no children are the house is clean, but much joy is by the increase of children."

I have children, and I have a house.

My house is a mess, mess, mess. I always thought I would be one of those immaculate house keepers. You know, in my mind. When I was younger. Much younger. Before kids.

And my house was clean before kids. I still even did a great job with just one kid. But with each additional child those ideals ran right out of my head, and my house. Most days I feel like I'm fighting to just get the basics done.

But, oh, the joy! I never thought I could be so happy. Beautiful little people running around, making all kinds of messes. Not cleaning them up.

Then I have choices. After schooling my children all morning, I have so much to do, yet my heart yearns to play with my kids, to read to them, to cook with them, to put on the music and dance with them.

And the house is a mess. And I'm stressed. And I'm trying to be THAT person in my mind so long ago.

I think, "What kind of person do I really want to be? What do I want my kids to remember about their childhood?  A crazy neurotic woman running around insisting everything be spotless, or a crazy fun mom that kept everything somewhat neat and had time to be with them."

One of these days they won't be here anymore.

The house will be clean.

But, the joy will be gone. The silliness, the laughter, the childlike faith, gone. And somehow, I don't think the spotless house will mean so much then.

I'm trying to enjoy every moment in the now. Every moment. Even the messy, not so great moments.

Like Elijah's moment the other day.

We were at church, (of course) and he came walking down the hall playing with a little brown ball. He was rolling it around in his hands, when it dawned on me he didn't come from home with a little ball. "Elijah, what is that?" I asked. "Poop," was his quick, matter of fact reply. It was one of those moments I wanted to go crazy. Thoughts spinning around in my head, "Why at church? Where did he get it? Who's poop is it? Do I really want to know???!! WHERE IS THE HAND SANITIZER??!! I stayed calm and asked, "Where did it come from?" (I figured it was better to know up front.) "Out of my pants," he answered in a sweet voice, obviously not bothered at all by the fact that he was playing with a poop ball. (Did I just say poop ball??) "Elijah! Where do we poop?" I asked emphatically. "In the potty," he replied.  After all that's where he was headed with the ball in tow.....

Moments. Moments that make us laugh later. Memories. Memories that are cherished, but so easily forgotten. Children, the greatest gift God gives us as parents.

And I paraphrase,

"Where no children are the house is clean, but MUCH joy is by the increase of children." Proverbs 14:4

Enjoy every moment, and don't sweat the small stuff.

Hiding

My husband just tried to come into the bedroom to say hi to me after a long day. The door was locked, and I informed him I would not be coming out until the children were in bed. He asked if I didn't want to see him. I calmly told him it had nothing to do with him, and when the children were asleep I would come out of hiding.

Hiding. It seems like the most logical thing to do at the moment.

It's been one of those days...

You know those days....

At least I hope you do; I hope I'm not the only one.

So many crazy things going on at the same time in your life, and yet you look around and you still have little faces looking up at you. Little faces that have nothing to do when any of the craziness, yet there they are in the middle of it. And you're trying to keep sane.

Then it happens. In the midst of all the outside things going on in your life, one of those sweet faces informs you he is not doing his school work today. In fact he's going to do nothing, he tells you.

It happened today. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Do nothing? You're not serious?" I said. I came back in 15 minutes to find that he was. There he was on the couch. Still doing nothing.

"All day, you're going to do nothing?" I asked. "Yes," he replied.

A little part of me wanted to freak out. (Maybe it was a big part of me....I'm not sure.) Not so much because of the sweet face (that didn't look so sweet at the moment) looking up at me, but because of everything else. You know the stuff we moms carry around in our brains that have nothing to do with the situation at hand.

I wanted to make a scene. I wanted to jump up and down and yell, "How am I supposed to get everything done that I need to get done if you won't do anything!!"

God's grace prevailed. I calmly said,  (without jumping) "You are right. You will not be doing anything today, anything that you WANT to do, that is. You will be doing your school, with some chores thrown in." 

He told me I was a very mean mom. I wanted to be.

It wasn't the end of it. It was a long battle today. I really wanted to give in. When the big yellow bus came by our house, I wanted to tell him to get on it.

Parenting is not for the weak.

It's so hard not to let the stresses in my life affect how I parent. Especially when they push me to the limits.

