My three oldest kids seem to go through cyles/waves every 6-8 weeks, where one will start exhibiting some particularly crappy behaviour and, before long, the other two will join in. Before you know it, people are getting grounded and losing privileges... and I'm losing both my patience and my voice. It's been like this ever since they came to live with us 4 years ago.
The big thing we are dealing with from the boys lately is lying. I can't for the life of me figure out why they do it... other than they think they are way smarter than us, and we'll never figure it out; but, of course, we always do. We try to explain to them that the consequences for lying are far greater than the "original sin", but they don't seem to get it. My sister keeps reminding me that we have to lower our expectations--that after a couple of weeks of us showing them that we will deal less harshly with them if they just tell us the truth, they will stop trying to get around us--and realize that these kids had a nasty start to life, and these learned behaviours are not going to disappear overnight. They have never learned to trust anyone, so to expect that to happen in a matter of weeks--though that would be WONDERFUL--is just not realistic.
So as I was reading the 'discipline referral' from the boys' school about my oldest son's ISS (in-school suspension) last week--which, by the way, goes on his permanent school record now--it dawned on me that this must be how God feels, right? I mean, He watches over us, sees us making the same mistakes over and over again, continues to lend his hand, guidance, provision, all the time praying that we choose wisely 'this time'... and then His heart hurts a little when we don't, when we continue to fall into the same habits, make the same mistakes. He must feel just as we do as parents, hoping beyond hope that we will 'get it right' this time, and wringing His hands when we don't. Well, okay, maybe not. I mean, I believe God knows everything we're going to do, when and how, and all that; I think He knows how many times we'll stumble along the way. But He still hopes, waits, cheers us on, and (most importantly) loves us. I thought to myself, "If God gave up on me, threw His hands up in frustration or despair or anger everytime I screwed up, He would be long-gone."
And I'm supposed to be like Him to my kids. They're supposed to see Christ in me, and be treated with the same kind of unconditional love that He gives me. That's a big job. REAL big. I don't mean to infer that my kids are the most horrible, undisciplined, hateful children in the world; they're actually pretty nice little kids... most of the time (when they're not taking a swing at someone for bugging them). But they seem to try a little harder, push the envelope a little further than most kids I know. "Most" kids have a sense of when to wave the white flag, but not mine; they truly believe that they are too crafty, too smart for us, and that at some point, they're going to get around us. Sometimes I wonder if they're right, and if it's worth it to try to keep a few steps ahead of them all the time. I'm tired. It's extremely exhausting, mentally and physically.
So where does that leave me? I'm not altogether sure, but I now have come to terms with the fact that it will not be a quick fix. I can expect it to be a long journey--it's been 4 years already--and it (obviously) won't be easy. I have to be Christ to them, love them as He does, look at them through His eyes, respond to them as He would. It will be tiring and frustrating, but if I can get through it in one piece, it will be well worth it.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
"Of One Mind"
When you talk about being "of the same mind" or being "of one mind", what you mean is that you are in agreement with someone else... unless you know my oldest son and my daughter, cause then you're talking about them.
We have said from day one that my daughter has the nastiest bits of each of her older brothers in her (plus a few of her own). That's not to say that she is evil personified; she obviously has many good qualities, it's just that when it comes to the negatives, she happens to possess a healthy combination of each of my older boys. Needless to say, this makes her a bit more of a challenge in some ways (depending on what kind of spin, if any, she decides to put on the learned behaviour), and in others, a little easier to manage (having gone done that path previously).
Of the three older kids, Faith (the youngest of the 3) and Nathanial (the oldest) are becoming more and more alike as they get older. It's a little frightening just how much alike they are, actually. Physically, they are both going to be tall and slim, and they both have the same little faces, and the same big hair. I have often told them that if we grew Nathanial's hair out or cut Faith's off, they would look like identical twins. Their skintone, mannerisms, facial expressions, and yes, even their attitudes are so similar, again, it's frightening.
