Independent Reader: Yes, to Pigeons. No, to Cats. In Hats.

Mo Willems' books are always entertaining.

I first adored them through the sweet voice of my once 5 year old, Harper.

And tonight . . . from Zane.

Only, I wasn't sitting next to him. 

"Mommy! It's my first night!"

"Your first night?"

"Reading in my bed by myself before I go to sleep. It's my FIRST NIGHT!"

Thanks to Miss B, Zane's first-grade teacher, and thanks to having a son who is wired to move and groove when there is a prize at stake - like going out for pizza with the lovely Miss B once he finishes 100 books - Zane has caught the reading bug and is continually trying to challenge himself.

We are finding that Zane likes measured goals. In Cub Scouts he was all over the popcorn sale so he could win a gift card. He wants those darn beads. And belt loops. STAT! You know it. Earned three tonight. (Beads? Belt Loops? What? Yep, those boys are just as decked out as some Mary Kay consultants I recall seeing at conventions. Truth is - I love that kind of stuff, too.)

So, when it comes to reading?

No different.

His book form has a place to check whether he read the book independently, or whether the book was read to him. The last 10 books he has tackled have all been on his own. 

Tonight was evidence.

With his little lantern next to him in bed, George and I heard him reading for an hour after tuck-in.

It was 10:00 before he dozed off.

This morning, he showed me what he accomplished last night. Two Mo Willems' books, and another about an albatross.

As for the "Cat in the Hat Came Back" which was also sitting on his night stand?

"Nah, I didn't finish that one. It was just too long and the Cat was annoying me."

Dude, I feel the same way.

That cat produces anxiety. In children.

And adults.

Confession. I've never liked those books. Who wants to go to bed all stressed-out and high-strung?

I'll stick with my second run-through of Hunger Games . . . ;-) Movie trailer, here.

No tension there, right?

Can't wait to listen in on you tonight, little man!

Ho, Ho, Ha, Ha, TEARS, Repeat: Manic Christmas

"Is it Saturday?"

"Nope."

"Is there school today?"

"Yep."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I'm not getting up!"

"Zane, I thought you loved school!"

"I do! BUT NOT AROUND CHRISTMAS-TIME!"

Normally, I don't count down the days until Christmas. This year, I can tell you, that as of this posting, there are exactly, 18 looooooooong days until the DAY OF DAYS.

Until that time, we will experience laughter, weeping, deep meaningful questions, gnashing of teeth, cheers, pure grief, good deeds, lots of back-chat, snuggles, and screaming.

I'm certain a door will be slammed.

It started on Sunday - the day we got our tree. The tree was spotted by the children within 2 minutes into our wagon ride around the farm. Once the tree was up, Christmas had officially begun. The tree is our ushering in of the holiday. And, once again, we they picked perfectly.

"It's coming! It's really coming! Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!! I. LOVE. CHRISTMAS!"

This was Zane for the remainder of the day.

"Can you believe it? IT'S COMINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!"

As we decorated, the kids marveled at some of the home-made ornaments they had gifted us with over the years. We sang the little Thomas the Train diddy as one of Harper's favorite ornaments from her Thomas stage was removed from the box. We all "ahhh'd" as our Linus ornament, complete with green blanket (a la Zane) was proudly hung by our own Linus.

"I forgot how much fun this is," was Harper's reaction - and she was right.

We finished decorating and celebrated with our family tradition of turning off all the lights in the house, except for the tree, and running outside with no coats to view it from the street.

Every year we seem to get the "best tree yet", and this year is no exception.

The snowman collection is proudly displayed, the tree is lit and standing tall, the advent boxes are filled with treats. We are reading Letters From Father Christmas this year to set the mood.

But emotions are thin. Fragile. The ice is cracking.

Someone, mainly Zane, looks as if he won't make it to Christmas Day. The mere correction of a "b" and a "d" on a homework assignment (those two can be so confusing) turned him into an angry elf. And it was only Monday. A slight hot-chocolate spill, causes his spirit to boil over.

He won't eat. Unless it's from Buddy's diet. The slightest inconvenience ("Where are my shoes!") sends him into a tearful tantrum. The expectation is just too much for him to take. The last two days in a row have had him wailing his trademark "This is the worst ________" statement.

Currently it is, "This is the WORST. CHRISTMAS. EVER!"

Translation: it's the worst because it's not here yet.

And then, last night, curled up in our reading chair, we read 6 Christmas stories together. Wrapped in his blanket (in which I'm glad we can both fit), we read about Santa and Rudolph, when . . .

"Mom, let's read some of the real Christmas stories. The TRUE ones. With Jesus."

Back to DEFCON 5.

If you come to visit, be prepared to do some hill work, for it's up and down in here. Touch and go until the 25th.

But perhaps, you have some Manic Christmas in you as well. If that's the case, you'll fit right in.

Aslan Joins Our Family

We don't do Easter baskets.

We do this.

Zane is a lion lover. His bed is covered with them. So as Easter rolled around, I got the idea to add to his collection with an enormous Aslan.

Why not for Easter? Come on, you get the symbolism, right?

If not, pick up "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe". Good God, man! Read the book!

