It's the Big Kids' Turn

Since I've already been doing too much talking this week, I'll let my big kids have a chance. First we have a lovely tree created by Anna in kindergarten:

And next a poem written by Jonathan in first grade:

Black

black is....
Night sky above sleepy peoples' houses.
Zebra's stripes in the bright sun.
Girls' hair swishing in the fast wind.
Deep, dark caves with spooky, tiny things.

black is...
TV faces.
Bats hiding in your attic.
Dark bear's hair.
Black is everything I said.
~

Me and My Big Mouth

About a month ago, on the evening of the pinewood derby race at church, I approached a man to whom I had previously only spoken 2-3 times and said, "I saw you leaving the Y the other day. That's not doing much for your flabby physique!"

The shock that you may feel regarding this comment is nothing compared to the shock displayed by my husband when I casually repeated the conversation later that night. He is well aware of my introverted tendencies and the fact that when I'm not feeling comfortable in a social situation, I sometimes blurt out dumb things. However, this comment went way beyond anything in my history.

And now, to borrow a phrase from grandma's beloved Paul Harvey, the rest of the story....

A few months prior to the pinewood derby, the aforementioned gentleman, along with his wife and another couple, had presented an evening of comedy skits, written completely by him. More than campfire skits, these were intelligent, creative and genuinely funny.

Once while the other actors were preparing for the next skit, this man came out and informed us of the lengths he goes through to avoid infidelity in his marriage. Among the steps he mentioned were, "developing annoying habits and personality quirks", "rarely showering", and finally "cultivating a flabby physique". Due to these efforts, he said, no woman had approached him in years.

A few days later, I saw him leaving the Y. The previously mentioned thought ran through my head and, at the pinewood derby race, out of my mouth. My phrase, "not doing much" for his flabby physique was intended to mean, "not helping to cultivate" his flab rather than "not eliminating". However, since Tom hadn't understood the reference, I thought that in the interest of preserving relationships, I had better verify that this man had understood it as intended.

A few days later, I saw his wife around town and described the conversation to her. After a good laugh, she said that she'd check with her husband. And yesterday, in the middle of the stairs at church, her husband told me that rather than offending, I had been 100% correct. The Y was not helping his flabby physique one bit.

As to what he may have meant by that, I have finally learned my lesson upon this subject. I will keep my mouth closed, not daring to either inquire or comment.

The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

I have heard it said that in our children, pieces of our heart walk around outside of our bodies. I have found this to be too true.

Jonathan is like me in that when something important happens, his first inclination is to tell someone else about it. Only then does he feel like it really happened. Upon returning home from school or any activity, he always needs some talk time before moving on with life. I appreciate this, because I love learning what's going on in his heart.

I am also aware of how much of his life I miss. Recently on a day off, I took Jonathan to his former school's recess to visit his old classmates. I sat with the teachers at the edge of the gym, watching the children play what looked like an ordinary game of basketball.

In the car on the way home, I asked Jonathan if he had had a chance to talk to his friend Abby. Abby was one of his favorite kindergarten friends due to a shared love of chasing games and a common understanding regarding all things silly.

Jonathan replied that during the course of our visit, Abby had approached him a number of times trying to find out which girl in the class he liked best, returning to her giggling friends each time he said, "I love everybody." How much I missed! And I was sitting right there!

More difficult for this mama grizzly bear is that Jonathan's classmates have grown sophisticated enough to inflict real pain by their words and actions. Yesterday at recess, a boy Jonathan admires told him that if Jonathan would give him his basketball, this boy would let him be on his team. Instead, he took the ball away and only allowed his other friends to play.

This little incident probably affected me more than Jonathan. How mean! How unjust! I imagined myself stomping down to the playground and giving this 7-year old punk a piece of my mind.

It quickly brought back memories of some of my own school injustices. It also makes me think of all the moments he will face without me, trials and pain more scarring and consequential.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes.

How much does a mom protect? When does she step in? When does she let him handle it on his own? How does she teach him compassion toward others?

Once again I can only depend on a Father much wiser, kinder, and compassionate than myself, who knows exactly how to help us grow through trials, and is beside us all the way.