I'm not a great poet. I like poems that rhyme and I get annoyed when I have to dig around for a hidden meaning. So the poem I'm about to share with you will not win any awards. But I like it because it reminds me, as Christmas draws near, to turn my gift-giving inclinations toward Christ. That's why we give gifts at Christmastime anyway, right? To help us remember the gift of a baby two thousand years ago. And to point out the gift His life was to us.
I wrote this poem a few years ago to start a Christmas Eve tradition with our kids. The idea was to sit around the tree, after the food and festivities were done, and think of a gift we could give to our Savior. The gift could be giving up a favorite vice, developing a particular virtue, or doing something more service oriented. In the end, it should be something we could focus on for the coming year that would make us better people and bring us closer to Christ.
It's been a great tradition. Over the years, I've grown and learned a lot as a result of my Christmas gifts.
When I was a teenager, I never questioned whether I wanted
to be a mother someday. Of course I did. But there were a lot of things about being a mom that no one ever told me.
For one thing, I didn't know that my children would bless me in ways that are difficult to articulate. I didn’t know it would be like taking my heart out and watching it
walk around. I didn’t realize that I would come to know myself through knowing
them. I didn’t anticipate learning the greatest lessons of my life from someone
who could barely talk. No one told me my children would make me a better person
or that my life would be more complete through them.
Additionally, no one warned me that my two year old might try to run away from me in the library and that I would chase him unsuccessfully for twenty minutes while pushing his little brother in the stroller until eventually hiding behind a column and grabbing him as he ran past.
No one told me that my heart would swell watching a broken-hearted child cry like his best friend died when he lost a beloved toy and that I would secretly sneak to the store at night to buy a new one.
Or that sometimes I would be so tired, I'd be willing to give my child absolutely anything (think candy for breakfast, five thousand hours of screen time, or a pony) for five more minutes of sleep.
When I was seventeen, I would watch young moms with their kids and vow to never be "that kind of a mom." But I didn't understand all that had driven "that" mom to behave the way she was. And I didn't know that ten years later, I would be "that" mom. Or that I would be okay with it.
Here are the top five things I said I'd never do and how I learned the error of my ways:
5. My kids will not eat sweets before dinner. And definitely no candy for breakfast. Duh.
Well, since a bowl of Fruit Loops has basically the same amount of sugar as a chocolate chip cookie, I deserve numerous smacks on the forehead. We don't keep sugary cereal in the house at all times, but it definitely happens more often than I'd like to admit.
And the amount of syrup my kids squeeze onto their waffles when I'm
not looking has to be enough to send a person into sugar shock.
I hate mornings and I'll do just about anything to make them go smoother. If that includes Fruit Loops or syrupy waffles, then so be it.
Lesson learned. Don't make promises you can't keep.
Teenaged Teresa, deal with it.
4. I will never, ever, put my kid on a leash.
Numerous amusement park trips as a youth taught me to hate the kid leash. Watching parents dragging their kids around on leashes struck me as degrading and just plain weird. How could those parents walk around treating their kids like dogs and be okay with it? I would never, ever do that to my own kids.
Well, as you read earlier in this post, my first child was a runner. That's why I call him Energy. He began walking at ten months old and has been running ever since. He loved to squirm away from me in the grocery store, at the mall, at church... basically any public place. He also loved to escape when we were walking from the car to our house. If I didn't keep a firm grip on his arm while unlocking our front door, I'd be involved in a high-speed chase around our complex... with his baby brother, Mellow (thankfully, aptly named), in tow.
Needless to say, I've come to appreciate the need for a kid leash.
3. I would never forget to pick my kid up from something
As
a young mom, I heard lots of stories from veteran mothers about the
importance of cutting out unnecessary activities from your kids' lives in
an effort to curb the chaos. These mothers told tales of running from
one place to another, always a few minutes late and eating McDonalds in
the car. Often, the mother would arrive home, exhausted, only to
remember that she'd neglected to pick one child up from an activity.
(This was, of course, before the days of cell phones. You know, when we
all had to walk to school up hill both ways in the snow.) The poor child
had been sitting alone outside for hours waiting for mom to show up.
These
days, no adult in charge would let a child sit alone outside of their
facility for hours without calling a parent, so I haven't lived this
exact scenario. But, I have come to understand how it could happen. Even
with just three kids involved in after school activities last year,
things got real messy, real fast. "Where's my leotard?" and "I forgot to
practice!", mixed with crying baby and three-year-old pleadings for
attention left me feeling more than a little frazzle-brained on countless occasions.