With Grams and Gramps on board, I entered Castle Toys and Games, gave the owner, Linda, a nod and a wink, and while Zane wasn't looking, paid for the one huge lion she had on display.

We set Aslan up on the couch on Saturday so that Dad could watch Zane's reaction to his new snuggle-lion a day early, for George would be out of the house early Sunday morning and didn't want to miss the unveiling.

Zane responded just as we thought.

I think he and Aslan will be very happy together. Along with the other lions in his stuffed pride: Lion, Liony, pillow-pet Lion, Playmobile Lion, and other assorted lion figures. Add to the weekend a viewing of Disney's "African Cats" and "Born Free" and I think we have outdone ourselves.

Harper is lioned-out.

Scout seems to be a bit confused by the newest addition to our family. Threatened even. Aslan is larger than she is.

This is how we do Easter.

Who needs candy???

The Last Time I Question My Husband For Making a Non-budgeted Purchased

Zane isn't a huge Steeler fan.  Sure he'll hang out in a room of people at a party to watch a Steeler game, and he might even dress in yellow and gold for the event.  But, for the most part, he's "not a sports kid".

Those are his words.

So, it was quite a surprise to hear him asking for a new Steeler shirt, or Steeler socks, (yes, socks), after the AFC championships last week.

The week before, while the Steelers beat the Ravens, Zane won a "Stillers" can cozy in one of the raffles during a game-viewing party with our church. That night, in the spirit of the event, he also donned black and yellow beads, compliments of my friend Amy. He was pleased enough with having these items.

For this week's game, he barely squeezed his 6 year old body into a fleece he was sent to him from Four Mile back in 2008 when we were still living in Chicago but preparing to become Pittsburgher's.

Pretty pathetic for Steeler gear. I promised him we'd hit the $1 store to get some more Steeler-wear for him before the Superbowl. I knew that would appease him. It's not like he needs a jersey or anything.  You know me - waste not.

Wednesday night I sent George and Zane out to pick up some soup for me and Harper, as we were down with a nasty with a virus. They came back with the miso. And an extra surprise.

Zane returned wearing a brand-spankin' new official Steeler AFC championship long-sleeve tee which could NOT be mistaken for the dollar store variety. My eyes bugged out of my sick head as I gave George the stare down.

"Trust me," he said, "I'll tell you the story later."

"How much was it?"

"$20. I'll tell you later."

For a kid who could care less??????????? Really? Talk about questioning his judgement. So he wanted to have a father/son sports moment. I get that. But couldn't he do it for less? I mean, really, Zane would have been pleased with SOCKS! Cheap SOCKS.

Turns out, while waiting for the soup order, George and Zane hopped over to our local Steeler's store to look around. They were in the store maybe 5 minutes when Zane came over to George carrying a mini goal-post in his hand.

"Daddy. This broke."

George walked the piece back over to a replica of Heinz Field. A replica with a broken goal-post.

I think he may have cursed in his head. Which is a big deal for him.

"Did you break this?"

"I really don't know."

"Zane, did you break this off?"

"I just touched it. I don't know if it was already broken."

George carried the model to the counter and explained that he hadn't witnessed Zane break the piece off the stadium. He honestly wasn't sure if he had actually done so, or if it had been snapped earlier. Regardless, he was very apologetic. He realized he could be asked to pay for the replica which was much more then the $20.

There was silence. And uncomfortable silence.

George broke it with, "So, do you have any new Steelers shirts in kids sizes?"

Out from the stock room, for they hadn't even been unpacked and hung on racks yet, came the newest addition to Zane's wardrobe, which he proudly wore to school the next day.

Well played, George.

I'm the Chief Household-Budget Officer. And I approve this purchase.

January 10, 2005

Welcome to the world, Zane!

Click on over the Pittsburgh Mom to read the little ode to my boy that I posted last week.

First words uttered when he was lifted up over the screen so I could see him (c-section baby)?

"George!  He looks just like Harper . . . only . . . with new parts!"

I also recall thinking to myself, "I don't know him."  I was inwardly troubled by this.

For when Harper was born, I felt as if I had known her for the full 9 months.

This felt different.

Well, my son, I know you now.  And these last 6 years have been such a joy for all of us.  You are one big, snuggling ball of love.  And your heart is enormous.

You completed our family.

And we all wildly adore you.

The Reason I Started Blogging In The First Place

I started my blog back in 2001 as a means of keeping my family updated on Harper.

Since then, it has morphed into a "coffee house" of sorts,  a place where one goes to shoot the breeze with a friend.  I'm all over the place on topics.

But, now and then, my kids say something that I want to remember, and thus, you're stuck reading their cute little quotes.

Harper
George and Harper were preparing to leave for her 4th grade camping trip.  He, as a chaperone, planned to drive them to school the morning they were to board the bus for the trip, thus leaving his car parked in the school lot.  Harper, having lived 9 years of her life in a larger city, anxiously inquired,

"Are you sure that's ok? I mean do they have long term parking???!!!"

Zane

Always the mommy-lover, we were on a hot chocolate date when I began to get emotional over how old he is getting.  Six in January.  I can hardly believe it.  When I mentioned my excitement and my sadness about him growing up, he met me with,

"Mom.  You can still hug me until I get really old and move out and live next door to you.  You know, when I'm 40."

