A Letter to My Children-- To Save Their Sanity and Mine

Today, I will take a brief break from blogging to write a helpful letter to my children. :)

Dear Children,

You know I love you all to pieces and think you are each as cute as a bug's ear. That said, I would like to send you a bit of information that might help our life together go a bit more smoothly than it did this morning. Ready? Here we go!

1. When we lovingly tuck you into your beds at night, it is helpful to go to sleep. When you do so, you would be amazed at how awake you feel in the morning. It will be so much easier to get up! You know, unlike today.

2. When a teacher gives you an assignment, months in advance, it is likely because the assignment will take a very, very long time to do. Starting the work is not the same as finishing it. Trying to finish it at 9:00PM will likely not work. Going to bed at 11:30PM with said assignment almost done will not lead to a spunky morning. Remember this morning?

3. When momma calmly wakes you up and tell you to take a quick 5 minute shower before school, please do not lock the door and hang out in there for 20 minutes. You will not be able to get to school on time. Your siblings will not be able to brush their teeth. Like, um... today.

4. When your sister is in your way and you are in a hurry, it is likely a better choice to use your words to get her to move, rather than using your hands. It makes her mad. Really mad. She doesn't think clearly when mad. Like this morning.

5. When your brother "gently" moves you out of the way, it is never a good idea to swing your coat around and whip him on the arm. This gets you in more trouble than it gets him in. If you don't do this, he will be in trouble for moving you. If you do decide to do this, you will be in trouble for bruising your brother. I believe we learned this lesson this morning. Right?

6. When your mother has made dinner for the family all week, baked a special meal for the all the teachers and cooked home-made chicken soup for an appreciation luncheon at school and then asks you what you did with the sandwich she made you for lunch, never, ever tell her you threw it out. This is upsetting to her. Maybe this was unclear... well, maybe it was til this morning.

7. When you momma tells you that the shirt you want to wear is too small. Don't take it from your little brother anyway. It fits him. It doesn't fit you. It will make your morning crazy because you will then have no shirt laid out to wear. You know, like this morning?

8. If school says to dress up like you are Australian, it does not mean that you really have Australian clothes. Because, we don't. No matter what you do, no matter what you wear, you will still likely look like a child from the suburbs... just one dressed in khaki shorts and a cowboy hat. The reason it doesn't look perfect is because, well... it isn't. That's okay. Don't then ask your mom for more safari clothes. I am not sure there really is a safari in Australia anyway. Just grab some binoculars and call it good. We should have gone over this all this morning.

9. When one child is crying because of bruised arm, one child is crying because of a time-out, one child is crying because his homework is undone and one child cannot figure out why everyone else is crying, it is not, under any circumstances, the right time to ask momma a question. She will not like it. She might raise her voice. She will use her angry eyes. Like this morning.

10. When the morning is crazy and everyone cries and some people get hurt and some work is still undone and the milk is left out and the eggs are not quite right and you throw out your sandwich and the house is loud and it all just feels bad, remember this: Momma loves you. I love you when you are good. I love you when you are confusing. I love you when you are naughty and frustrating and stubborn. I love you because you are mine. I love you because God gave you to me and He knows we need each other. I love you because you are you. Even this morning. Especially this morning. I love you.

Forever and Ever,

Your Momma.

Blessings on your day!

'Siah's Dream and What We Have to Hold

We were completely asleep. It was the kind of sleep that keeps you there... doesn't allow a quick awakening or an ability to think. The house was quiet and were gone.

Until the scream.

Mark and I both sat upright in bed. Neither of us knew what was happening but we both spotted it at the same time. A child running by. A scream filling the room. In his sleepy stupor, Mark shot out a hand and captured Josiah's arm. He fought and fussed and Mark pulled him up into the bed.

The noises he was making weren't language exactly. They were portions of words that shot from his mouth like daggers flying at what we fear.

"Dangero...." he cried.

"Need some..." he screamed.

"Terrif!" he yelled.

I wrapped my arms around my boy and laid him down between us. He was cold and clammy and agitated and, I figured, still sleeping. I asked him if he had a dream and he clearly answered yes. My little one was awake. This was no night terror to be forgotten in morning light. No, this was a dream... a real dream that had frightened Josiah beyond words and reason.

Mark and I took turns for a while trying to talk him down. But whatever he had seen was real to him and it would not go away. His eyes were wide and his breathing quick and even in our tired way, we could see this was going to go on a while.

Mark took 'Siah to the bathroom, more to look at him than anything else. His color was good and he said he wasn't sick so back in our bed he came. He snuggled in tight and when asked what he dreamed, he replied, "I cannot speak of it.".

Holding my son, I drifted in and out of sleep for a while but woke up again a couple of hours later to find him still awake. Still scared.

"Momma, please. I need the light."

Knowing that morning would bring four children with needs and a load of chores as well, the light could not go on. I need sleep to get through our busy days so I held him closer and told him no.

"Momma, please. PLEASE. I need the light."

I looked around and saw a phone with a little blinking "You have voicemail" light on the end. I reached over, grabbed the phone and handed it to him.

