How We Unscarred Our Kids

"I told you so" moments are the worst, especially when I am telling them to myself. There are times when Dr. Romance and I *GASP* make questionable decisions for our kids. Against our initial instincts, we took our children to a family funeral. They were amongst cousins their same age. And really, they behaved beautifully and were fascinated by the formality of a Catholic mass. They loved the chimes, the priests' robes, and the incense. They had never been to a Catholic church. They were impressed by so much stained glass and seemed immune to the funeral. It was as happy as a funeral can get: not many tears.

The fuzzy problem was that this was their first "death experience." For months, they asked so many questions about death and the finality of earthly existence. I worried that I had scarred them forever by taking them to a funeral.

This Easter we purposed to tell the truth about death. We celebrated the death of Jesus and his resurrection. And my eyes brimmed with tears when my Middle Man woke up and said, "Mommy, I had a dream. It was about the tomb, but I wasn't scared!" Our Easter was full of rebirth, full of life, full of celebration.

The night before Easter we made Resurrection cookies. As we added each ingredient, we took our time and explained exactly why celebrate, why we beat the pecans like Roman soldiers, why we add vinegar, salt, eggs, and finally the sweetness of the sugar. Because death is not the end for us!

And the children sealed the "tomb" or oven, with masking tape. The next morning they jumped on our bed ready to open the tomb. Inside they found their cookies, hollow, just as the women found Jesus' tomb on Easter morning.

Our day was rich with celebration and more talk of how death is not the end for us. We spoke the names and the stories of those we know we will see again. Now, I brush away the thoughts of scarring my children for life, and take confidence that we are teaching them not only about death, but about life!

And though we are in Massachusetts without family, and have lived much life away from family, we seem never alone on holidays. Friends of relatives arrived. They arrived strangers, and left our Easter table like family.

The Hard Love

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The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:

Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.

Today’s topic is The Hard Love.



GO.

I am sitting in a dark hotel room and only this screen shines bright. In the dark my three children are sleeping.

I think about when it is dark and I don't shine, even when I fail, Jesus still shines. He shines despite me. This Lenten season is almost gone, and has not happened the way I planned with time, activities, and intentions of allowing Jesus to shine. I feel like I have failed. Yet he still shines.

He chooses to love me in all of my darkness. That is The Hard Love.

In my orthodox Jewish neighborhood the ladies walk in hats and overcoats. The men wear their hats as they walk to the temple. They wear their outward display of reverence for God and they celebrate Passover. They stop, they chat, they share their faith with me uninhibited. They talk of their prayers and their customs, and lifestyles in every conversation, Passover season or not. I nod, I listen, and ask questions. They share even more.

Why is it, then, so hard for me to share? I don't mean just with my neighbors. I mean, why do I over think talking about the best friend I have?

I don't reciprocate equally His love for me and He still chooses The Hard Love. To love me, to go to the cross for me.

Interrupted.

The toddler cries in the dark hotel room. "Mommy?!?" I go to him in the dark of the hotel room, and I lift him into my arms. This post ends differently now.

The Hard Love finds me. He lifts me in the dark even when I can't see.

Stop.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Surprise....Night at the Circus!

I had no idea last night was going to be about the strangest circus EVER. Last night I thought I would vlog about the Jewish 1928 Craftsman I live in, in honor of Passover. But, it will have to be another night.





I am not a huge fan of any circus, namely because I think animals belong in responsible captivity or in the wild.

THERE. I said it. I am with the animal lovers. I promise.

But, this was complimentary through Dr. Romance's place of work, and we couldn't pass up costly and nearly inedible circus food. He made up for it with those frivolous light up icy razzly dazzly things I would never buy the kids. At least it was Tuesday and Dr. Romance brought a container of THOSE brownies. It just wouldn't be a Tuesday night around here without them!

We surprised our kids. They had no idea where we were going. They LOVED the circus. This was their first. And, YES, my kids rode an elephant. They have been dying to ride an elephant since the Hubs rode one in Thailand. So we indulged them. For the record, I have ridden an elephant, too, but it was in San Diego. I have no idea how these elephants are treated, but the trainer seemed very loving. We stayed until the end....long enough for my boys to consider being shot from a cannon.