Take Me Out To the Ballgame, Buy Me Food, and Let's Go Home

We were given two tickets to the Pirates game last Saturday.  As Harper is quite vocal about not loving the Pirates (honestly, I think she only cheers for winning teams), George decided to surprise Zane by taking him to his first professional baseball game.

Now, one thing you should know about Zane:

"I am not into sports."

His words.

So, knowing this, I wasn't sure how the outing would go.

That evening, we simply told Zane to grab his jacket, because he and Daddy were headed out and the evening was a cool one.

Harper and I stayed in Beaver, grabbed some sushi, a little gelato, and settled in at home to watch "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" (thumbs down from her - said the books were better - be still my heart), and a few episodes of the Gilmore Girls (don't freak out - I'll explain this in a later post).

The game started at 7:05 and as baseball games can go on for a ridiculously long time, I didn't think Zane would last the entire game.

I was right.  They returned home at 9:45.  Zane lasted four innings and was out cold.

The next morning, I was anxious to get the report.

With blue stained lips he enthusiastically described the evening to me.

"We went to a Pirates game!  I got a hot dog, a BIG pretzel, Sprite, and cotton candy!"

"How was the game?"

"I don't know.  I got a blue slushie, too!  I still don't like playing sports, but I like watching them."


Unless you count eating as a sport.

If you do, then Z is MVP.

Karate Has Been Chopped

Since this writing, the owner of Steel Dragons has indeed called back and we are working together to see if we can't re-ignite Zane's interest in karate.

"Zane, I called Steel Dragons and told them you are taking a break from karate."

Without missing a beat, he answers,

"Oh, I'm not taking a break.  I quit."

Sigh.

Prior to beginning our first karate class, I had a fantastic phone conversation with one of the owners of the studio I chose for Zane.  I spoke openly with her about the social anxiety that both my children have experienced when placed in new situations with children they do not know. 

People, it's real.  This is not a made-up struggle that I have concocted in my head.  Sure, I can be dramatic, but social anxiety truly exists, and both my kids have been working hard over the years to whoop its a^%.

I had high hopes that Zane would take to karate and that it would assist in building his confidence.

I have already recounted his first class and his rocky second class.  From that second class, Zane's interest began to wane.  He liked the punching and kicking, and did indeed want that uniform, which he earned after passing a skills test at his 5th class, but he was never quite able to conquer his fear of there being children in the class that he didn't know.  And ultimately, that was what fueled his quitting.

We are fine with his decision, for he is doing wonderfully in Kindergarten and couldn't be happier.

What saddens me is that I have not heard from the studio.

At all.

I have left two messages - one after missing a class and also realizing that his uniform was too big and we'd need  to swap it out.  See, glitches like a wrong size only add to Zane's anxiety, and thus, I called to ask if they could have a new one ready for him. The first one was also missing its white belt - glitch #2.  In my message I shared that he was acting "iffy" about returning.  Sure enough, at that next class, they couldn't coax him onto the floor, although they did a beautiful job trying.  Zane and George left the studio before class had even ended, leaving the uniform there.

To their credit, throughout the 5 classes that Zane took, the instructors made several attempts to help him through his fear.

And yet, after leaving that last class before it had even finished, and leaving a second message informing the studio that we wouldn't be back, I've yet to get a response.

This is where it gets hard for those of us with kids who are reticent to jump aboard the participation boat as easily as other kids do.  We need that instructor to partner with us, which is why I interviewed a few different studios before picking Steel Dragons.  My conversation with the instructor prior to Day One couldn't have gone better, and my decision was affirmed as I watched her execute the classes.

There are many people who truly shouldn't work with children.

These guys, however, are fantastic and they did everything they could to try and get Zane acclimated.

Which is why I'm a bit shocked they haven't returned my messages or called to check in.

Listen, I realize the world doesn't revolve around my kid.  And had I not shared our background, or witnessed how much effort they put in to helping Zane this summer, I wouldn't give it another thought.

It's the inner-teacher and customer-service lunatic within me that drives this post.

And the fact that I'm a Mommy who desperately loves her kids.

Moving on.

And Then He Kissed Me

Yep.  That was me.  Outside the elementary school dropping off my boy.

The one who was soooo jonesin' for a good-bye kiss.

But, nooooo, that was not to be.  At least not if Zane had to show affection towards me in front of any other students or teachers.

See, a few weeks ago, we reached this season of his life.  A little early in my opinion.

So the past week has been a bit tough on me, not getting that good-bye hug or kiss that I have been aching for from my newly crowned Kindergartener.

But, then, I had a brilliant idea.

"Zane, come here!"

I slipped behind a brick wall that would conceal us from the others.

And there, my BIG Kindergartener gave me a good-bye hug and kiss.

Don't tell anyone, but, Zane Atkins kissed me behind the brick wall at school!

Mom Seeking Hug. Zane, Please Apply.

Kindergarten.

Day Two.

"Wait," you say, "What about Day One?"

You can read a bit about that over at Pittsburgh Mom.

Yes, I have a lot more to say on the subject.  But, for now, let me leave you with this tasty morsel of deliciousness.

