My Own FREE Personal Trainer

Last week I texted two of my local friends:

 

Free: one adorable 20 month old who loves to give hugs. She’s a great motivator of personal exercise: you will be picking up random things all over your house and returning them to their rightful place ALL DAY LONG!!!!

 

I then added:

 

Okay, I wouldn’t give her a way…but if you need a personal trainer for an hour or so, her prices are very reasonable: $0

 

I turned 42 on Monday. And even though it was a very nice birthday, I can’t say since turning 40 that birthdays are a lot of fun…

 

Anyhow, I’ve been feeling old. Random aches and pains remind me that I’m old. The grey hair seems like it’s getting endless. And I understand more and more references that others don’t. To contribute to all this is Ellyson. Who is constant motion. Constant unintended mischief. Constant, constant, constant.

 

Like a Tasmanian devil that neverstops.

 

The other two start their days off with school. It would be nice to say I have discovered something that will keep Ellyson busy for a while as I work with Emry and Ethan, but I have yet to discover anything that will keep her occupied for longer than ten minutes. And when she moves onto the next thing, she simply leaves whatever she was playing with scattered all over the place: puzzles, magnets from the fridge, marbles, Legos, game pieces, books, Hot Wheels…you name it, she can scatter it. And often all over the house. I find trails of random things everywhere I go, leaning over to pick it up and stuff it in my pocket to put back where it belongs. And now that she’s figured out how to move chairs around so she can climb up on things…well, anything is game.

 

You can go ahead and say I am a terrible mom because I don’t make her pick up each and every thing. I do make her clean up quite a few things, but sometimes I am already so exhausted from Emry griping about yet more sentences to read and fill in, or making Ethan rewrite his letters he’s scrawled across his paper, or having Ellyson put away the puzzles and magnets, that the marbles I’ve found under the table, in the bathroom and tossed across the living room are just easier to pick up on my own. Because Ellyson hates to clean up when she’s told to. She’ll put on a pouty face, hunch her shoulders over, and huff when you tell her what to do. And there’s only so many times in one day I can handle that. 

 

The other day, Ed remarked yet again at how great it will be when we get a larger house.

 

“Why?” I responded. “So Ellyson has even more space to trail everything around?”

 

Ah, yes, she is adorable!

Getting Big!

This week, we let Ellyson move to the “big” table. I had been postponing the inevitable, mostly because she can be so messy when she eats. Sitting in a highchair with a large tray that catches most things is extremely helpful. Not to mention it serves as a “cage” which she can’t maneuver out of. On the other hand, because our house is so small, when the highchair it not is use, all we do is push it out of the way constantly. And it’s bulk doesn’t really fit in our little dining area, so she’s always sitting away from the rest of us. It wasn’t my first choice even when we got it for Emry, but it was cheap and I couldn’t argue with that. Three kids and six years later, I can’t wait to see the last of it.

 

But back to putting Ellyson at the big table. Other reasons were she was climbing up into our chairs anyhow and she even discovered one of the booster seats kept under my bed, which she pulled out and dragged all over the house, sitting in it wherever she pleased, often with Emry’s doll which she has adopted as her own. So, Ed got one of the spare chairs from the garage and we now all squeeze around our little table (which could be larger…but the room is so small the two leaves are also under out bed!). 

 

Let’s just say Ellyson was beyond ecstatic. She “talked” thewhole meal. I’m not sure what she said. Nor can I figure out how she jabbered on and on but still ate everything on her plate. Our family meal (which is lunch since Ed works second shift) has never been quiet, but now! Ellyson jabbers, Emry and Ethan talk over her, and sometimes Ed and I get a word in edgewise. I shouldn’t complain, though. These days are precious. Endlessly loud…but precious.

 

Emry, Ellyson and Ethan at the “big” table.

Little Man,

 

Last night as I tucked you into bed, I pulled out your photo book from the year you were one-year old. We sat down on your bed, you looked at the picture of little you on the front, and promptly burst into tears.

 

“Buddy, what’s wrong?” I asked.

 

“I don’t want to grow up!” you cried, pointing to the picture. “I just want to be little!”

 

You are wise beyond your years…

 

I grew up more like your older sister: always anticipating the next birthday, another year added to my age which meant I was more grown up and ever close to actually being grown up. Instead, you enjoy being whatever age you are. You have loved being four. You are loathe to turn five. If I could keep you four forever I would. It’s a really good age.