Because God Can Use Even the Tooth Fairy Drama

Before I was pregnant with our first child Dr. Romance and I agreed not to lie to our children about such characters as the tooth fairy. We have not taught our kids to believe they exist. However, because they choose to believe in the tooth fairy, we choose to play along. So when  Son1 asked Dr. Romance if the tooth fairy is real just before he lost his first tooth, Hubs told him she was not real. He looked his daddy square in the eye and announced she WAS real and that he believed. We play along with make believe superheroes, war games, and police officers, so the tooth fairy is no different to us. I know it sounds duplicitous and ridiculous. But it works for us.

When Son1 lost his first tooth Dr. Romance handed him a sandwich sized zip baggie to stash his tooth. Except my little man boldly insisted the tooth fairy could not possibly open or carry this baggie. He did not listen when we told him this baggie worked. So he cut a tiny triangle from a corner of the baggie to make a teeny tiny bag for his bony appendage. And then, he lost his tooth. We sent out an all points bulletin and the boys, Dr. Romance, and I searched high and low for this tooth, just shy of an hour. Dr. Romance called a 5 minute warning for a cease search. Watching my son's red eyes spill with tears, I grabbed our family into a circle and suggested we pray we find the missing tooth. I said a silent prayer first, asking God to show mercy and help us find the tooth, so I could model praying aloud for God's help, asking that despite my son's disobedience we were asking for a show of love.

I am telling you the absolute that Dr. Romance shot me a frustrated look when I asked that we pray for a tooth. So I squeezed my eyes shut quickly and just prayed from my heart. I opened my eyes, took one step, and I kicked something under my foot and we all shouted and hooped and hollered for the found tooth. And we praised God for that tooth.

A few days later, Son1 lost his second tooth. *Sigh* Same song, second verse. After much discussion we duct taped an envelope that guarded his lost tooth, shoved it into a plastic baggie, and zipped it closed. We told him not to open it under any circumstances. He said he was not going to open it. But pleasing the tooth fairy brought him to disobey us. More tears on his part. More frustration on ours.

We honestly could have shattered the tooth fairy right there. We could have called her out. But we chose once again to bring our son's disobedience to God, because God can use even the tooth fairy drama for his good. Because my heart is actively engaged in prayer for my sons through these 21 days, the way I treat their disobedience is different. I am turning away from my usual anger and impatience.

Son1 asked for forgiveness. I prayed aloud with him. I prayed that he would trust God and be faithful with his word and actions. I asked God that he would learn to trust his parents, as we have only his best at heart.

And so, over a crumpled envelope and a tear stained pillow, a heaving little boy went to sleep. And I walked down the stairs reflecting how much I love him, and how important praying for him and with him matters.

Distance

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The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:

Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.

Today’s topic is Distance.



GO.

A couple of weeks ago I unfolded the huge map of the United States and spread it across the floor of my 1928 craftsman in Massachussetts, just as I had spread it across 2005 cold tiles in my California home almost a year ago.

I cannot measure distance the same way as my hubs, on an iPad or laptop. I need to feel the map between my fingers and see the cross sections of states in one whole picture. I cannot solely rely on the GPS in my car. This is odd to my man, but still he allows me to generally plan the route.

This summer we will once again travel three thousand miles across the country with 3 small children in tow. We will speak volumes across distance, we will grow our family ties across distance, and we will see a whole new route than when we left last July.

The distance will grow us. I don't know how, but I know it. The journey will mark part of our summer, of wild stories, adventures, and probably mishaps. We will see more than the stretches of highways.


STOP.

That was 5 minutes, except for formatting and uploading the photo!

SECRET Guilty Pleasure....SHHH!!!!

I can only imagine what you might think NOW that I am sharing this with you! It is the TRUTH behind my secret guilty pleasure!

If You Met Me

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The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:
We just write. For five minutes flat.

Today’s topic is “If You Met Me”







GO.

