Kids will be Kids?

Yesterday I needed to discipline Emry during rest time…and couldn’t find one wooden spoon in the whole house. Well, one was in the sink and another was in Ethan’s room where he was napping, but the other two or three? Usually there is one on my shorter bookshelf, ready for use at such times. But I had no idea where it had disappeared to. Or the others. I had to make use of another object.

In our house, things disappear a lot. Usually toys. They end up under the couch…or in it. Behind a bed, under a shelf, in a drawer (like Emry’s Disney princess race cars which Ethan decided to put in one of her drawers – don’t ask me why). Much to my surprise, very few of our toys have ended up lost forever. A good cleaning of a room or look under a bed turns up just about everything that was missing. My Catholic grandmother would be disappointed: St. Anthony has never been needed.

Well, today the spoons turned up. Under my bed. Emry remembered my paper punches, which she enjoys playing with, and asked if she could get them out. As I was pushing the container out from under my bed, out came the wooden spoons. They certainly had not been there just over a week ago when I was cleaning my room from top to bottom. Sooo… 

I picked them up and held them out to Emry. “Emry, did you know these were there?”

She just gave me one of those looks. One that speaks louder than words. 

And I put the spoons in a very safe spot. Not under my bed.

Twisted Truth

What is your earliest memory? I once had a conversation with a guy I knew about this. He said he had heard that if you had a sibling born when you were two, that is probably your earliest memory. Otherwise, true memories (not ones based on old pictures of things we think we remember because we’ve seen that picture so often) don’t kick in until the age of three or four and maybe even later than that. I would have to say the birth of my sister Katey when I was 2 ½ probably is my earliest memory, for I can distinctly remember seeing her in the hospital. But I don’t think I recall anything prior to that.

Today I read a interesting news article. These days, there aren’t many of those. Most of them have to deal with the virus, and idiot politicians, and “facts” you swore you read just the week before, and famous people who think they’re having a rough time coping in their million dollar mansions where their nannies still take care of their kids 24/7. But this one was about a 100-year-old World War II vet in Long Island who had just died of coronavirus (or, more accurately, probably complications from having the virus) whose twin brother had died during the Spanish Flu in 1919. The “coincidence” was intriguing, certainly. The article itself was ridiculous.

If you hadn’t already learned prior to this coronavirus, the media is all about “twisted truth”. Which isn’t truth at all for, by definition, truth cannot be twisted. It simply is. This article was point in fact:

“Philip Kahn lived to become a decorated World War II veteran and to raise a family but never forgot his brother Samuel who died shortly after they were born in December 1919 in New York City,” the article reads in the second paragraph.

As if that didn’t already have me scratching my head, a later quote from his grandson stated that his grandfather had always told him about his twin brother who had died during the Spanish Flu pandemic. Since the article wasn’t very long, I read it twice just to be sure I was picking up the correct wording. And I was. It clearly states “never forgot his brother Samuel”. As if a man whose twin brother died mere weeks after they were born could remember his brother. And then share those memories with his kids and grandkids. I’m sorry, but I think not.

Other articles on the same man made it clear that the twins were only weeks old when Samuel died. While Mr. Kahn felt a void in his life from that and remembers the loss being hard on his parents, he didn’t really rememberhis brother. But that truth doesn’t make for very horrific reading – the kind that’s supposed to scare us into staying at home for the unforeseen future, terrified that we will die if we step outside our door. So, add in a few words that twist the truth just enough and – ta-da! – you have a story that will feed the coronavirus frenzy. Because, sadly, people trust the media waaaay more than even logic…let alone truth.

We do live in a very sad world. Not because sickness and death occur, because they do every single day virus or no virus. But because truth no longer has any value. And without truth, what is there left to stand on?

Sibling Conflict

This past week, Ed and I started working through a short five-session online course on Sibling Conflict. We’re working our way through it with one of our pastors and his wife, discussing what we have learned one night a week via Zoom. Since I’m much more the type to read a book and have a face-to-face discussion, it’s not exactly how I would prefer to spend my time. But right now, beggars can’t be choosers.