"Light, bubby. You have light. Will this help?"

He smiled, clutched the phone and closed his eyes. As he dozed back off to sleep, his little, chubby hand raised up and felt around in search of something I could not see. When it landed on my hand, he curled his fingers around mine and sighed a contented sigh. We both slept well then, he and I, hand in hand in a bed over-flowing with family. But, as I fell asleep, I found myself lost in thought.

What do I do when I am afraid?

Where do I run when I am in need?

When I am lost in darkness and deep in distress, where do I find the light?

When I feel alone, whose hand do I embrace for comfort?

We spend a lot of time and words explaining who God is. We compare him to a Father and extol his power and all of that is Truth. But there is more... He is the one who pulls us close. He is the one who catches us when we are running from our fear. He is the one who wraps his loving arms around our tiny selves and waits for our hand to reach out for His. And He takes it. And never, ever lets go.

Last night, I held my boy for a long, long while... and I was grateful, deeply so, that there is Someone who will hold him forever. When I am gone and 'Siah is here, the arms that hold us both will still be hanging on. It was a good reminder to me... and true comfort to offer my son. Because dreams will come and troubles will increase but The Light will always endure.

Blessings on your day.

Perspective and "The Nest"

Having babies close together creates unusual situations in families. When Benjamin was born, we lived at Trinity in a two-bedroom residence director apartment. Surrounded by college students on nearly every side, sleep came hard to my sweet boys. Only 19 months apart, we had two babies in that small room and while they learned well to sleep in the chaos of college, it was the chatter and play they shared with one another that interrupted sleep the most.

Whether Noah was teaching Benjamin to talk or Benjamin was playing peek-a-boo over the side of the crib, sleep was not always timely for my boys. Mark and I intentionally made some space for this raucous-relationship-building, but the time came when bedtime was bedtime and nap time was nap time and the time for brotherly banter had passed.

Looking for a creative way to separate the boys for sleep, Mark and I decided to lure Noah out of his own room with a treat. Keep in mind, he was less than two and easily swayed. Using our bed to nap him in a location further than arm's reach from his sweet baby brother seemed the perfect solution. We put pillows in a circle in the middle of our queen sized bed, draped a blanket over the circle and told Noah he could take a nap in "the nest", if he would like.

The draw of sleeping like a baby bird in the softest of circles worked like a charm. Off he would toddle into our room and happily climb into our bed, drifting quickly to sleep surrounded on all sides. Benjamin being less likely to sleep at all waited years before "the nest" offer came his way, too.

We did not plan on renaming our bed and we did not know what a privilege it would become but somewhere along the way, the name stuck. To have a chance to sleep "in the nest" was the greatest of opportunities and one that all four kids came to understand as something nearly sacred in our home. Before long, it was not just the bed that was called "the nest", but the whole room itself.

Because language we use often is rarely listened to deeply, we really didn't know that the name had become permanent or that we had come to use it with the same regularity as "stove" or "bathtub" until we accidentally mentioned it outside of family ties. We we were asked, "What's the nest?". And then, we heard it differently and realized that something that once had a function became a word that was a part of us... a reminder to us of an earlier time that kept a foot-hold in today.

In having a bed that holds warm memories for our children, our reality is that on occasion it is shared. We were told, as young parents, to never allow a child to sleep with you in your bed. We were told, as young parents, that a child who is allowed to sleep with their parents will never, ever sleep alone. But, Mark and I long ago decided that we would not parent out of fear. Our decisions will not be based in what we are afraid might come someday. No, our decisions, our choices as parents will be based instead on what we feel is right for our children. So, when we brought our babies home, they came to bed with us. When they were very young, we gently transitioned them to their cribs over time. When they woke up frightened or lonely or sad, we welcomed them happily back. They know where we are and we know they will come our way if they feel the need.

Most nights, Mark and I have the bed to ourselves but when someone wanders in, I seek some perspective on our over-crowded bed. A few nights ago, one of the boys came to sleep with us in the middle of the night. I woke to find his head inches from my face. Laying in the dark, I could remember when the length of him reached from my shoulders to my waist. I remembered nursing him to sleep one early morning and looking at all his baby hair... seeing white blond everywhere except one or two brown hairs on the very top of his sweet head. I remembered sleeping with him on my chest, nearly upright, as he struggled with an ear infection. It was night and in the darkness, the whole of his life circled around me. Soft and warm, cozy and whole, I was cradled in a nest of memories of my boy.

These moments, even in the night, offer me a perspective that can be lost in the shuffle from day to day. These moments, yes even in the night, help me to see the big picture. And in that picture, I know that I will have years and years of uninterrupted sleep. I know that someday the bed will seem too big and the children will be all gone. I know that someday, lanky legs and humongous shoes will make the sweetness of a baby who fits himself to me an impossible memory, faded and dim. So, for tonight I will take what I can. I will embrace the minutes I have, crowded as they may be, and use them to see the whole of it. My babies are growing up.

So c'mon kiddos! The nest is open and you are welcome. Years of deep sleep lay before me. But, tonight, I will take a crowded bed and a view of you that makes me thankful for where we are--and where we've been.