I mentioned to Zane that I haven't had the opportunity to hug him prior to his running into school over the past two days.  The first day, he was way too nervous to have Mom touch him.  Today, there was some discussion about whether he wanted to stay for lunch and I had to give him a slight, well, shove, up the stairs.

(Not to worry - he is LOVING Kindergarten.  Comes home yapping up a storm everyday, and tells us his teacher is "awesome".)

So after sharing about those missing hugs, my little Romeo response with,

"Oh, Mommy!  Let's fix that RIGHT NOW!"

And we did.

And You Are . . .?

When we first moved to Beaver, the kids would complain about walking everywhere.  Which is funny, because having lived in Evanston, that's what we'd do.  Park at the church, and then walk.  Everywhere.

After almost a year of living here, I think the kids have finally gotten the memo that I will NOT be plopping them in the car for a quick trip to the bank, the post office, or even Beaver Super.

So, knowing that they still tend to whine and complain a bit when we walk (and in their defense, I am a a very fast walker) I was completely dumbfounded, surprised, elated, and proud when Harper ran her practice 5K on Thursday.

Since I was down with a mysterious foot pain, and needed to stay off it in prep for my leg of of the Pittsburgh Marathon, Harper ran her first 3.1 with one of the Girl On The Run helpers who is a Senior in High School. For three miles, she ran. And talked. The entire time. Stopping only for a 30 second breather. She ran strong and finished well in about 35 minutes.

George and I never realized that she could run like this. Coach said she has the "gift" of running - someone who just does so effortlessly. We're not to tell her this.

Yet.

Got to meet another side of my dear girl that night.  

And who are you, Zane? My little man who woke up Wednesday morning, petrified about performing in the school show. Zane who remained wrapped in a blanket on his bed, with his little head peaking out, sharing with me how scared he was to be in front of all the people.

Zane chose to "be a snake" (in his mind - he didn't dress like a snake - but somehow "being a snake" helped him cope), and entered the sanctuary, took his ribbon, and danced around the maypole with the other children. He stood while singing, even if he barely opened his mouth, said his lines into the microphone, performed hand gestures for songs, and even danced enthusiastically to what I think was a Laurie Berkner tune.

I was shocked.

He did it Zane's way.

Zane's show and Harper's 3.1 are one in the same: the means by which they revealed to their parents a bit more of who they are, and that they can do the unexpected.

THAT's who they are.

Happy Birthday: Home Style

January can be a rough month for children's birthday parties when one doesn't have the luxury of shuttling a crowd of children jacked up on sugar into the backyard.

And unless you want to rent a room at the park district building (of which there are none here), or shed out the bucks for Pump It Up (of which, I've not found here), or go bowling, active options for hyper children are minimal.

Harper's 1st, 2nd, and 3rd birthdays were all in our home. Our condo, to be exact. And we packed the joint with at least 20 people. Her 4th was just 12 days after Zane was born. Due to post-partum difficulties, we had it at the bowling alley. The 5th was a blow out at a gymnastics center. The 6th found us back home again. The 7th, back at the bowling alley, and the 8th, at home.

A good mix.

For Zane? Each party has been at home.

This year was no exception.

If you know my children, you know that Zane is, well, the quieter of the two. He prefers smaller numbers (not that the parties are quiet - but compared to Harper, his parties don't come near her decibel level).

The key to having a party at home?

KISS. (Acronym, people. Google it.)

Zane loves pizza, so, we had the boys make their own upon arriving. While they were baking, we played a game in the living room. Moving on, they returned to the kitchen to paint wooden door hangers for their bedrooms. Pizza time! Followed by cake time! Followed by pinata time! Presents!

And . . . scene.

1.5 hours.

If it sounds like I just moved from one activity to another without much delay, you're absolutely right. Sure, it was only 5 boys, but I didn't want to risk any down time for racing, wrestling, and the prospect of tears being shed.

The adults munched on goat cheese and spinach pizza and Darth Vader-Ade (which was surprisingly good) while the kids ate their creations. And the cake? Oh yes, with the exception of one year, George always makes the cakes.

This year, he experimented with fondant and mixed Nutella into the batter.

Oh yeah, it was good.

The only snag was when I accidentally kissed my son.

Now, in his defense, we had ample conversations about this and had come to the agreement that I would NOT kiss him in front of his friends, and he would NOT kiss me. Hugging, however, was permissible. But kissing? Not so much. Well, my head wasn't in the game and I was so very tempted by his yummy sweet self that I just let one slide. Right after we sung Happy Birthday.

And then a cry went out from all the land . . .

"Mom! You kissed me! We talked about that!"

He covered his face with his hands and shook his head.

Major faux pas.

I was forgiven, and when it came time for bed, he clung to me and George with such love. And yes, there were kisses.

It was nice to celebrate Zane's momentous event in our home. And to share our home with his little buddies.

And Harper?

No way - we're hauling her and her friends to the tennis court for her birthday in a few weeks.

I won't put the neighbors through that sort of earthquake. I like them.

"Hey! Watch where you wave that thing!"

When discussing art we tend to be very subjective. I mean, really, either you like the work. Or you don't.

One person's take on what makes a masterpiece is different from another person's impression.

It comes down to opinion, doesn't it?

Unfortunately, we allow pieces we don't like to cloud our overall perception of the artist.