The time we live in aside, when our pastor mentioned this course I was interested because having number three has really made me wonder what the dynamics in our household are going to be over the next several months…years….decades. After three years with just Emry and Ethan, we’ve settled into how the two of them interact. But throw in a third wheel, well… Besides, looking back, I feel like the conflicts I had with my siblings weren’t always well handled. I don’t fault my parents for this entirely. My mom had a lot on her plate with just managing to get the eight of us to adulthood. My dad’s theory was always rather military like: give an order and expect the “troops” to obey. (I rather wish that worked.) And me? Well, I was the firstborn. Surely that made me right all the time…or so I usually thought.

Emry and Ethan are not too young to have conflict. They never have been. But they are still young enough that everything in the course is not yet usable. However, it has been a great opportunity to sit back and evaluate how we are handling the conflict that arises. And how to handle it better.

Ed lacks an understanding of sibling conflict. In many ways, I may as well have married an only child who has no concept of a sibling at all. His one sibling is a brother born when he was eight years old. By that time, he was in school all day and out playing in the neighborhood all evening and weekends. His brother was a nuisance and not much else. So, when Ethan and Emry go at it, he ends up like a bull in a china shop trying to handle it, shaking his head in wonder that they can get so irritated at each other. I, at least, know that sibling conflict is simply a fact of life. It’s going to happen, probably more than once a day and, depending on what the conflict is, needs to be ignored or dealt with. And as long as I’m having a decently good day, I can usually be pretty calm about it. But sometimes…

The truth is, this course has allowed me to step by and really think about my kids. Which is what I really wanted. Because I feel like a better understanding of Emry and Ethan will help smooth the path as I get to know #3 and how he or she will fit into the picture. Because I worry about that. Emry, I think, will handle it well enough. (Although I am a little concerned how she will react if the longed for sister ends up being a not-so-desirable second brother.) I do know she’ll be disappointed that helping with a baby is not everything she imagines it to be, but she’s pretty easy-going about most things. But stepping back and reflecting on how she deals with conflict has also made me realize that I need to make a pointed effort to spend time with her. For while she can be as fiercely independent as her mother, when she’s troubled she really wants to know someone loves her and is there for her. 

Ethan, I’ve come to realize, is easier to handle during conflict. I can pick him up, set him on his bed, tell him to stay there until he has calmed down, and he’ll rush from the room as happy as a clam thirty seconds later because the idea of being left alone in his room is the most horrible thing anyone could do to him. So, he’ll change his attitude quick if it means he can come out. Because of this, I tend to put more blame on him when he goes at it with Emry. Certainly, seven out of ten times, he is at the center of the conflict. I think he knew before he left the hospital how to push her buttons and, like any brother, loves to push away. But I need to be careful not to always grab him first simply because he’s easier to deal with. Because I’m pretty sure his world is about to turn itself upside down and he’s not going to know what to do once this new sibling arrives. It’s one thing to admire the babies in our small group at church, but they don’t live with us or require most of my attention. Truly, I don’t know how Ethan is going to react when the baby actually exists in his world.

And number three? Well, I’m not sure I have enough energy for this one. Even Ed will tell you that neither Emry nor Ethan moved about as much as this one does. It wakes me up at night, practicing as it does to be the youngest contestant on Dancing with the Stars. Many days I feel like I spent an hour doing crunches which has left me sore and ready to hit anyone who dares to touch my bruised mid-section. Despite what experts will tell you on infants at this stage getting into regular sleep patterns, I’m pretty sure this one hardly sleeps at all. And while that doesn’t bode well for once he or she arrives, I’m truly hoping for an early (albeit safe) arrival. Anything to be less bruised…and able to lay some ground rules on a schedule. What this one does as far as sibling conflict goes, we’ll just handle that as it comes.

