no room at the inn

This is an actual conversation that occurred about fifteen seconds ago between me and Boy number four.

“Mom, I should get a hamster!” he declared (and quite seriously, I might add.)

“What?!?” I’m about ready to clean my ears out to make sure I heard him right. “What would you do with a hamster?”

“I’d put him in a cage, then I’d put it outside.” (That’s more like it!)

“Why do you want a hamster?” I had to ask.

“Cause I just like them,” he justified. “I always want a hamster.” And he looked at me like he somehow just deserved to get one.

This, coming from a three-year-old who is barely out of diapers, but who has somehow managed to pick up the begging lingo enough to insist he’s always wanted something. As if that’s enough of a reason to get anything, let alone a smelly little rodent.

I will really worry if he starts praying for one at bedtime, instead of the normal thanking God for supper, lunch and snacks. (Food is a big focus around here - both at prayer time and pretty much any other time. Like I would need another mouth to feed around here, even if it is a hamster.)

Bear in mind that I am not an animal person. The thought of an animal (with the possible exception of a fish) in the house gives me the willies. There isn’t room, for one thing, not to mention that four boys are dirty enough. The only upside I could see would be a built-in vacuum cleaner for all the food that gets dropped on the floor at every meal, even snack time.

Boy #4 isn’t the first to show tendencies towards animal-loving, but he is the first to ask for a pet. The other boys have been a bit scared of dogs and considered cats a bit of a nuisance. Number two has a soft side for rabbits, but not enough that he’d ask for one as a pet. (I think he learned his lesson when it became his job to feed the baby chicks every day - animals are work!) Number three was the main reason why Mom got a beta fish for Mother’s Day a few years ago and he still finds that incredibly funny. Number one is allergic to both dogs and cats and wants no part of sneezing constantly.

This one has already asked to get a dog.

That, I blame on my sister-in-law, who got a cute, fluffy dog (no bigger than a cat) and somehow impressed upon him that having a dog was a good idea. That, coupled with the fact that he idolizes his cousin, Lexi, makes him extremely susceptible to persuasion in the matter of pets. I think there might have been some monkey business involved there, but I can’t prove it.

I simply tell him, if he wants a dog, he can visit his cousin and his aunt and their dog Bella any time he wants. Soon, I will ask that they put him on pooper scooper duty and that should do the trick.

This chicken still has a little say-so in this roost. If it ever comes to it, thankfully God has provided us with plenty of land out here - for an “outside” dog.

But, hubby was just talking about goats....

new tricks

I bet your mind wandered with that title...

My brother got me a guitar for Christmas and I haven't managed to "find" the time to dig it out. But with Boy #1 begging for lessons, and pestering us all by playing at odd times of the day, I finally went online and downloaded some free beginner guitar lessons. (For him.) He, of course, was able to skip past half of lesson one. So, being the expert in the family, he wanted to show me some stuff.

First lesson was tuning. And trying to figure out which way to turn the little dial thingees to make the notes go up or down, sharp or flat. And then trying to figure out if the tuner was reading my guitar or the kid whistling next to me. Then it was on to the real stuff - put your fingers here, twist them just so, press down on a little string that will immediately dig into your flesh and try to strum in a consistent beat. (Now, imagine how difficult this might be for someone who cannot sing and clap at the same time. You'd think that all those years of piano lessons would have taught me some rhythm. Nope.)

It only looks easy. It is not easy. And who knew that playing the guitar actually requires muscles!!??!!

My left arm aches and two of the fingers on my left hand have semi-permanent grooves in them - just from trying to play a couple bars of "Horse with no Name." Thank goodness I was using a pick or my other hand would probably be as sore.

Then I wouldn't be able to knit - and then I'd die.

I lasted about nine minutes and decided that was enough or either my arm would fall off or my fingers would start bleeding. But, I can say I learned a new trick, so apparently I'm not the old dog I thought I was. Although, I must admit it was easier to play on Boy #1's junior-sized guitar with my small fingers. I wonder if they make guitars in smaller sizes for females like me who are neither flexible or have long fingers. Or maybe they make automatic playing guitars like those player pianos.