Where am I going here?

Piss paintings.

Warhol's "Oxidation" series.

Backing up.

So, I really wanted to take the children to the Warhol. Harper had a blast recreating one of his Campbell Soup Cans last year in art class, and since she is familiar with the artist, and since I really want to give them a broad understanding that everyone creates differently, we decided to hop downtown to the Warhol.

Now, prior to going, I had already heard a variety of comments from folks ranging from, "I don't like that place." to "My kids spent 30 minutes in the Silver Cloud room." Complete opposite ends of the spectrum.

And I respect differing opinions of what does and what doesn't constitute art. Like I said, it is a subjective medium.

While walking the museum, and, yes, quickly u-turning on the balls of my feet while scooting the children around and out of certain galleries not meant for young eyes, I realized something new.

Art is one way of revealing how God wires all of us uniquely from one another.

I was taught early on in my parenting journey never to ask, "What are you drawing?" while watching Harper doodle. Instead, I have always used the phrase, "Tell me about that." See, for people like me, who are wildly opinionated, asking my child what they are drawing leaves too much temptation for me to actually answer the question for them by interjecting WHAT it is I think they are drawing. For Zane especially, something that may resemble a sun, might really be a prickly-super-alien-monster from the planet of Juehtlsteirnwe. So why ruin that interpretation by telling him I like his "sun"?

But, you didn't come here to read all that. You want me to get to the good stuff.

The piss paintings.

Just hold it (ha), will ya, I'm not ready yet.

The children enjoyed the silkscreens of Elvis (Zane even sat down and sketched one out, and now, apparently wants to be a cowboy), Michael Jackson (during his better days in life), and I loved seeing and hearing Judy Garland. It was cool to show Harper photos of Blondie and Joan Jett, as she knows their music. Warhol's interest in taxidermy didn't go unnoticed by my lion loving son who reveled in seeing the stuffed beast above his head in a stairwell. Psychedelic lights were fun to hop and and "catch".

And the Silver Cloud room? A hit. Confession. I stepped out of the camera range in order to take a few photo's of the kids playing in this room. Flash off. I'm not dummy. Zane, especially fell in love with this room, exclaiming, "I am marrying a cloud", as a he waltzed around to room leading a huge silver Mylar balloon around the dance floor. Harper practiced The Force on a few balloons by magically lifting them into the air by merely holding up her hand to guide the balloon (without touching it) to the ceiling.

We found the Soup Can's. And skulls. And Mick Jagger in drag.

And piss paintings.

Upon coming to a piece from his Oxidation series, I asked the kids to guess how they thought he got the effect he did. Harper thought he threw paint. It was kind of Jackson Pollock'y in nature.

Well, in a metallic copper paint and urine type of way.

I explained the true process and got the expected giggles, and "gross" and "eww's" - you know, the responses you'd expect to hear from kids when you tell them that an artist, and his assistant's, peed on the painting.

They asked why, and I simply shared that he wanted to see the effect of the urine and the paint mixed together. Seriously, what else was I going to say. Just hoping Zane wasn't secretly intrigued by the process.

I didn't interject whether I thought it was odd. Or wrong. Or "crazy". I didn't interject my opinion at all, which is difficult for me. Had I done so, I would have been leaving them with my impression of Andy Warhol, stunting their ability to arrive at their own opinion of his work.

Harper read a book about Warhol all the way home. I am very excited over this series of books, and have already purchased three more about Pablo Picasso, Georgia O'Keefe, and Jackson Pollock, for Christmas.

Funniest quote of the outing came from Harper while lunching in the cafe where they were selling delicious looking cupcakes. Each cupcake had a special name. One style, of which there were several, was called the "Elvis".

"Mom, if Elvis was so famous, why isn't his cupcake selling?"

Laughed so hard I almost peed.

On Zane's Time

It just took time.

Zane's time.

In the time it takes for a week to go by, Zane went from being completely and utterly terrified of getting any part of his entire face or head wet in the pool, to being a water kid - jumping in from the side of pool (far enough out to result in his body going completely under) and racing back to the side, crawling out, and jumping again. And again. And again.

Last week?

There was no water being had near his eyes. Or on his face. Or even on his head. We even taught him how to take a shower, in hopes of helping him get comfortable with getting his head wet.

No dice. Only baths, baby.

Last Sunday, I put his bubble on, and we "swam" all around the pool. For hours. When he was comfortable, I asked him to get out and jump to me. He wanted me closer, so I obliged and positioned myself closer to the edge. And then he jumped.

And I kind of sorta moved back.

He landed in the water. Under the water.

I grabbed him, didn't really make a big deal and just went on playing the "Come back" game that we had created.

I didn't give him time to react. Just said something like, "Hey, you went under. Nice job." Then I taught him how to spit water out of his mouth. Spitting is always fun with boys, isn't it? He would take water in his mouth and try and spray me. Yes, I told him that this game probably wouldn't be appreciated by some, but for now, it was more important that he learn to expel the water, and thus, spitting, worked to our advantage. Spitting: both fun and a good learning tool!

At the next swim lesson he was all over showing his instructor how he could go under. And, yes, he spit water at her.

Her reaction was one of surprise. Positive surprise. To both actions.