Our Ethan Adventure

On Saturday we were at my parents’ just hanging out. I am often reminded of the differences between my children and this day was no different. They were chasing each other up and down the slide and ladder. When Ethan came up the slide so Emry could not go down, she turned to go down the ladder…and paused. One could almost see her calculating the jump: the height from the ground, her own height, the velocity of the wind, etc. She counted her cost, decided against any jump, threw down her two stuffed pandas and proceeded to turn around to go down the ladder. But noting that Ethan was now on the platform and off the slide, she scampered past him and slid down the slide. Ethan, meanwhile, did not think twice. Did not calculate anything. Did not count any cost. Did not even look before he leaped. He simply scampered to the end of the platform and jumped.

It was easy to see as he stumbled to the ground that he had landed wrong. And the cries soon followed to confirm that. But now enters the second difference between my kids. Emry will get hurt, cry, perhaps get angry, but then she’s over it and off to the next thing. Later she may tell “war stories” about the scratch, or bruise, or memory of getting hurt but she’s not going to cry over it again. Ethan, though? Well, he goes straight for the Academy Award. He can bring on tears at the drop of a hat. And sometimes it can be hard to tell how hurt he really is. Now even though I tend to brush off my kids’ getting hurt and tell them to get up and keep going, I did ask which foot hurt and squeezed around to see if he had any immediate reaction. He didn’t, so I figured it was a sprain and we would soon back to normal. 

He didn’t nap at my parents’, although we tried. And he cried now and then that his foot hurt. When he tried to get out of the bed, he wouldn’t put weight on his left foot either. This continued, although he seemed in good spirits so I couldn’t ascertain if he was simply playing the martyr or was truly in pain. I thought, especially after Beto arrived and got a very cool late birthday present they took outside to play with that he would forget and dash after them. But he didn’t. He had one aunt or the other carrying him around or stayed put in his little chair. And, later, when he did forget and sprang from his chair, he immediately crumpled to the ground. By now even I thought we should go to the doctor and get an x-ray, just to be sure nothing was broken.

I am not one who rushes out to the doctor. I haven’t taken my kids in over two years since the pediatrician in Pittsburgh more-or-less terrified me away. But these days, who wants to deal with everything visiting a doctor is going to entail? So, I first called to see what protocol was. The lady at the hospital was very annoyed that I would bother her, but the urgent care lady was very friendly and assured me they weren’t busy at all. So, we left Emry with my parents and headed into town. 

Ethan was in good spirits, not at all scared to be visiting a doctor. He observed the mask the lady at the desk wore and declared her to be a super hero. He gave his own account of how he had hurt his foot to the nurse. And, even though I handed him over to Ed for the actual x-ray, he apparently did quite well and got to see pictures of his foot. Thankfully, his foot was not broken – just badly sprained and wrapped up tight. 

And in a couple of days, he should be just fine. 

The Weekend in Pictures

When Emry was born five years ago, I wondered what it would look like when both her birthday and Easter were the same weekend. Mostly I wondered how she would handle it. Would she think her special day overshadowed by a holiday? Or would she embrace the extra excitement? This year it was the latter. But for me, all it equaled was exhaustion.

Even with our world in “lockdown”, we have tried to go on with some things unchanged. And the simple fact is, despite what some out-of-touch politician might say, family is essential. So, my parents, nephew, and two of my sisters came to our house to celebrate Emry’s birthday Saturday evening. And we spent Sunday at my parents’ with them, my nephew, and three of my sisters. It was a weekend we sorely needed…even if we paid dearly for it on Monday as I tried to get the kids to come back to reality.

 The birthday girl in her new Elsa costume…

…and blowing out candles on her pink and white cupcakes.

 Aunt Jenny, Ethan and my nephew Beto.

Dressed for Easter even if we couldn’t attend church.

Ethan hunting eggs.

Going through the loot!

When did she start looking so grown up?

To Emry

Dear Little Girl,

Today is your 5^thbirthday…which is very hard to believe. It certainly doesn’t feel like five years have passed since you quickly appeared one cool, spring night in Pittsburgh. And yet…

So many people told me the age of three would be the most challenging. That may actually be the case with Ethan, but I have found that your past year of age four has been the hardest for both of us. As you have come out of being a toddler and entered the stages of little girl, your world growing as well as your understanding of it, you seem to take it head on. And if it doesn’t go your way, drama ensues. Some days I just hope you get it all out now so we don’t have to replay the drama when you hit thirteen!