Add someone firing off homework questions, the phone ringing, and ground
beef sizzling on the stove in a hasty effort to avoid stopping at
McDonals and the situation is perfectly set for a child to be forgotten.
It could totally happen.
2. I won't let my kids dress like slobs
I grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes, which was great when they came from my super-cool cousin, but not so great when they were from the Goodwill clearance rack. I remember feeling very embarrassed, even as a young child, when my clothes were ugly or mismatched. (I'll admit here that I'm probably remembering this far worse than it was - my mom is amazing and wouldn't have let me run around in rags). But I vowed that my kids would always match.
Fast forward to the stubborn little girl who has put on a striped pink tutu with an orange polka dotted shirt, but who has obediently dressed herself just as you asked her to.
Or the pre-teen boy who flatly refuses to wear anything but ratty t-shirts and athletic pants, but who does his chores without complaint, gets good grades, and is a great big brother.
I've realized there are worse things than having kids who dress like ragamuffins. Far worse. Fighting over clothes is so not worth it.
1. I will not let my kids watch cartoons that belong in a drug-induced hallucination
I watched an episode of The Wiggles with my young sister-in-law shortly after I got married.
Seriously? I'd thought. Someone thought this was a good idea?
I found out much later that, yes, apparently, someone did think The Wiggles were a good idea: Kids.
When we happened upon an episode of The Wiggles one day well into my child-rearing years, my kids' eyes lit up and their bodies twitched with the urge to get up and dance. I knew I'd soon be changing my tune. Yo Gabba Gabba followed, much to my chagrin. Though my kids loved these shows, I believed it had taken an adult with a very demented brain to come up with them.
I, however, will always be indebted to the "demented adult" who came up with the episode of Yo Gabba Gabba that features the song, "There's A Party in my Tummy." This clip has successfully convinced several of my picky little eaters to clean off their plates with a smile on their face.
Severely demented or wickedly clever?
I must apologize for my hasty judgements and bow to the brilliant minds that think this stuff up.
So yes, I am now "that" mom. The one who is far from perfect, but is doing the best she can. The one who loves her kids even when they use her brand new, dry-clean-only shirt as a napkin.
Being a mother is, without question, the hardest job there
is. But if I learned one thing as a teenager, it is that anything worth
doing is hard. The hardest experiences of my youth made me a stronger person
and made me who I am today. The same can be said of having
children. They will push you and teach you--about yourself, and about others.
Kids love unconditionally and we, as their parents, do well when we can follow their examples and curb our tendencies to judge. Teenaged Teresa was wrong about a lot of things. And that's okay. Though I've been surprised by many aspects of motherhood, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am surrounded, each day, by a bunch of little people for whom I am simply, 'Hero'.
I have a confession to make: I'm not a big fan of Halloween. (Pause for boos and hisses.) Sure, I like the free chocolate, carving pumpkins, and making eating caramel apples.
My gripe is mainly over costumes.
When I was younger and only had to worry about coming up with one terribly clever costume, I was sometimes able to manage it, usually by stopping at Goodwill and picking up some vintage atrocity from the 60's. I have collected several of these over the years and now rotate through them, always spending Halloween clothed in one of several polyester outfits from the box under my stairs. I never could get comfortable with the idea of spending money on a cheap costume that would only be relevant for one night.
The problem, of course, got worse as we tacked on the kids. I can sew, but I despise it (plus I'm incredibly slow), so sewing my kids Halloween costumes has always been out of the question.
But it's okay because shortly after school starts, the glossy magazines begin arriving in the mail. They offer to turn your toddler into something amazing (for $60 or more plus shipping). Costumes parade prominently around stores before summer is even spent. As a result, my kids believe in love at first sight. How could they not when they've experienced it, year after year, as I attempted to whiz by the Halloween costumes without them noticing?
When kids get their hearts set on something, it's hard to
say 'no,' isn't it?
The trouble is, their love is fleeting and the next time you walk through the store, you'll find that the object of their desire has changed. But if you don't buy it when they see it then their size will sell out. Then you'll really be stuck. You don't want to be the mom stuck on Ebay, frantically bidding on the very last costume in your child's size. Trust me.
A few years ago, quite by accident, we hit on a way to avoid the issue entirely. Remember when your child was one, and he enjoyed playing with the boxes his toys came in more than he wanted the toys? Never underestimate the power of a large cardboard box, even when your child is no longer a baby.
