It Is Better To Give...

I can't think of the maxim 'It is better to give than to receive' without thinking of my little Evan one day at family night (when he was maybe four years old) trying to finish my prompt "It is better to give..."

I could see Kimball straining not to jump in because I had made it very clear I wanted Evan to answer.  After a moments pause, Evan ventured, "It is better to give than to steal."


Can't argue with that, I guess.


This Valentine's Day it was definitely better to give.  My heart is so full as I think of the lovely experience I had this year with preparation for today.


Just one day ago, I was not looking forward to the final preparations which included helping Isaac ready Valentines to give to his classmates.  This is always a grueling task that I swear I will start the week before so that Isaac doesn't get frustrated and so that I don't give up and just do the whole thing for him.  I mean--it is great, purposeful name writing practice and I have to take advantage of it, right?  Usually Isaac's weak little hands don't last that long, even with me writing all the children's names for him and having him just try to sign his name, but this year...HE WAS AWESOME!  He stuck with me through the whole thing, even insisting that we make additional Valentines for the kids and teachers in this special education class.  It was so much fun!

Usually he needed help with one or more letters each time he wrote his name.  On this one I only helped with the 'S': 

Impressed?  Me too.  But I almost danced with joy when I walked away to get the camera and came back to find this:

Isaac working with no prompting!   I suppose only his teachers and I can fully appreciate it.  But, take a look and the one valentine he signed all by himself:

Yes, the 'a' and 'c' could use some help, but check out that 's'!  I would venture to say that it is the first legible 's' he has ever written independently.  Oh, and subsequently, it is a little green manifestation of hope.  Hope that he will someday be able to master this mundane task that most school children accomplish a dozen times a day with almost no thought.

Keep up the good work, Isaac.  I know you can do it!

A Hallmark Holiday? I Think Not.

This is definitely my favorite Valentine's Day book.

It taught me to appreciate Valentine's Day just in time for me to teach my kids what that special day in mid-February is all about.


Honestly...I'd never been a fan.  For some reason I associated Valentine's Day with couples and romance only, and I really did think some genius at Hallmark must have made the whole thing up.  I worked at Hallmark at one point, and believe me that day was CRAZY!  I'd never have believed it, if I hadn't seen it myself.  I think I saw more guys in the store on that one day than the three previous months combined.  And, they all had this kind of sheepish/desperate look in their eyes.  It screamed, "Help me!  I have no idea what I'm doing here, but I know I'll be in trouble if I don't figure it out."  I felt bad because there was no time to really help them at that point, the store was literally packed, and we were running the registers as fast as we could trying to get them out the door in time for their big date.  Romantic?...No.


For those of you that may have never seen a Little Bill cartoon, he is a preschooler.  In this book, his awesome preschool teacher tells her class that Valentine's Day is your chance to tell all those people you love how you feel.  Little Bill has a lot of homemade Valentine's to give out.  His friends, cousin, parents, siblings, and Elephant, his hamster, all get one with a big smile to go along with it.


When I read this book to Kimball for the first time, I couldn't believe that I'd had such a narrow view of Valentine's Day. It definitely doesn't belonged to Hallmark or the romantics.  It is a sweet reminder to tell all those that bless our lives how we feel about them.

A sticky note on the mirror.  A wall post on fb.  A call.  A hug.  A heartfelt letter.  It doesn't matter.  It's a fun chance to think outside the box of chocolates and spread the love.

Winner

As Kimball puts it, he's had a good competition month.


He and his VEX Robotics team were a part of the 1st place alliance that won in Denver and qualified to go to Nationals in March. (At the VEX competition, the boys had to maneuver a remote controlled robot that they had built and programed themselves to pick up objects and place them in storage hoops.)


Then, to his own amazement, he placed third in the District Spelling Bee and qualified to go to State, also in March.


For me, it felt very surreal watching Kimball win that spelling trophy.  I just can't believe he can spell like that.