Zane responded with, "My mom is going to celebrate me today!"

Dude, I celebrate you everyday. Even on the days when I could punch a wall (only ours are plaster, so I could break my hand, and my nails are looking fabulous these days, so I'll refrain).

"I am so proud of myself" has become a common statement out of your mouth. As it should be. Little man, your courage and bravery come from the Lord, as He did not give us a spirit of timidity. You have mentioned that God helps you.

Even in the pool.

Surprising Palettes

There are times when the reactions of my children throw me for a such a complete loop that they cause me to glance in the rear view mirror to confirm that the cargo in the backseat does indeed resemble my actual offspring rather than some other rug rats that have just happened to stow away in my car.

Take Sunday. Zane has taken a liking to classical music. No big deal. He has always enjoyed the sounds of classical music. I've not played it for him as often as I would like, only because all my classical music is on cd's and I don't have a cd player anywhere in the house, or in the car. I just need to take the time to upload them to Itunes. But really, having a kid enjoy classical music really isn't a "WOW". Seriously, parents, just because your kid finds Mozart fascinating does not a music genus make. Sorry to burst your bubble.

However.

I would say that having your kids bite your head off for changing the station during Renaissance Madrigal music is a tad bit surprising.

So, we're driving to church and I have on the classical station and the kids are listening and are stone quiet. Zane keeps asking "is this one my favorite one?" (referring to a piece he had heard the day before) and whether we can pause it until after church. A piece ends.

Madrigal music begins.

I assume that my kids may not enjoy it and switch the station.

"MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! TURN IT BACK!"

Um, what?

Both of them gang up on me, yelling for me to return to the station with, as Zane puts it, "the music that they are singing to God."

Ok.

I'm thinking they would like Taize worship.

The alien abduction of my children continued through dinner as we dined on Tilapia, whole grain brown rice, and steamed green beans.

Again, not really so "WOW" unless you possess the background information that Zane is Mr. Seriously Picky, and yet, on this particular Sunday, he and Harper actually argued over who got more fish on their plate. More FISH.

I'm keeping my eye out for pods.

How have your children suprised you today?

"Please, no more autographs! Give me my privacy. Please!"

There are plenty of ways to draw attention to oneself.

Perhaps it was my "Reading is Sexy" t-shirt a la Rory Gilmore. (40th birthday present extraordinaire from Melody - big cyber hug)

Or maybe it was the way I was cheering on my son during his swim lesson. So determined I was to prove to Zane that putting his face in the water wouldn't kill him, that I sprung for private lessons and then out of my seat while clapping wildly like a seal when he actually did stick his face in the water. For a millisecond.

Then again, it could have been that I was the only one sitting on the bleachers at the pool on that brisk day when the reporter walked up.

Well, folks, the rest is history.

The first I heard of it was in church when someone said, "You made the front page of the Beaver Times!"

And then, there was the crowding, the photographers, the massive swirl of people closing in on me. I couldn't breathe - where was my car?! Someone get the car! And the children. Save the children!

Ok, I'm dreaming.

I did indeed get interviewed about the lack of warm weather that has hindered our summer visits to the local pool. The article began with my name, mentioned George as being the new Associate Pastor at Four Mile, shared that Zane was swimming "under the watchful eye of an instructor", and that the pool was a place where I had figured both my kids, including Harper, 8, could meet other kids. That is, if it were actually warm enough to swim.

This was a top story.

I live in a small town.

Everyone I know, which, granted, isn't a ton of people, saw the article, commented on the article, and remarked how funny it was that of all the people interviewed it was the new family from Chicago, here just shy of 2 months, who got plucked out of obscurity and thrust into the limelight that is the local news.

Jealous much?

No really, it was quite humorous today and everyone got a kick out of it - although my hand is sure to fall off from all the papers I signed.

Oh, how I wished I had managed to mention Mary Kay during the interview. I'm sure she liked to swim.

You can read the top news story here!

Super Week

This week we experienced a completely new twist on the old idea of vacation bible school. Thinking out of the box, Four Mile created Super Week - a vacation bible school for families. Here are a few thoughts on why this new take on a classic program worked.

Schedule

Rather than having a program solely for children, Four Mile took a risk and organized a family program which took place every night from 6-8.

The evening began with dinner, provided by the church, so that those coming straight from work wouldn't have to worry about getting everyone fed and out the door on time. After dinner and a sketch, the children went off to class, and the adults stayed put, listened to some teaching, and then broke into small groups for discussion.

The evening then ended with children and adults meeting in the sanctuary for a time of worship together.

Families eating together, learning together, and worshipping together. Brilliant.

Creativity

This was the first VBS I attended where the material didn't come from a box. No packaged lessons or music. Rather, the theme of the week centered on our church's purpose to Celebrate, Connect, and Contribute.

By using a superhero theme, our church staff created the characters of Celebrato, Connectra, and the Contribunater - these superhero's battled adversaries in a sketch every evening. The sketches were short, to the point, entertaining, and included the element of repetition from night to night so that the children were engaged and clear on what was happening in the storyline.

We even watched animated shorts prior to the sketches which enlightened us to the back stories of these superheroes. Catchy. Clever.