Then I remember -

I love that stubborn child more than anything. I think every day that if we can make it through these molding years, he is gong to be an amazing adult. If we both survive, I can't wait to see how God is going to use him and his unique quirks. It will happen. He will grow up. He will have his own kids, and he will remember these days. I mostly want him to remember though, that I love him. Even when he's unlovable.

Because sometimes I am unlovable too. Especially in weeks like this week. Weeks where my world affects my momminess. I don't like it, but it happens.

Just a bit ago he looked up at me with his sweet face with a look that reminded me how much he loves me too. And how sorry he is for the day. I reminded him that tomorrow is a new day.

But for right now, I'm still hiding...

ERNO!!!!!

We recently took an amazing trip to the Grand Canyon. It far exceeded any of my expectations, and I highly recommend it to anyone. I would go back in a minute.

Except for the fact that it's a loooonnnng way there. We traveled 3,760 miles to be exact.

3,760 miles in a Suburban with boys.

Need I say more?

Traveling with boys can be a trip in itself. They come up with things I would never think of. I looked back at one point to see my 6 year old son with six crayons sticking out of his face. Yes, his face. How he was breathing, I'm not sure. But he was smiling.

And then there's the gas. Not the kind that goes into the Suburban. The kind that floats around the Suburban making everyone rethink the whole trip. It mostly comes from boys.  I'm just sayin' it like it is, folks - boys and gas seem to go together. And they are not the least bit bothered by it. It's the rest of us that suffer.

We have one son with an abnormal amount of gastronomical issues. (I won't mention any names here to protect the innocent, err guilty.) We have deduced that he is a bit lactose intolerant. Why someone kept feeding him dairy on this trip, I'll never know!! But alas, he kept eating it. And tooting. He's quiet though, you never know what hits you until it's too late.

The only saving factor was that for some reason every time he tooted he would yell, "Erno, Erno, roll down the windows!" Which we did as fast as we could.  Where he came up with the word "erno" we may never know, but we were extremely grateful for the warning.....

It quickly became a standing rule for anyone who was going to "offend" the rest of the vehicle to yell out, "Erno, Erno, roll down the windows!"  And this cry was heard more than I care to admit here.  I'm not sure what the other people on the freeway thought of our Suburban going down the road at 80mph with everyone's head sticking out the windows. (You're starting to realize how long 3,760 miles can be, aren't you...)

Finally on the way home Dan leaned over to me and whispered, "You have got to get that toot cry on video." I'm not sure if he was afraid we would forget the misery or the erno...., but I thought I would humor him.

Our particular "unnamed" son who made an hourly or so erno cry was sitting right behind me, so I kept the video camera close and waited.

I didn't have to wait long and happened to catch him in the very act. I quickly pulled out the camera and pointed it in his direction. I held my breath (literally) and waited......nothing. No warning, no erno, nothing. First time in 3760 miles. Nothing, but fumes. I prompted him - "What do you say when you toot?"

He looked up at the camera meekly and said, "Excuse me??"

Whoever said, "The journey is the destination," didn't travel with boys.

These are the Moments

These are the moments. The moments we don't see coming, and yet we are waiting for them.

We were at a wedding this weekend. It was a beautiful event of a dear friend. The guests were all in the reception area waiting for the bride and groom. There was food to eat and friends to catch up with. The lights were dim and the music was playing.

I was standing by a table of friends chatting when a little hand reached up and took mine. It was my youngest child. I turned to see what he needed, and he looked up at me and said,

 "Mommy, lets dance."

A thousand thoughts entered my head in a split second. "That's the most precious thing he's ever said." "Where did he come up with that?" "We don't dance much at home." "Maybe we should." "No one else is dancing." "We can't be the first ones on the dance floor." "That's for the bride and groom." "Where will we dance?" "Did my 2 year old child just really ask me to dance?"

Just a split second, and then.....

I took his hand and we walked out by the cake in the middle of the room.....and danced....

"Are we finished?" I asked him after a few minutes. Two year olds usually don't last long on the dance floor, and we were the only ones dancing. "No, Mommy," he said, "let's dance more." "Okay," I answered, "let's dance more."

A moment. That's all it was. A moment in this crazy, spinning world we live in. It didn't last long, and, oh, how my heart knows it won't last long.

In another split second he'll be ten, then twenty.

I have to take the moments. The moments I don't see coming, and live them now. Every day, live in the now, and love the moments in the midst of the living.

And dance, when no one else is.