When my son Energy told me he wanted to be a hermit crab for Halloween, my first response was a resounding 'no.' He had it all planned out, and it sounded incredibly complicated. His plan involved paper mache, balloons, and chicken wire. I hate Home Depot. The thought of traipsing through the store with four young kids in search of chicken wire so my son could make a mess in the yard attempting to make a wearable hermit crab shell was not appealing. So I stalled him, turning to the internet for guidance. There had to be somebody, somewhere, selling a hermit crab costume, or at least a video on how to make one, right? Right? You can find anything on the internet.
Apparently, not.
I told him he would just have to think of something else. But he pressed the issue and, eventually, I came to see that being a hermit crab was really important to him. I promised I would help, but we had to go with my plan, which did not involve paper mache or chicken wire. Or balloons.
I like to keep things simple. I'm no good with a sewing machine, but I'm awesome with a can of spray paint. So my plan revolved around a cardboard box and some spray paint. Before long, we had a passable hermit crab. My son was ecstatic. And he was convinced I was the best mom EVER, which was an unexpected bonus.
Energy's costumes in subsequent years have all revolved around cardboard boxes. I suspect they will for many more years to come.
At his school Halloween party, dressed as a calculator, Energy got angry because everyone kept pushing his buttons. :) They were really cool buttons: we attached them to the box with springs so they popped out after you pushed them. His classmates couldn't resist.
This one's a mailbox, before we put the US Mail signs on it. Energy's plan was to crouch down on people's front doorsteps so all they would see when they opened the door was the mailbox. Then he would pop up and scare them.
Here's the completed look, along with his entourage of an angel, a vampire, the grim reaper, a ninja, and someone who loves them all.
And here's a little gem I found in the archives. This is Energy, as Larry the Cucumber from Veggie Tales, in his
very first box costume. This was before we really understood what we'd hit upon--we were just super poor. We made it out of a Costco cheerios box and
leftover craft paint.
This year's cardboard box creation: A Rubix cube.
Also, Mellow has decided to follow in his brother's footsteps and will don the cardboard box for the first time this Halloween. Here he is in his Minecraft Steve head.
After so many box costume successes, we have come to believe that they are the best. In no particular order, here are the reasons box costumes make Halloween great:
People think you're creative, when in reality you're just lazy and cheap
Your kids will change their minds about what they want to be a week before Halloween. Just count on it. With a box costume, you can wait until the week before to make it and you don't have to worry about it selling out at the store.
Making a costume out of a cardboard box is cheap, cheap, cheap!
The looks we get from Target employees when we ask if they have any large, clean boxes we can have for Halloween costumes are priceless.
Almost anything can be made out of a box if you use your imagination
Kids can wear whatever they want underneath their boxes. No more freezing cold kids because the costume makers skimp on cloth and don't leave room under their costumes for extra layers.
If you like attracting attention (which Energy does) wearing a giant, spray-painted box is a great way to do it.
You can throw it away after Halloween without feeling like you're wasting your money
Since I obviously love boxes so much, one of these years our whole family should go as coordinating boxes. We could be the cereal aisle at the grocery store, or we could go as gallons of ice cream. We could be Minecraft blocks or a family of Legos. We could even dress up as bricks and go as our house. The possibilities are endless!
Eight years ago, when Mellow was two years old, my life depended upon knowing the exact location of two tiny toy cows that fit perfectly inside his fists. As we all know, two-year-olds have a tendency to lose their toys and then not understand why you can't procure them out of thin air the moment they want them back. To avoid the inevitable meltdowns and broken-hearted weeping, I ended up buying several of the little toy cows so we would have a better chance of finding one when Mellow demanded it. The cows ended up in constant rotation. They were very good about taking turns getting lost, so we were usually able to find at least two when we needed them.
Now Caboose is following in his brothers' footsteps, only the object of his deepest affections is a Lightening McQueen matchbox car. The heavy-duty, die-cast vehicles are slightly more expensive than the little plastic cows (read: ridiculously over-priced), so my method of buying several and letting them take turns being lost is slightly less appealing.
I've been pondering over the phenomenon of the favorite toy going on regular holidays and wondering why they have to go away so much. Also, have you ever noticed that when your child's favorite toy disappears, he is the only one who is able to find it? You can turn the house upside down looking for it, and said child will cry himself to sleep for several nights in a row. Then, one day, you happen upon the child, who is happily playing with the lost toy and your jaw drops in amazement. Since he's too young to offer any explanation over where he found the toy, its hiding place will forever remain a mystery.