The joke around here at times is that they are even functioning off the same brain; not the nicest thing to say, I guess, but our reasons for saying this should soon become clear. Here's a good one, for starters; if I ask Nathanial to do something, both he and Faith respond. For example, today at lunch I told Nathanial to clear his plate from the table and go play, and as though physically attached at the hip, both he and Faith got up--at the same time, nonetheless--cleared their plates and left the room. The other day, I told Faith to go out and get in the car, and once again, they both exited together. I told Faith to change her coat, and Nathanial started to take his off to change it as well, which is interesting, really, as he does not have another coat to wear.
So I'm not really sure what to think of this phenomenon, other than it is a little creepy and somewhat annoying. Here's the kicker: for as much as these two kids are as close to identical in appearance, attitude and behaviour as two kids could be, they can't stand each other. At first I thought it was a combination age and gender thing, but I think there is some truth to the adage that often the things we dislike so much in others are the very things found in our own person.
We have said from day one that my daughter has the nastiest bits of each of her older brothers in her (plus a few of her own). That's not to say that she is evil personified; she obviously has many good qualities, it's just that when it comes to the negatives, she happens to possess a healthy combination of each of my older boys. Needless to say, this makes her a bit more of a challenge in some ways (depending on what kind of spin, if any, she decides to put on the learned behaviour), and in others, a little easier to manage (having gone done that path previously).
Of the three older kids, Faith (the youngest of the 3) and Nathanial (the oldest) are becoming more and more alike as they get older. It's a little frightening just how much alike they are, actually. Physically, they are both going to be tall and slim, and they both have the same little faces, and the same big hair. I have often told them that if we grew Nathanial's hair out or cut Faith's off, they would look like identical twins. Their skintone, mannerisms, facial expressions, and yes, even their attitudes are so similar, again, it's frightening.
The joke around here at times is that they are even functioning off the same brain; not the nicest thing to say, I guess, but our reasons for saying this should soon become clear. Here's a good one, for starters; if I ask Nathanial to do something, both he and Faith respond. For example, today at lunch I told Nathanial to clear his plate from the table and go play, and as though physically attached at the hip, both he and Faith got up--at the same time, nonetheless--cleared their plates and left the room. The other day, I told Faith to go out and get in the car, and once again, they both exited together. I told Faith to change her coat, and Nathanial started to take his off to change it as well, which is interesting, really, as he does not have another coat to wear.
So I'm not really sure what to think of this phenomenon, other than it is a little creepy and somewhat annoying. Here's the kicker: for as much as these two kids are as close to identical in appearance, attitude and behaviour as two kids could be, they can't stand each other. At first I thought it was a combination age and gender thing, but I think there is some truth to the adage that often the things we dislike so much in others are the very things found in our own person.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Water sports
I'm wondering at what point, exactly, the toilet seems to "appear" to a child. It's like the first 18 months of their lives, there is no such thing; then one day, there it is, like they've never seen it before, and with the sudden realization that it exists comes the fascination with putting things in it.
I will never forget my nephew's fascination with putting things in the toilet (thankfully, at almost 13 years of age, he has outgrown that). He loved to put stuff in there, but my two favourites would be the toothbrush belonging to his dad and grandpa's keys, that we thought had taken the plunge (as in their absence and Will's presence, we could only assume the two went hand in hand). Thankfully, the keys were found elsewhere... but not daddy's toothbrush. His dad was not pleased to say the least.
I have managed to thwart a few attempts to dunk stuff in the toilet, but Sam's much loved monkey has bathed in the tush tub a couple of times, and a few other smaller things. I thought we had moved on, but he proved me wrong this week. Apparently a lot of bodies in the house plus too few baby gates equals Sam playing in the toilet. And in a matter of days, we went from throwing bath toys in the toilet, to face cloths, a toy broom, a toilet paper roll, and then, Sam himself, up to the elbow. Actually, his pants, socks and shirt were ALL soaking wet by the time we found him, blissfully oblivious to the fact that he was doing something just terribly, horribly gross. I mean, really, that's got to be at least 10 times worse than nose picking or the "I have to pee" grab.