Blood and Onions

I was never meant to be a nurse. I don't like blood. In fact that's a little bit of an understatement. My hypochondrism kicks into double time when there's blood involved. I can almost faint over a paper cut. On myself.

God gave me three sons. There is almost always blood in my house. Someone is always bleeding and always needing me to take care of it. But, I have developed a skill. I have become an expert at treating wounds without ever looking at them. If I look I get light headed. And if I'm lying on the couch fanning myself I'm of no good to anyone. I can almost stitch up a wound without ever seeing it. I'm almost. that. good......

If my sons are not bleeding, they are getting ready to bleed as they explore, discover, create, chop, dig, hide, etc. They love all kinds of activities, but blood must be involved. I really think they like to watch me walk around with my eyes closed. My daughter has the talent to be involved in these things without the blood.

 I wish she would teach her brothers.

The other day they were all four playing outside. They came to the door excitedly yelling that they had discovered onions in the yard. It was insisted upon that I come out and see these amazing yard onions.

I remember the joy of discovery as I pulled up wild onions out of the yard as a child, so I went out to take a look. Much to my surprise these onions were HUGE!! Much bigger than the green onions I buy at the store. The kids were ecstatic. "We're going to find more!" they said as they scampered off. I briefly wondered where they found these tall wild onions. Dan keeps the yard mowed quite short. It was a fleeting thought though, and I just let them go. They were having fun and no one was bleeding....

After their "harvest" they asked if we could eat them. I didn't see any reason why not, except for the dirt on them. I told them to leave them outside and we would ask dad to make sure it was okay to eat large wild onions.

Rylie snuck a few in and washed them in the bathroom while I wasn't looking. I later discovered the pretty white onions on the bathroom floor washed clean. I thought, "Why not? I'll cook them up for the kids in something." No reason to kill the joy of discovery. Right?

A couple hours later my botanist sister came over. She saw our onion harvest and asked me about it. "They're wild onions." I said. She just looked at me. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Well, what else would they be?!" I replied a little indignantly. Like I wouldn't know an onion when I saw one!

"They look a little like daffodil bulbs...." she said slowly. "Daffodil bulbs???" I repeated. "Those look like onions!" "And daffodil bulbs," she said. "What were you going to do with them." "Eat them," I slowly admitted. "Daffodil bulbs are poisonous," she stated.  "I knew that," I lied. "How poisonous?"  "You don't want to eat them," she said.

"Well, maybe they are just really big, wild onions," I said without much confidence. "Kids," I hollered. "Where did you pull up all these wild onions." "In the flower beds," came their quick, happy reply.

"Explains the lack of tall onions in the freshly mown yard...." I thought to myself.

As I sat there looking at the "poisonous onions" that I almost fed to my children, a second thought came through my mind - "My kids just pulled up my daffodils!!!!  I fight the deer all year in my flower beds, and now my kids pull up the only thing the deer won't eat!" (Because they are poisonous, I'm assuming....)  Relief at not poisoning my kids and frustration over pulled up flower bulbs were working side by side in my brain.

My sister suggested I replant the "clean" daffodil bulbs in the chance they would grow again.

"At least it was poison instead of blood this time," I told myself as I gathered up the bulbs.

Shopping F-U-N

We were in Branson the other day, and after a fun outing at Silver Dollar City had a little extra time to kill. I hinted to Dan that I had received a 30% off coupon for Kohls in the mail just recently. (Of course I had forgotten it at home...) And after almost 12 years of marriage Dan's getting better about figuring out hints and immediately turned the car towards Kohls. Luckily for me there is a big sport's store in the same shopping center which keeps the boys busy for awhile. Dan dropped Rylie and I off to go shopping and headed down to the more manly store. We were happy, just the two of us without the boys to tell us they were bored, or to hurry up. I really love shopping with my daughter! The only thing that put a damper on the moment was the fact that I was shopping for a swimsuit.

This used to be a joyful occasion for me....before I turned 35 and changed shapes..... Now, not only is the challenge to find a decent swimsuit that is not ugly, but one that the size isn't mismarked!  My sister insists that it's not the swimsuit company that is mismarking their sizes, but I'm sure it has to be! They can't get it right! And every year it gets worse. My sweet daughter loves to help though, and since I was trying to make this a good experience for her I didn't fuss about mismarking swimsuit companies too much as I pulled 3 different sizes off the rack.

"Why THREE?" you ask. I'll tell you - The first one is the size I used to wear, the second is the size I think I wear, and the third is the size I actually wear.