So I wonder... where do the toys go when they disappear? Is it really just a coincidence when they go missing and return shortly thereafter or is there something bigger going on?
Cue imagination sequence...
Lightening McQueen rolled into his first meeting with trepidation. Even though he was used to meeting new people, the large conference center was packed with unfamiliar faces.
A large, muscled toy soldier stood at the front of the assembly behind a podium. "I hereby call this meeting to order. If you're joining us for the first time today, this is Disgruntled Toys Anonymous. We meet every day. We have an open door policy, which means you're welcome to pop in unannounced and stay for as long as is needed. My name is Tom and I've been a member of this chapter for six years." "We'll start off the meeting with our motto, then we'll hear grievances." Tom raised his arms and all the toys in attendance rose from their seats. A chorus of voices chanted out:
I am a toy, but I have feelings too. I am more than an object of desire. Although I love my owner, I have unique talents and abilities that can't be pursued when I am too well-loved. I am therefore entitled to take breaks as seemeth fit. I will return home when I am ready, and my child will love me more for the absence. "Wonderful!" Tom's voice echoed throughout the room. To begin our round of grievances for the day, we'll hear from Mr. Sill E. Puddy."
A sickly-pale, portly ball bounced to the center of the stage and leaned into the microphone. "Hello, everyone. Thank you for hearing me today. I've had a real rough week. I used to be popular, you see. I used to be desirable. But in recent years I have been reduced to a mere dollar toy." He paused, and a single tear rolled down his face. He continued haltingly. "I'm a pity gift. A party bag tchotchke. Something to be purchased only to be thrown away a short while later. Kids hate me because I don't flash or talk or have a power cord. Parents hate me because when kids leave me in their pockets, I end up going through the dryer and destroying whole loads full of clothes." He choked out a sob. "I might be here at DTA to stay." Sill then rushed off the stage, hiding his face in shame. "We feel your pain," Tom exclaimed from his seat as Sill made his way past. Shouts of "You are among friends" and "Don't lose heart" rang out from the audience. While Mr. Puddy melted back into the crowd, a large, awkward structure made its way to the stage. As it rumbled forward, bits of it fell off and had to be collected and brought forward by the stage crew. When it reached the podium, a chorus of voices rang out in stereo, "Hi. We are Legos. We've taken the liberty of dropping off our owners' favorite sets at will and coming as a group. We are very popular and never get any time off. But we must always be aware and watch out for each other. If ever we find ourselves separated from the group and picked up by a parent, there's a very good chance we will go straight into the trash." A collective shudder rippled through the room. As the Legos were finishing up, a row of Tinker Toys were making their way to the stage. They sent forward a single Tinker to voice their grievances. A deep voice said, "Hello all. My name is Tink." A murmur rippled through the audience, and McQueen could hear muffled laughter. "I know what you're all thinking. I have the same name as that girlie fairy. But it's even worse than all that. Sure, kids love us. We are really cool toys. But parents hate us because we have so many small pieces. We get scattered to and fro, stepped on, and sucked up into vacuum cleaners. Parents do their best to hide us in closets where their kids will forget all about us. It really is a very hard life. We just needed some time away. It's so great to be here with you all - thanks for your support." Lightening McQueen shuddered. He couldn't imagine being shut up in a dark closet, hidden away from the love of his child. In fact, he couldn't relate to any of what these toys were saying. Maybe spending his time being squeezed to death in the sticky fingers of a young boy wasn't such a bad life. When no more toys approached the stage, Tom stood and strode to his podium. "Thank you for coming, one and all. I hope this has been a time for you to relax and gain strength from others in similar situations. We will now break for our workshops. If you are interested in speaking at our next meeting, or are in need of a list of today's classes, please see Wanda." He raised his arm and a large doll stepped forward, her hair twisted into unattractive clumps of yarn at the nape of her neck.
Lightening McQueen shook his head and fled from the conference hall before anyone could rope him into coming to a class with them. He zoomed back to home base as fast as he could.
He missed his boy.
...End imagination sequence.
So now you know where toys go when they disappear, only to mysteriously reappear a few days later. Be sure to keep your favorite toys happy, or they just might take a longer vacation than you or your child would like.