Because you are certainly a firstborn, more so than ever as you anticipate the birth of what you hope and pray is a sister. So often I see myself in you…and sympathize for my siblings who put up with me. You like to be in control when you are playing with Ethan. You expect your activities to go a certain way and get upset if they do not. You are the leader among your little “click” of church small group friends. And you like to know what each day will hold, asking me each night as you are tucked in, “Mama, what are we doing tomorrow?” How I wish I could make you see your world just a little bit differently so you can avoid my downfalls, but I can only pray you are a better oldest sister than I have ever been.

But when the days are sunny and bright, you are a fun little thing to be around. You are creative, your bedroom floor forever covered with bits of paper you have cut away from your craft projects. You love to draw and color things for other people, especially Ethan. You find utter joy in anything that is sparkly and glittery. You have budded in your ballet class, found confidence after your summer swimming lessons, and sing Frozensongs at the top of your lungs even though we are pretty sure you’re tone deaf. 

As we started Kindergarten this past fall, it has been fun to see what your little mind gears toward. I always thought it would be reading since you love to be read to, but while you are a decent reader when you focus and exceptionally good at phonics, math has proven to be your favorite. You love flash cards, figure things out you haven’t actually been taught, and may finally fulfill Grandma Sturm’s wish of having a child who loves math. Maybe it’s because you share her name.

But best of all has been your spiritual growth this past year. While a day does not go past when I am not reminded that you (and me!) are a sinner, the thoughtful insights you have and full assurance that what the Bible says is true are also gracious reminders of the Lord working in your life. It is such a joy when I see your childlike faith, and a much needed reminder to me of the faith I need to have.

So, yes, the past year has been challenging. A year of me praying through some of your hardest problems, unsure of what I can do to help you through them. But it has also been a year of grace and joy as you have grown, learned, and started to spread your already independent wings. Even on our roughest days, little girl, you are one of the greatest blessings God has given us…and I love you very much.

Love,

Mama

Coronavirus: My Kids' Point of View

Right now, putting my kids in charge of the country would go a lot further than the politicians who have made a wreck of just about everything in their attempts to out-do each other with power grabs. Because kids see the reality of things without even trying. And they’re not interested in votes.

Last week, I took each of the kids out one morning with me for my morning walk. I usually walk down to the park that is about a mile down the road, walk around the path circling the pond a few times and come back home. While even politicians can’t stop the beauty of spring from arriving, they’ve made their best attempts at making everything else look completely un-American. Big chains and bolts locking up the tennis courts, basketball courts, and baseball fields. The playground and gazebo taped up like crime scenes. And making me wonder when I left the country my forefathers fought for and moved to Communist Russia. Only the geese look free.

I was pretty sure what Emry would say when she saw the changes at the park, but I wasn’t sure what Ethan would have to say. I was more afraid he would insist on playing on the playground despite the yellow tape, ending our walk in a torrent of tears. Instead, he took one look at the playground and cried out, “Mama! They’ve tied up the playground! Like a bad guy!”

Yes, it takes a three-year-old to point out how ridiculous our world has become.

When Emry saw the taped up playground, she didn’t say much. She noticed the yellow tape, but she was focused on the geese and ducks playing in the pond and didn’t say a lot. Later, as we were but a few blocks from home, she noted the playground at the school not far from our house. I used to take the kids down there now and then when school wasn’t in session. While they haven’t taped up the whole playground, there is some tape and now Emry asked about it. She knows there is a sickness going around which is why nothing is open and we can hardly go anywhere, but this time I added that it isn’t really the sickness that is closing down playgrounds. After all, there is a lot of sickness in this world all the time. But people are just scared. They’re very scared.

I waited to see what she would say about that, trying to guess and prep for an answer. But I certainly didn’t anticipate her response.

“Mama,” she stated thoughtfully, “they’re scared because they don’t know Jesus. We need to tell them about Jesus.”

I didn’t say anything after that. I mean, really, what is left to be said?

Happy 4^thBirthday, Beto! 

My nephew Beto with his cousins.