Our Director of Worship wrote a theme song for the week, "I Wanna Be a Superhero", which everyone learned. Worship always began with this song. Upon entering the sanctuary last night I spotted Harper up front with the worship leader and other children leading the congregation in this song, complete with hand motions. How do you think that made me feel? She is feeling confident and connected.

We then continued in worship by simply using the same songs we sing on Sunday mornings.

Continuity

Both children and adults received the same memory verse each day - with the children receiving a simpler version.

It was nice to know that the children were being taught the same lesson that we were - which made for good discussion afterwards.

The entire evening was tight. It flowed. There was a unity of purpose. The community, young and old, were all learning together.

Zane has found worship to be a little too loud for his liking, so we've gotten in the habit of bringing a notebook and markers for him. He astounded us yesterday by writing letters and words all over the pages of his notebook. We were shocked. I've not even worked with him on letters. He wrote "Zane", "Harper", "Mom", and "Dad". He is never without his notebook. Always drawing. Always writing. We think this calming activity is really helping him.

So, Harper led worship this week. Zane just *poof* started writing. Out of the blue. She and Zane are memorizing scripture.

I would say it was a super week.

Really Tall Stuff

Harper used to be fearful of new things.

Apparently, she has scaled that mountain.

On July 4th, she took on a 25 foot climbing wall outside Heinz Field in Pittsburgh.

The last time she attempted a climbing wall was last October at the First Focus retreat. I was totally excited to see her attempt something as new as this back then.

This time, I was completely dumbfounded at how she attacked the hurdle. On her first try, she got half way, turned to look down (not helpful at all), freaked a bit, and lowered herself to the ground.

Not to be outdone by the kid next to her, so got back on and began climbing again. Just a third of the way left, she exclaimed, "I can't do this! It's too hard!"

We told her she was fine and that she COULD do it.

And she did. This photo shows her clinging with her right hand, while swinging over to hit the buzzer with the left.

At which point, the crowd broke out into cheers.

"That felt good" was her response - to both the task and the encouragement from the crowd.

She's not scared of heights, as say, George is. High places don't stump her sense of courage. So, the actual 25 feet of the climbing wall was not a foe to her.

For Harper, the "height" is her ability to believe and thus lean into the truth that God did not give her a spirit of timidity, but rather, one of power, and love, and self-discipline.

We all have fear of something taller than us.

Harper has only recently begun conquering her fears that paralyzed her from trying anything new for years. After some good work in her life by God, us, family, friends, and professionals, she has broken quite a few of the plaster shells that engulfed her from ages 4-7. If you were to meet her today for the first time, you would never believe that this was a child who used to be plagued by anxiety.

Zane has just begun confronting his "heights". A new town. A new home. A new room. New friends - who don't yet feel like real friends even though they are nice as can be . . . how can you really replace a Schuyler, Will, Jonny, Brady, Dmitry, Zachary, or Alex?

This change has been monumental in his little life. A big, giant-like change, with Zane looking up at the monster and exclaiming, "I don't like you." Everyday is different for the little guy. Time to teach him about David and Goliath.

Today he played in the pool for hours, just paddling away ALL BY HIMSELF while wearing his bubble. I wasn't even in the pool with him (yes, I was close by), for I needed to give him the sense that he could conquer those things which have, in the past, made him nervous. Swimming, being one of them. With the help of Harper, and our 11 year old neighbor, Zane became quite comfortable in the water, scooting here and there with a huge smile glued to his face.

It exhausted him. He is now quietly playing lego's in the buff.

He has also started gymnastics. He is attentive in class, enthusiastic, and shares that he "could do the rings all day long." At the first class he wanted nothing to do with the beginning stretches, and stood to the side drawing pretend circles on his palm with his finger, which is his non-verbal way of communicating anxiety. At the second class he did every ounce of the class, and came bounding out afterwards yelling, "I did it all! I did the whole class!"

He is climbing his own walls. Takin on his own really tall stuff. And he too, in an attempt to reach the top, will experience a moment (or two) of intense fear and regret, will want to give up, and yet, force himself to hang on and hit the buzzer.

We're not waiting for the buzzer, however. We're already cheering him on.

Have I shared lately how much I love my children?

Z-lion

My little Z-lion is a bundle of nerves these days. I've made mention that he is having a tougher time adjusting to our move than Harper, which has just completely shocked us. In the beginning, he was asking when we were going home, and most recently he has communicated fear that he won't make any friends. At least he's talking about it.

Today was the first day he verbalized, "Mommy, I am too nervous to go in there," in reference to reading time at the library. The program is fantastic and includes reading and some songs.

Both my kids have NEVER enjoyed group music classes once they reached 3 years old.

So, as the kids began the opening song, which was just a silly version of the Wheels on the Bus (which was cute) Zane would not stand up and practically crawled under the chair to hide. I decided to remove him from the situation, as he was so uncomfortable, and take him to choose books. It was when we got into the stacks that he wailed, "I'm so nervous!" It was a real, guttural cry. As a parent you begin to distinguish cries. He was a wreck.

This hasn't been the first time. We tried class last week and the same thing occurred, but I held on through the craft section and Harper even came in to sit with him on the floor, as otherwise he'd be on my lap the entire time. She was an incredible help.