Gonna have to learn a few more tricks before I'd be willing to spend any money on another piece of frustrating equipment that causes more pain than actual music. Next lesson is chords. Whew. I might not even be able to type after that one.

play by play

For the most part, I'd say that my in-laws know pretty much everything that goes on in our house. (Notice, I said for the MOST part.) They know our daily schedules, what sports the kids play and when the next match is and sometimes even what we're having for supper.

There is one thing, though, that I don't think they planned on knowing. And it's really their own fault.

Grandma and Grandpa take each grandkid out for their birthday - to the restaurant of their choice. February 1 was Boy #4's birthday, but he hadn't earned the right to go yet. Grandpa has been telling him for about six months that he needs to go poop and pee on the potty in order to go.

Now, we're finally making some progress. We're already past a week of potty training and no accidents so far, so my guess is the big day will be coming soon. And they should know it's coming - they've had plenty of warning. Or should I say plenty of play-by-play.

Every time #4 goes #2, he immediately follows up with "I better call Grandma!" So, along with all their usual knowledge of what goes on in our little love nest, they also know when the baby of the family has a bowel movement.

That amuses me to no end. There are just some things you don't want to know, but it's pretty hard to say "No" to a three-year-old who wants to call his grandparents with some "news." It's also pretty funny when the news is "I went a monster poop!"

winter blues?

I finally figured out why I've been sort of out of sorts lately - ornery and depressed and lazy.

Well, it could be the Minnesota winter...I have to admit that this cold weather has lasted overly long and cabin fever has probably set in. But, I don't usually get bothered by SAD or by the lack of warm weather - I like to snuggle into my long johns, wool socks and my nuked rice bag, all while drinking a cup of coffee. And every year, I'm becoming less and less social (think hubby is rubbing off on me) and am more and more content to nest at home.

So right now, this blah feeling is probably something else. I think for some reason my body (without my knowledge or permission) is somehow remembering that one year ago today I lost a baby. This makes me sad, of course. But, not to the point that I'd burst into tears or want to drown my sorrows in a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough (the cookie dough is just normal, for me.) My hormones are starting to even out, so I don't think it's that either.

I had actually forgot all about what we endured in February of 2008 until the other night when I was trying to rack my brain about why I was so not myself. This was the best I could come up with. My body or rather my brain is just forcing me to remember, to reflect and to, well I'm not sure what. Perhaps simply by acknowledging the loss and the anniversary, I will get back on track to feeling a bit more normal. And less crabby. And maybe more frisky.

It's hard to do that - remember - when you really, really don't feel like feeling emotional. Or when you really really want to just get on with life. But I suppose sometimes the getting on part can't be done well unless the remembering part is also done well. Besides, I'm not really in control of this one anyway. There have been times when an miscarriage anniversary has simply passed by and I've completely forgot about it until weeks later. Not this time.

So, here goes... Today I'm going to just acknowledge that I feel cheated out of the little boy we delivered dead in a hospital last year, perhaps shed a few tears, perhaps not, hug my kids and try to be happy that this baby is in heaven and God has bigger plans than I can imagine or understand. It's a tall order for a day that includes schoolwork, my neck out of whack, one kid with the squirts and another one who is mid-way through potty training.

Who said distractions weren't a good thing?

the pee pee dance

So, baby turned three and still isn't potty trained. And believe me, I know that this is mostly due to my lack of discipline and not his lack of ability. Diapers are just easier.

Yesterday, he went poop on the potty all by himself. Something snapped in me and I decided it was time. (The brand-new underwear in his drawer have been there for at least four months!) I told him he did such a good job that he must be a big boy now. Then I pulled out the underwear package and told him he was ready to wear big boy underwear.

I thought he would fight me and say no immediately. To my delight he was excited. He got to choose which ones he wanted to wear and he choose the bright red pair that said "All-Star" on the butt. Of course, everyone made a big deal about him wearing underwear, so his baby-of-the-family need for attention was met in spades.

He made it through the day without any accidents and today was day #2. He pooped by himself once and later went pee by himself, much to our amazement. Hubby complimented him on how good he was doing. He got so excited about the compliment that he reacted in a way that was, well, sort of unexpected.

He pulled down his jogging pants to show us his underwear. Then, he started dancing. He spun around, wiggling his little bum, just for us. We dubbed it the pee pee dance and tried not to let him see us laugh. Really didn't want to encourage any gyrating in underwear - visions of a career at Chippendales scared me a bit.