I am not sure, other than keeping my bathroom doors closed all the time and (consequently) listening to "(knock knock) Is anyone in there?" all day long, how exactly to stop the fun and games associated with the toilet. I guess that's all I can do at this point, because when I try to tell him 'no', and 'yucky', he smiles and hugs me (with his yucky toilet hands), and by the time I have him all bathed (in the actual tub), dried and dressed, all is forgiven and forgotten. Maybe by the time they're 2 the fascination wears off? Here's hoping!
I will never forget my nephew's fascination with putting things in the toilet (thankfully, at almost 13 years of age, he has outgrown that). He loved to put stuff in there, but my two favourites would be the toothbrush belonging to his dad and grandpa's keys, that we thought had taken the plunge (as in their absence and Will's presence, we could only assume the two went hand in hand). Thankfully, the keys were found elsewhere... but not daddy's toothbrush. His dad was not pleased to say the least.
I have managed to thwart a few attempts to dunk stuff in the toilet, but Sam's much loved monkey has bathed in the tush tub a couple of times, and a few other smaller things. I thought we had moved on, but he proved me wrong this week. Apparently a lot of bodies in the house plus too few baby gates equals Sam playing in the toilet. And in a matter of days, we went from throwing bath toys in the toilet, to face cloths, a toy broom, a toilet paper roll, and then, Sam himself, up to the elbow. Actually, his pants, socks and shirt were ALL soaking wet by the time we found him, blissfully oblivious to the fact that he was doing something just terribly, horribly gross. I mean, really, that's got to be at least 10 times worse than nose picking or the "I have to pee" grab.
I am not sure, other than keeping my bathroom doors closed all the time and (consequently) listening to "(knock knock) Is anyone in there?" all day long, how exactly to stop the fun and games associated with the toilet. I guess that's all I can do at this point, because when I try to tell him 'no', and 'yucky', he smiles and hugs me (with his yucky toilet hands), and by the time I have him all bathed (in the actual tub), dried and dressed, all is forgiven and forgotten. Maybe by the time they're 2 the fascination wears off? Here's hoping!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Sammy's prayers
From the day I found out I was actually pregnant, I prayed for Sammy... all day, all night. After having one miscarriage 5 years earlier and not since then, I was terrified that I would lose this baby, too. I mean, we always knew it would have to totally be of God if it was going to happen, as we were having no success in our attempts, and the doctor all but told me I was an idiot for not trying at the right time (which, by the way, is really hard to calculate if things don't happen at the same time every month, if you know what I mean). So you would think that, after the initial, overwhelming shock of finding out I was actually pregnant had worn off, that I would have been able to rest in the peace of knowing that this pregnancy was being overseen by the Great Overseer, that the One Who made this hope a reality would see it through to its end. But Satan is a great one for figuring out our weaknesses and fears, and then working on them like a finely crafted tool until the weaknesses are overpowering, and the fears eat away at all we know to be right and true.
And so I prayed. Constantly. And I swore that I would pray for him/with him everyday after he was born, as well. So far, so good. Every night as I hold my Sammy before bed, we pray for our family and friends, for God's blessings, forgiveness for mistakes made throughout our day, request for a fresh day/new start tomorrow, for full and settled tummies, good dreams, heavy eyes full of sleep, and for God and the angels to sit around the beds of each child in our home. As he's gotten older--he's 19 months old now--he has become quite enamored with the whole bedtime routine, but the prayer time appears to be his favourite part. He likes to pray himself, now.
If we ask Sammy to pray at dinner time, he bows his little blonde curly head, puts his fat little hands up over his eyes, and in his own jibber jabber, says his prayers to God. Very sweet. He enjoys saying grace, and likes to watch us say ours, very fascinated by what we're doing. But it's the bedtime prayers that just give that extra little tug at your heart.