After trying on several that I wouldn't wear to a private pool party in my own backyard, I finally found one that I was happy with. The swimsuit company even got the size right!! It was in the second category - the one I think I wear, which at this point in my life I'll take any day. I was standing in the dressing room, happily admiring my suit in the mirror when Rylie came up behind me.

"What do you think, Rylie?" I asked. She loves to be included in the deciding process no matter who the clothes are for. I thought she would be thrilled I asked her opinion. "Ummm, Mom," she started slowly. "I like the suit, but you look a little F-A-T in it." she spelled out in a low voice. "Rylie!" I said a little startled. "I know how to spell!!" "I know," she replied. "You know, it just doesn't sound so mean when I spell it."

I came home and ordered size number three online. The swimsuit company wins again.

Lessons Learned From a Tornado

A tornado can change everything in a split second. I was never afraid of tornadoes, even as a child. Don't get me wrong, I never wanted to see one up close, but the thought of a tornado didn't bring fear. That all changed in 2011 when an F5 tornado hit Joplin, MO. The images on tv still haunt me. The foundations swept clean that were once homes. The realization that the safest place in your house may not be safe at all. Understanding that you may not be able to protect your family. I have been scared of tornadoes since that time

We were under a tornado watch last Sunday. I was concerned, but hopeful that it wouldn't turn into anything. By God's grace it didn't. I was very thankful when I put my babies to bed that night that all was safe. I went to sleep peacefully.

Then I woke up to the news reports. I didn't know that my neighbors in central Arkansas had been hit by a terrible tornado. The images started rolling in again. Homes, gone. People, dead. Disaster, everywhere.

And then stories. Stories of some people's survivals and other people's tragic losses. I get sucked in. I start reading them as people repost them on Facebook. My heart aches for these people. To not only lose every, single possession you have, but to lose a child or a spouse on top of it.

 Unimaginable losses.

One story stuck out to me more than the others though. It was about a mom and a dad, who even though they were broken and hospitalized, had somehow survived the storm. But even though they had survived, they lost their entire home, and their two sons.

Unimaginable.

The story was written by the mom's friend who had gone to visit her in the hospital. Why this story stood out to me more than the others was what the woman in the hospital bed, now childless had to say.

"She said her son has always talked about heaven. She said He looked at her Sunday afternoon, before the storm, and told her he was ready to go to heaven. "Will you miss me?" he asked her. "Well yes," she said, "but let's not talk like that now." "How long will you miss me?" he persisted. And she just smiled and said, "I guess until I see you again."" *
Her two boys knew Jesus. They had led a friend to Christ just a few weeks earlier. They had the faith of a child.

I was touched by this story. Not just because of the faith the mom has shown in the midst of loss, but because my faith is challenged by the testimony of the children.

First, these children were witnessing. How often do I pass up an opportunity to share my faith? How often do I only choose Christian friends, and thus have very little opportunity to share my faith.
Second, there was no fear in death. This boy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where he was going, and Who he was going to be there with.

Here is where conviction sets deep in my heart. I. Doubt. God. More than I care to admit. I'm not talking about doubting what God can do, I'm talking about doubting His very existence! It looks very shameful on paper, and it is. But I do.

Sometimes I let the knowledge in the world get in my head and I wonder if there is even a God. If there even can be a God. (I know, shock, right?)

Then I read the story of these two boys that were too young to die, yet faithful to trust in their Savior. They knew, not only heaven, but God is very real. And I know that today, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they are in Heaven with Jesus. Seeing Him with their eyes for the first time.

You see, I didn't need to see the movie to know that "heaven is for real". I just needed to read a story about two boys that went there last Sunday.

Someone commented that God has a purpose for each one of us to accomplish here on earth before He takes us home. He said that these boys were able to accomplish theirs in a short period of time when it takes others 100 years. I thought that was a good point. He's right. We're all here for a reason. And we need to be about doing His business.

If I'm wasting time doubting God, I'm not fulfilling my purpose.

God used the story of these boys to bring renewed faith into this ole heart. Their lives (and deaths) are still at work for  their Savior. I am challenged by two children to live a life of faith and action for Christ.

I know my God is real, and I cry out at the same time with the father in Mark 9:24 - "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief!

* Excerpt was taken from this blog post; you can read the story in it's entirety here - http://thehodgepodgedarling.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-cheerleader.html?m=1