 

This past year you have grown so much. You can ride your bike without training wheels. A couple of weeks ago, you told me you didn’t need your booster at the table anymore. You were just barely tall enough to ride the waterslide at the waterpark. You’ve started Kindergarten and do well at your schoolwork, although having to put every word you read into a sentence does take a while some days! After trying to adjust to Ellyson, you’re figuring out how to play with her. She’s so happy when she can play with “Brudda”. And you’re never happier when Emry plays with you.

 

Trying to find things for you and Emry to do on cold days, my old Wii came out. Although I will never enjoy video games like you do, I do like to watch you figure out how to work the game and achieve the goals. Somewhere inside that busy mind of yours, you do think. I was very surprised when I sat down to play checkers with you how well you think about what will happen if you move a certain piece. Now we’re learning chess!

 

I love the funny things you say and when you stop to very seriously explain something to me. But my favorite memory of the year was in church one Sunday morning as you wiggled about trying to find something to keep you occupied during the sermon. I was pretty sure you weren’t listening at all to the sermon from 1 Corinthinas, but you suddenly stopped, looked at me, and asked, “Mama, what does it mean to be saved?” 

 

I pray, little man, that the many pieces you learn at home from Bible reading and the lessons at church will someday soon come together and, by God’s grace, you will know what it means to be saved. Because, sadly, you have to grow up. And while I hope many great things for you, the one I hope the most is that you will know Jesus as Savior.

 

I love you, little man! Happy 5^thBirthday!

 

Love, Mama 

Snow!!!

Two days of it. Sixteen inches. Quiet nights. Sore arms. It’s heavenly. Need I say more?

Emry, Ellyson and Ethan – she could hardly moved between the extra layers and snow up to her chest, but Ellyson was soooo happy to be outside!

 All four of us!

Surreal

Sometimes being an adult is very surreal. When did I get to be nearly 42 years of age? I don’t feel that old. How did I get all this responsibility? When did I start worrying so much about the how dreary the future looks? Is this what my parents’ life was like all my years of growing up? It didn’t seem like it. Obviously, I wasn’t paying attention.

 

Nothing is more surreal that watching my kids at their activities. I remember dance class (a little) or soccer (hated it). Yes, yes, I remember griping about school (for no apparent reason) and conflicts with girlfriends that made no sense (and still don’t – it’s like déjà vu with Emry some days). But lately, I remember playing with other kids at church. I guess because we were there so much. 

 

This year I’ve been helping in Emry’s Sparks class on Wednesday nights. Having never attended Awana growing up (except once as a guest with a friend), I knew nothing about Sparks. I still feel a bit lost, but it’s fun to be in Emry’s class and get to know some of the kids her age. All in all, kids haven’t changed much in 35 years. They even dress the same. Just not quite so much neon…or demin…or curled bangs and side ponytails. But baggy is back. And jeans with buttons instead of zippers – a fashion that never should have reappeared.

 

The Sparks have gym time right in the middle of the rest of their activities. Upstairs we troop all 15 to 23 of them, try to separate them into four groups (there are always one or three who have no clue what color they were just told…the same one or three each week) and the games begin. I participate or observe, depending on what they’re up to…and wonder how I got to be the parent in the room instead of the kid racing across the floor.

 

Some of those kids bring back lots of memories. Like Nehemiah sliding across the gym floor at every opportunity. Or meandering around, present in body but off in left field in every other way. He’s clompy, and a clown, and always wearing a goofy grin. Like Josh Harris, only without the cowboy boots. I can remember girls so spacey you wondered if they heard two words of instruction, scampering off after everyone else just because everyone else is running.  There’s the girl who has one speed: slow. Walks slow, runs slow, always the last in line. I have to resist the temptation to literally push her to hurry up. Another girl always has the answer to every Bible question. She reminds me of someone I new really well…oh, that was me! Or the kids who never want to participate. I never understood why not. I still don’t. In my home, participation wasn’t an option.

 

Just like 35 years ago, relay races are ever popular. They are a good way to keep the kids running, even though some never do figure out why they’re running. Sharks and minnows is the favorite game for these kids. In my day it was Red Rover. That was a dangerous game. I don’t know why some adult never stopped us from trying to break each other’s arms. Or why none of us ever broke an arm.

 

One would think after months of watching these kids run around the gym, tease each other over crafts, or compete to say the most verses; the surreal-ity would wear off. But it doesn’t. Every week I stand in the gym and wonder how I got to be so old…and what happened to all the kids I use to play Red Rover with.