If you met me, you would know I have a wildly crazy side. I REALLY met this guy in an elevator in 1996, and I REALLY married him 21 months later on the Fourth of July, just so we could have our own fireworks for every anniversary. REALLY.

 You might probably ask me if we tried for a girl when you saw my tribe of boys. And I would sit you down and tell you all of the reasons I wanted three kids. It never occurred to me whether I might want a boy or a girl when I saw two lines on a pregnancy test.

 

You would know how much I love the beach. I grew up in San Diego, left for college to Los Angeles, where I roller bladed on Santa Monica and Venice Beaches on the weekends. After Dr. Romance and I were married, we eventually moved to Hawaii for 4 years, and back to San Diego for 18 months, with a stop in Virginia and Massachusetts on either side.

You would know that I love to play cards...Hearts, Pinochle, and Spades. And yes, I am wildly competitive.

I love moments. I love experiences. I love people. They matter to me more than all of the money in the world.

STOP.

That was five minutes flat, except for uploading photos and formatting.

Warrior Prayers

Last Friday I printed my copy of Warrior Prayers and bound it at an office supply store. I have ran my hand down the bound pages, through ten prayers, three times each, every single day.

I have prayed ten different prayers for six days for each of my three little boys. I have prayed 180 different prayers. I have inserted their three names, for my three babies I cradled in three hospitals in three states. A week ago, before we began, I thought I could measure my love for them. I thought I knew how much I loved them, how much I want them to be spiritual leaders of their homes, of how I have dreamed for their future wives and their children, and how much I hoped for their future education and leadership.  And then I started this prayer challenge.

Everything I have intentionally, and so carefully planned for nearly seven years, diminishes in the shadows of this week of prayer. All of the ways I researched baby products, interviewed pediatricians, and toured schools, in the name of giving the very best to my sons, cannot begin to measure how much I care for them when I am in prayer for them. I have sat and taken notes from mentor mothers on effective behavior, established routines, and well mannered children. I have read specific books on parenting boys. I have prayed very specific, yet very predictable prayers, over them. Dr. Romance and I have intentionally shared teachable moments with our sons. And still, I realize we only scratched the surface.

This week I am changing. I am listening more.  
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. (Matt 12:34)
I am listening to what they are saying, what they are speaking, what they are thinking out loud.

I am slower to speak, slower to discipline, and more rapid to pray. I am still processing that I have prayed for them, each one, 60 different ways.

No Rain, No Rainbows

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The Gypsy Mama is hosting Five Minute Friday.

Here are the rules:
We just write. For five minutes flat.

Today’s topic is “A Few of my Favorite Things”



GO.
A few of my favorite things are Diet Coke over large ice cubes, warm triple chocolate brownies, and living within minutes of the ocean. I don't anymore, but I have for 29 years of my life.

I also love words that tingle my senses.

I have vivid childhood memories of staring curiously at the little girl on the Morton's salt can. I read the slogan over and over, "When it rans, it pours." I loved reading the rounded cursive letters long before I ever learned to write my own loopy letters.

I marveled at those overlong raindrops. I believed that somewhere rain like that existed. Of course, rain like that existed somewhere other than my hometown of San Diego. I dreamt of living someplace where it poured. When it rains in San Diego, it does nor pour. And if it does rain a bit, the raindrops never look like those. But I itched to have a great big umbrella like hers and skip through puddles in galoshes.

What a joke. I am the girl on the Morton's can. I only carry a king sized umbrella when it rains. I don't like to be wet and feel my clothes stick to my skin.

I do not like rain. When we lived in Hawaii I found a new slogan I loved.

"No rain, no rainbows."

It is so much more beautiful a saying than anything about pouring rain.

For St. Patrick's Day I made these muffins. They did not turn out like the ones on the recipe. They were not supposed to look like tie dyed muffins.

But then I topped them off with vanilla icing for "fluffy clouds" and split them down the middle.

I remembered, "No rain, no rainbows."

STOP

Other than the time it took me to upload pictures and format, the writing was five minutes flat!