My husband put Sam to bed the other night. Richard told Sam it was time for bed and Sam immediately took off for the stairs--going down, to the living room; wrong direction! We thought he was trying to make a run for it, but a few minutes later he emerged at the top of the stairs with his favourite blue monkey tucked under his arm (he sleeps with this one every day), and ran right to his room, all ready for the next bit. After ensuring that all monkeys and bears were accounted for and tucked in their proper spots in the crib, Richard picked Sam up to pray with him, but asked Sam if he wanted to pray first. And so it began, head bowed, hands over his eyes, the sweet jabbering of a little one too young to say much of anything beyond "oh", "wow" and "down"...anything we understand, anyhow. But something tells me he's saying something.
Richard is not one to be too emotional about anything, but he was very touched by this. We talked about how cute it is, and how we kind of chuckle to ourselves at how pleased he is with himself; but we are both sure (as corny as it may sound) that Sam was praying... and God understood him. I'd love to know the prayers of these little ones, whose hearts speak more deeply to the heart of God than any words we could utter.
And so I prayed. Constantly. And I swore that I would pray for him/with him everyday after he was born, as well. So far, so good. Every night as I hold my Sammy before bed, we pray for our family and friends, for God's blessings, forgiveness for mistakes made throughout our day, request for a fresh day/new start tomorrow, for full and settled tummies, good dreams, heavy eyes full of sleep, and for God and the angels to sit around the beds of each child in our home. As he's gotten older--he's 19 months old now--he has become quite enamored with the whole bedtime routine, but the prayer time appears to be his favourite part. He likes to pray himself, now.
If we ask Sammy to pray at dinner time, he bows his little blonde curly head, puts his fat little hands up over his eyes, and in his own jibber jabber, says his prayers to God. Very sweet. He enjoys saying grace, and likes to watch us say ours, very fascinated by what we're doing. But it's the bedtime prayers that just give that extra little tug at your heart.
My husband put Sam to bed the other night. Richard told Sam it was time for bed and Sam immediately took off for the stairs--going down, to the living room; wrong direction! We thought he was trying to make a run for it, but a few minutes later he emerged at the top of the stairs with his favourite blue monkey tucked under his arm (he sleeps with this one every day), and ran right to his room, all ready for the next bit. After ensuring that all monkeys and bears were accounted for and tucked in their proper spots in the crib, Richard picked Sam up to pray with him, but asked Sam if he wanted to pray first. And so it began, head bowed, hands over his eyes, the sweet jabbering of a little one too young to say much of anything beyond "oh", "wow" and "down"...anything we understand, anyhow. But something tells me he's saying something.
Richard is not one to be too emotional about anything, but he was very touched by this. We talked about how cute it is, and how we kind of chuckle to ourselves at how pleased he is with himself; but we are both sure (as corny as it may sound) that Sam was praying... and God understood him. I'd love to know the prayers of these little ones, whose hearts speak more deeply to the heart of God than any words we could utter.
Friday, February 8, 2008
What did I miss?
At the end of each day, this seems to be the last question that runs through my mind. It's not so much about something I've forgotten to do--as it is a given that there are MANY things in the course of a day that I leave undone, MANY times that I leave the house and return with only half of what I intended to get. It's moreso about the moments that most parents can recall about their kids for years to come; mispronounced words, funny comments, milestones met, or just a memorable time spent just being with them. I used to be so good at journaling... before I had kids and my time was essentially my own. Although, I can recall so many things about my sister's kids, who I have long thought of as my own.
I am reminded that I have not had the same opportunity to 'get to know' each of my children over the course of their short lives as others have, as we didn't 'get' our children as most do. By the time we got our oldest three, the first 1-3 years of their lives had been lived elsewhere, their personalities had already begun to be shaped by others, and we had just (only 2 weeks beforehand) taken in a 2-week-old foster baby. In less than 3 weeks, we had gone from being a family of 2, to being a family of 6; there were now 4 little people who were totally dependant on us, and it was SCARY.