I can't spell.  It's one of the two things I often tell people about myself as kind of a disclaimer.  The other one is that I'm directionally impaired.  At least that's what I've always called it.  I get lost very easily, even when I've been somewhere before.  I have to really pay attention to landmarks if I want to get back home after going somewhere new.  When I was earning my degree in Occupational Therapy, I learned the technical term is topographical disorientation.  But, hey, that's harder to spell.


So, on Saturday, I was sweating as the announcer presented Kimball with words like "repertoire" and "muumuu."  But Kimball spelled them with a nonchalance that hid the fact that he hadn't even thought he would pass the 100 word written test that took place earlier in the day.


If his direction sense wasn't so abysmal, I would swear he was switched at birth.


***I would like to thank spell check for making this post possible.

What Makes You Smile?

Everyone in the family knows I love the Foghorn Legghorn Christmas ornament that came with the cute, tough little chicken hawk that dogs his every step.  But what they don't know is the reason why I love it.

It's true that this giant rooster is one of my favorite cartoon characters.  It's also true that I enjoy it because it meets the character-Christmas-tree-ornament criteria that I hardly ever bend on:  To be hung on our Christmas tree the character that has been made into an ornament must also have something on it to identify it with Christmas.  No Star Wars ships or Super Hero Squad guys that simply look cool, but have no candy canes, presents, bows, etc stuck somewhere to let us know that this was made especially for Christmas.  (I still cringe whenever I catch a glimpse of the Broncos ornament Kimball somehow talked me into when he was in fourth grade.  I know some of you cringe to even think of a character ornament, but hey, we all have our quirks.)

No, neither of these is the reason I smile whenever I pick up these two Christmas fowls and hang them on the tree.  The reason I smile is...I don't know why I feel like I'm confessing as I write this but...I smile because whenever I look at those ornaments I remember that I bought them after Christmas at 50% off.

Yes, this fact says much about me.  I love a deal.  I will hold a grudge against an item for it's entire existence if I am forced, out of necessity, to purchase it at full price against my will.  The price will run through my mind as I give it a glance, and a scowl will automatically form on my features.

I once had a pen that I purchased when I worked at Hallmark that was extremely awesome.  It was a pen when you turned the bottom one way and a mechanical pencil if you turned it another way.  My co-worker showed me the new inventory once when I came in on my day off, and I told her to ring me up.  I was shocked when the register showed $11 as my total.  I had too much pride to admit that Mat and I were poor and couldn't possibly afford it, so I paid the money and left with the writing utensil held gingerly in a small bag.  Buyers remorse hung in the air as I explained to Mat what I'd done.  He, of course, laughed and wasn't bothered a bit.  I had that pen for twelve years before it broke.  I only stopped babying it for about the last five and never called it anything but "The Eleven Dollar Pen."

As I go through life, I am finding that sometimes a deal isn't a deal and it's just best to save up the money and purchase something nice, new and full priced when you need to.  But that doesn't mean that I don't still remember the jeans I got for $.50 when Kimball was a toddler.  They looked brand new and lasted through three boys, of course I remember them.  It doesn't mean that when Mat tells me he used the coupon I gave him to buy my Christmas present which made it a very inexpensive gift that I don't sincerely reply, "Well, I like it even better then."  And, it doesn't mean that I still don't remember the Christmas that I gazed longingly at the impressive Hallmark ornament display, knowing that I couldn't justify buying Mr. Legghorn and his sidekick at that price no matter how Christmas-y they looked, only to discover them on the half-off table one cold January day.  Sometimes we just have to treasure the little things that make us smile.

Do you speak Moo?

So...Isaac has been pretending to be a cow lately.  Otis, from the movie Barnyard, to be exact.

I know what you're thinking, which one is which?  He's pretty good at it, right?  (Isaac is the cute one with the glasses.)

This new phase of Isaac's bugs me a little.  First of all because I don't like that movie, and secondly because, well, I really don't like that movie.