Today, she offered to buy him a prize with her earned Book Bucks ("money" redeemed for prizes each time you read a certain amount of books), which really cheered him up. Quite impressive, my dear Harper.

What's funny, is that I would think that in anxious situations, the first thing to slip would be potty training. Nope. We've not had one problem. Even at night. Perhaps he realizes that this is the one thing he can truly control right now.

He has asked about taking gymnastic class, so George brought him to a trial class tonight. I got a call about 20 minutes in. Now I was the one nervous to answer the phone.

"He didn't want to participate in the stretching, but once the tumbling started he was all about it. He learned how to do a back flip on the rings, and even offered to straighten out the mat for the other kids when it got crooked."

I told Harper that Zane actually participated in something and she got so excited. We waited for him on the front the porch and then cheered as they drove up.

Zane got out, all smiles, yelled, "I LOVED IT!" and proceeded to show me a forward roll ON THE SIDEWALK!

Ouch.

He was ok.

His new friends who live behind us came by and he stopped. Immediately.

"I don't want anyone watching me."

Uh-oh.

Guess where I've heard that before?

She was once 4 years old.

I may have to go back and read my own blogs to see how to and how not to proceed should he share a certain personality trait with his sister. Good thing I've kept a history. I wrote much about Harper, but even as I start to look back at Zane, I recall that he hasn't taken a liking to group stuff (with kids - wouldn't do the Skokie library kids program without clinging to my side), and can't stand places where there are crowds and tons of noise. His SLC class had 12 kids and 3 teachers and was very structured. Gymnastic class had 5 kids. At his new Sunday School (which was a bit of a struggle) he talked about one boy.

He's a small group type of kid. As is Harper.

I can't wait to attend the gymnastic class with him next week and am so very glad he found an activity that is fun, builds confidence, and one which he expressed delight!

Stay tuned tomorrow as I share how Harper read books to a seeing eye dog tonight. Ishtar, a black lab, comes to the library on Tuesday nights, and Harper signed up to read to him. It was right up her alley.

Light is Light

Light is light. No matter how dim, no matter how bright.

Light is light.

I found myself saying this to a friend today. A friend, who in the midst of his own pain, was able to bless our family with a meal, and took a moment on the phone to ask how we are fairing. George, who was supposed to be in Beaver this weekend, had to call off his trip due to the flu-like symptoms that suddenly took over my body on Thursday. There would have been absolutely no way I could have handled the kids and the care-taking of the house for showings, unless he remained at home. And thus, he did.

And not only did he stay home to help, but our surrounding troops stepped in with hugs, prayer, meals, phone calls from lifelong friends, babysitting for Zane, rides to get Harper to/from a party, more meals, and just your good 'ole down home support. A few friends from church, neighbors, Lincolnwood parents, college buds (Stacey, I will call you back - post illness) and MK ladies all picked up the baton and ran for us. I have a lot of Thank You notes to write. Gladly.

This does a lot to help adjust one's perspective on things. As I said to George earlier, "My perspective on this entire house-selling experience has indeed changed (for the better - although I would never wish selling a home in a recession on ANYONE), even if it doesn't actually relieve the pain." The pain of fatigue, stress (seriously, I think I have mini heart-attacks throughout the day), and more fatigue has taken over my body. I am so far from being the "me" I know myself to be, and am aching, literally aching, for myself to return. For even though I can see pockets of light, I am still in the midst of feeling physical pain.

A new perspective isn't an immediate pain reliever.

God has changed my perspective through His very presence and through the presence of His people. My children are also those people. If you've never thought of your children as being a spiritual support, then I challenge you to listen to them a bit more closely.

I've got my daughter, who before leaving for school, joins me on the bed while I lay there languishing in chills, aches, and fever, so she can read me the 23rd Psalm and share with me that God is Peace.

I've got my son, who shares with us that "I love Jesus so much in my heart" and than taps his head while saying, "I love Him in my mind also."

This same little boy, who at times baffles us with is spiritually mature perspective, also made mention of our friend's grief in losing their newborn baby. Upon my sharing that little Leah is in Heaven with Jesus, he made this remarkably intuitive statement, "That is so sad. But it is so good! Amy's baby is touching Jesus right now because Jesus is the only one who can make her feel better."

Seriously, what is a parent to do with that other than leave the room in tears? And then, before the moment fades, call Leah's parents who love Jesus with their whole being, and yet still bear the pain of loss.

A new perspective isn't an immediate pain reliever.

This type of heartfelt proclamation can not be taught to a child. This is way more internal than I can ever hope to reach in the life of my kids. This is God territory.

I could care less if my kids have the books of the bible memorized, whether they know when the walls of Jericho fell or can tell me on what animal Paul was riding during his conversion.

All of that can be looked up in the Table of Contents or Index.

On the other hand, the prompting of my children to point me towards the light of God is completely spirit-led. No Table of Contents needed. That other stuff will come, but the depth? I'm beginning to see it within them, without their knowing exact bible facts and figures.

I can now see the many lights that God has been planting throughout this experience. He, the Ultimate Light, has also graced me with the light of friendship, the light of encouragement from my children, and the light of confirmation that He has indeed called us to this move.

Light is light. Dim or bright.

Gotta keep my eye on it.