Now as we come up to our 4th anniversary of that day, the day these 3 little ones officially became our family--thanks to the many prayers of family and friends, and mostly (I feel) the prayers of my little 8-year-old nephew who had prayed for "four kids before March break" for 3 years (and that's exactly when we got them, just before his March break from school)--we are still a family of 6, but different than when we started... in many ways. First of all, that little foster baby only stayed with us one year, and though at the time we didn't know how we would manage without him, we saw God unfold much bigger plans than we could ever have imagined in the months to come.
Our new family put us through many challenges, we saw many tears, and there were MANY times I felt completely inadequate to take on this HUGE responsibility called 'parenting'. Somehow being a parent was not as easy as my sister had made it look for so many years, and there are still many times I do not feel equal to the challenge. But as I look back on the old journal I used to keep so much more faithfully than at present, I see how my kids have not only grown and changed in their physical appearance, but how they are finally starting to (slowly) emerge into their own person, and for that I am glad... and sad because as things were so chaotic and overwhelming in the beginning, I am constantly trying to recall the things I'm afraid I have missed.
Which brings me to Sam, our "bonus" from God. After the first 16 months with our oldest three, we were finally able to begin working on our adoption paperwork; four months later, we discovered I was pregnant. The month before Sam was born, our adoption was finalized; we were legally as God had intended us to be... a family. And now, as I watch Sam doing new things everyday, there are times when I wish I could have had this same experience with each of my kids, to see who they were "then", and I have to stop and remind myself that there are many moments left to capture, many 'firsts' still to come, and they will be equally as significant and wonderful as anything I thought I might have missed in that 1-3 year 'gap'. Any time I spent wondering and worrying about days gone by is time taken from a moment I could be having now, and I just don't want to lose any more of those.
I am reminded that I have not had the same opportunity to 'get to know' each of my children over the course of their short lives as others have, as we didn't 'get' our children as most do. By the time we got our oldest three, the first 1-3 years of their lives had been lived elsewhere, their personalities had already begun to be shaped by others, and we had just (only 2 weeks beforehand) taken in a 2-week-old foster baby. In less than 3 weeks, we had gone from being a family of 2, to being a family of 6; there were now 4 little people who were totally dependant on us, and it was SCARY.
Now as we come up to our 4th anniversary of that day, the day these 3 little ones officially became our family--thanks to the many prayers of family and friends, and mostly (I feel) the prayers of my little 8-year-old nephew who had prayed for "four kids before March break" for 3 years (and that's exactly when we got them, just before his March break from school)--we are still a family of 6, but different than when we started... in many ways. First of all, that little foster baby only stayed with us one year, and though at the time we didn't know how we would manage without him, we saw God unfold much bigger plans than we could ever have imagined in the months to come.
Our new family put us through many challenges, we saw many tears, and there were MANY times I felt completely inadequate to take on this HUGE responsibility called 'parenting'. Somehow being a parent was not as easy as my sister had made it look for so many years, and there are still many times I do not feel equal to the challenge. But as I look back on the old journal I used to keep so much more faithfully than at present, I see how my kids have not only grown and changed in their physical appearance, but how they are finally starting to (slowly) emerge into their own person, and for that I am glad... and sad because as things were so chaotic and overwhelming in the beginning, I am constantly trying to recall the things I'm afraid I have missed.
Which brings me to Sam, our "bonus" from God. After the first 16 months with our oldest three, we were finally able to begin working on our adoption paperwork; four months later, we discovered I was pregnant. The month before Sam was born, our adoption was finalized; we were legally as God had intended us to be... a family. And now, as I watch Sam doing new things everyday, there are times when I wish I could have had this same experience with each of my kids, to see who they were "then", and I have to stop and remind myself that there are many moments left to capture, many 'firsts' still to come, and they will be equally as significant and wonderful as anything I thought I might have missed in that 1-3 year 'gap'. Any time I spent wondering and worrying about days gone by is time taken from a moment I could be having now, and I just don't want to lose any more of those.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)