Thankfully we haven't seen the pee pee dance since.

it stinks

I have instituted a new policy around here - the chore board. So far, in the couple months that we've had it up, it seems to be working well. No morning snack until all the chores are done (I lump schoolwork in with that.)

The boys whine about it, but when they see the writing on the board, they have little to argue about. And I think they like checking off things when they're done. Today, Number Two was not happy about having to do his chores. Mind you, they're not that bad. His list read: Make bed. Brush teeth. Schoolwork. Take out compost. Put away clothes. That's it. It's not like I'm making them scrub the toilet with a toothbrush.

But, he was still whining about it.

"It's gonna stink to be a Dad!" he insisted.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because then I have to do all this work." he said. "It stinks to be a kid too."

I didn't have the heart to tell him he might actually be right.

god is closer than you think

My apologies to John Ortberg, but his title is just so great, that I pilfered it for this column. (I am reading his book right now, “borrowing” hubby’s Christmas gift before he even cracked it open. Shhh - he’ll never know.)

Ortberg is one of my favorite authors - he has the ability to combine flat out truth with humor in a way that constantly astonishes me, and I must confess makes me a tad bit envious. The phrases that he manages to come up with are just brilliant (at least in my humble humor-writer’s opinion.) But, I did not set out to talk about a writer, but rather a topic he wrote an entire book about - God being close to us - closer than we think.

Sometimes, we’re so mired in our day-to-day battles, slaying the dragons of busyness and the twin villians worry and fear, that we can’t see that God is right at our side amidst it all. We are reminded time and time again in Scripture, not to worry, not to fear, not to fret about the bills that aren’t paid, the prayers that aren’t prayed or the time we can’t seem to find to connect with anyone, let along our Creator.

And yet, God is close. He is like Waldo (this is Ortberg’s idea, not mine). He is there, the Bible tells us so, on every page, but He is easier to find on some pages than others. Isn’t life just like that? Some days, we feel His presence like a hug enveloping us or we revel in His beauty surrounding us. Other days, like the morning you can’t find matching socks, you bang your shin, you get a parking ticket and you spill your coffee, He might not seem as close. In fact, some days if you’re dealing with severe pain or loss, financial struggles or even sassy children, He might even seem to have skidaddled right along with your sanity.

It’s funny how our emotions betray us – tricking us into believing something that just isn’t true. God is ever-present, in fact He’s often reaching out to us, whether we realize it or not. Ortberg writes about Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam,” saying that most paintings of that time showed God standing on the ground, helping man to his feet (an definite need at times), however this was different. God is extending toward man, twisting to move as close as possible. “This God is rushing toward Adam on a cloud, one of the ‘chariots of heaven,’ propelled by the angels. It is as if even in the midst of the splendor of all creation, God’s entire being is wrapped up in his impatient desire to close the gap between himself and this man. He can’t wait.” All we have to do is lift a finger (like Adam) and seize the opportunity to see God in our present and our presence.

The question then is: If God is always with us, why is he sometimes so hard to find? Most times, I venture the problem is mainly with us – we allow our lives and our problems and our interests to crowd out God and his voice. We fail to “practice the presence of God” (to pilfer another title) in our daily lives, no matter how mundane. We have the opportunity to find God, like Brother Lawrence, while washing dishes, changing dirty diapers, stopped at a redllight, banging nails or typing on a computer just as much as while we are in church, reading Christian books, relishing a sunset or taking part in a Bible study.

I may not have the discipline to practice His presence every moment or even every day, but I can see how He is here with my sore muscles, with my angry outbursts over spilled water, with prayers before meals for the “great food and all our cousins,” with me when I sneak chocolate chip cookie dough and when I knit.

God is in those simple everyday things, if I choose to see Him and practice living with Him.

To be sure, it’s difficult to do this when you’ve got a two-year-old singing Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs. But, when he changes songs, and notes and keys and starts singing, “Heavenly God and He smells like a monkey...” (I won’t repeat the rest of his little made-up ditty) it’s hard not to picture God smiling right along and it becomes easier to realize that yes, he is here with me and my impish little performer.

And He was all along.

On those days, I believe Ortberg is right when he writes that this moment is the place where you meet God. I may not have expected the meeting to go quite like this, but still I’m grateful for the little glimpse. He is closer than I think.