Most of the time pretending to be a cow isn't very exciting.  Isaac does a lot of "standing around" on all fours pretending to chew his cud.  Seriously, we will all be hanging out in the living room, having fun, when I suddenly notice that Isaac is down on the floor again looking placidly around and moving his jaw up and down.  What a weirdo!  I mean, I understand the desire to howl at the moon like a wolf and gallop around on a stick horse pretending to be a cowboy, but cud chewing?  I just don't get it.

Yesterday, Isaac finally introduced me to something about this new cow thing that I could get into:  Speaking Moo.

Last night, I spent some time hunting down a new tube of kid's toothpaste.  "I found some, Isaac," I proudly announced as I presented him with the item that would aid him in his least favorite bedtime activity.

"Good for you," he replied in that Isaac-ish way that lets you know he does not think you have done anything grand.

"Isaac," I warn, "you know you're not supposed to say that.  It bugs your teachers at school, and I don't appreciate it either."

"Sorry, Moo,"  he says quickly.  Then, he turns to me and, as an afterthought, asks, "Do you speak Moo?"

I was laughing so hard, I had to nod to let him know that "Moo" was a language I must speak, because I had clearly understood what he had said.

"Mooo," he replied with a big smile.  Which, of course, meant "Good."  And, we were off...We can now communicate very fluently in Moo.  It is spoken much like "Smurf" and there is no talking with your mouth full of cud.  Those are pretty much the only rules.

I wanted to let you know, just in case Isaac invites you over to his barn for a chat and some dancing.

You can confidently reply, "Moo," and come on over.

Sometimes Everyone Needs a Little Push

Yesterday, I actually pushed Josie through the door of Harmony Library's 4-year-old and Up Story Time.

Can you blame me?  The kids get to go in by themselves while the moms get to venture into the wonderful world of adult books.  Wait, that doesn't sound right.  Let me re-phrase.  I got to visit the part of the library that holds adult fiction and quietly peruse books that have no colorful drawings in them without reminding anyone around me not to make so much noise, or to stop climbing on those little step stools they keep in the aisles.

It really was worth the bit of stabbing guilt that accompanied that little shove.  I watched through the window for about 5 seconds to make sure she wasn't crying, and I was off without a backward glance.  (OK, I circled around once to make sure she was still sitting quietly before I left the Children's section completely.  I'm not heartless.)

I spent the next half hour tracking down books on my to-read list and deciding which ones to take home.  It really was marvelous.

Josie never used to be nervous about leaving me.  Not until she broke her leg a year ago.  I've thought a lot about this, and I think maybe it's because I wasn't there when it happened.  I was at speech therapy with Isaac.  She will forever love Evan for staying on the trampoline with her and holding her head while they waited for the ambulance to come.  She still talks about that.  Twice this week actually.

Of course, I'll never know if that is what really has caused her sometimes freakish attachment to me.  (It is not consistent at all.  She goes to school fine and does lots of things with no problem. I just can't figure what causes her to sometimes grab onto me with no intention of letting go.)

I hope she heals soon from whatever emotions are causing this behavior.  I don't want my sweet, out-going girl's life to be hampered by fear.  I'm sure she'll grow out of it at some point.

Until then, I'll be there to shove her through whatever doors appear too daunting, so she can emerge later with a big smile on her face and say, "That was fun, Mom!"

Waiting

 

When I had Kimball, my first born, I became a mother.  It was wonderful, scary, challenging, and fun.

When I had Evan, my second boy, I became a mother who understands that all children are unique individuals from the moment they are born.

When I had Isaac, my third boy, who has Down syndrome, I became a mother who enjoys an eternal perspective.  I learned what is important, and what is really important.

When I had Josie, my first girl, I became a mother who understands that there is an innate difference between boys and girls.  One is not better than the other, they are just necessarily different...what a marvelous thing.

I have learned many things from each of my children along the way, but the most valuable lesson I have learned is to turn to my Heavenly Father when I am struggling to be the mother He knows I can be.  Sometimes, I forget.  I try to plow through problems alone until I realize that I'm not making any progress.  Then, I bow my head and ask for help.  And, you know what?  He is always there...waiting.