what is christmas

Obi-1 was recently asked to write an article for the school newspaper. The topic is "winter holidays," and other students are writing about Hanukah, Kwanzaa, and possibly some Chinese holiday. Given that it's a public school, they're trying to keep things pretty equal. Go figure the principal would ask a kindergartner to think about the Christmas piece!

Let me just say that Christmas is a complicated holiday in some ways. Since having children, Mr. Kenobi & I have tried to keep a focus on the incarnation of Christ in Christmas - remembering that God chose to come to us, that He gave Himself as an extravagant gift, and that His presence is not limited to a season or holiday. In past years, we've used resources from Advent Conspiracy to help focus us and remind us of the true reason we celebrate.

This said, we (or at least I) also enjoy "Christmas" carols & music (including the ever-popular Elvis rendition of White Christmas), all things cookie, and the joy of sales - er, gift-giving - of this time of year. I also think that the magic and imagination of Santa Claus and his little elves are good fun, as well as impetus for excellent manners while out in public. Frankly, I don't mind a bit of help in having fun or keeping the troops in line! All to say that I enjoy the holiday season, but we try not to let Santa and gifts become the focus of our December.

Anyway, Obi-1 set out to write on the subject, "What is Christmas?" In listening to his ideas and talking through things with him, I was struck by how hard it was to succinctly explain this holiday to the general public of our city (or anywhere). If asked, what would I say? What would I leave out? What makes sense for put in a public elementary school newspaper? (It feels like Charlie Brown music should be playing in the background...)

So, I helped him think through all of his ideas, but I wasn’t here for the composition. I got home from a meeting tonight to find the following short article hand-written on a piece of paper. I had promised to type it for him if he wrote it by hand, so I did that and sent it over to the principal. The newsletter is supposed to be published later this week, and I don't know what or how will be included. While I'd love to take credit, it's definitely with his own perspective and writing on the topic. It's also much more brief than my little write-up here!

If you’re up for the challenge, write your own and send it my way or link it in comments... What is Christmas?

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Christmas
by Obi-1 Kenobi, Kindergarten

I like Christmas. Not just like Christmas. I love Christmas. It’s special because it’s Jesus’ birthday. It’s also (my friend) Rafael’s birthday. Our family celebrates it together. My Daddy sings special songs with us at night. We give presents to show people love. Christmas day is always on December 25. It’s about God’s gift to the world. If you want presents, give Santa cookies.
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Merry Christmas!

Love, MamaToo

who's your reason

It used to be a way of life, but somewhere in the past 70 years it became a day of celebration, and then a day off. Today, I ask you to join me in returning to remembrance and appreciation - for our veterans.

It's amazing to think that many of us aren't sure who to celebrate or thank today. Yet I'm pretty sure you know a veteran... maybe several. They were part of your graduating class. Many have gone to wars, and most have come home. They work beside you, worship with you, raise children with yours, and live just around the corner. They park next to you at the grocery store, hang out at your favorite coffee shop, and bring business to your workplace. They are friends on your facebook page, read your blog, and their number is on your caller ID.

They may also be perfect strangers, covered in a dark and damp blanket as you scurry in and out of errands.

They have served our country in times of peace and times of war. The work that qualifies one as "veteran" was, and often still is, their job and calling. Today, your job is to find them and thank them.

I know the veteran I honor today. My brother has recently departed for his third war effort. He is the kid who made us all laugh while growing up. He's the guy who dazzled on the soccer field, and whose smile could work his way out of most trouble. Smart and witty, talented and tenacious. DJ has always been loyal to his friends, loved his dog, and let his heart endure pain as it hung on his sleeve. While still all of this, he's also an honored and capable veteran. This time, he's off to a different location with same goals: do his job well, come home safely. He will join the thousands there, thousands who've just come home, and thousands who will go when he returns. They are willing, ready and able. They will rise above news feeds and poll numbers to serve, defend and protect freedom.

My brother's wife and children will serve with him, too, though they won't leave home. They quietly and steadfastly offer their own sacrifices. They will once again try to keep their focus on school, home, work, and family. They will also support other families who miss their veteran for the first time, and celebrate the others who come home before DJ. As a collection, military families like my brother's offer all of us a glimpse of work ethic, grace, and humility that might otherwise go unnoticed, if not for a day like today.

I know support for a veteran's work is linked inextricably with the politics of the moment. Yet many have served in order that we might live with freedom in this time. Many have sacrificed so that our sacrifices might be over paychecks and new comforts, rather than over life and freedom. They risk their life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in order to ensure these remain available to all. Perhaps for just a moment, we can all lay down our opinions over healthcare, wall street, unions, or personalities and just be thankful.

Today, I honor my brother, DJ, and his deployment during the months to come. Who is your reason to celebrate Veterans Day?

why are you here

"I think I'm going to become a stay-at-home mom," I declared to a few people this morning. Some of them were puzzled, while others some could relate to my sentiments. What does it mean, anyway, to be a "stay-at-home" parent?

Whatever prompted it, I'm back in a season of critically thinking about my life and purpose. Perhaps it's the feeling that life is zipping by at an unparalleled pace. Or the words of a mentor earlier this week, reminding me that I really won't remember all of these details of life, and it's worth a few seconds to write (or blog) them down. Perhaps it's that I'm working part-time and bringing home a small income. Or maybe it was the rush of happiness I got when I cancelled out of a meeting this morning to stay home and bake cookies with my 4 year old.

In any case, I set out to enjoy my job today. I made my family a good breakfast. We walked to school in the morning, taking in the autumn crispness and good exercise. I made oatmeal-raising-craisin-chocolate-chip cookies with Obi-2, and sat down to write stories with him. After taking Obi-2 to pre-K, I joined Obi-1 in the cafeteria for lunch (a weekly tradition we've started on the day I volunteer in his class). He's always happy to see me, as are many of his friends, who scoot over on their little bench so I can sit with them. I smiled, thinking warmly of the impact stay-at-home parents can make in the little (and big) lives around them.

And then I faced the honest inquisition and quit wit of kindergartners. Over our sandwiches, the kid across the table looked at me, squinted his eyes, and said, "Why are you always here?" Conversation stopped at the table. Earnest little eyes stared up at me, eager for an answer. I searched for the right, concise reply to show them that they are loved and valuable, even to those who aren't paid to spend time with them. In the moment I paused to think, an answer rang out beside me.

"Because she doesn't have a job."

Ouch. The words may have come from a 5-year-old, but they stung with the fortitude of looks, back-handed compliments, and outright criticisms I have received from so many adults. All of the challenges in articulating what I do started to creep in and spoil my day. I reeled, and meekly replied, "this is part of my job."

It didn't matter. The darling girl next to my son had answered the question to everyone's satisfaction. Everybody, that is, except me. In an effort to force myself to have a sense of humor, I texted her quip to my husband and a couple friends (who were all at work). Surely this would prove funny to me in the future.

My phone rang with a message; a friend whose marriage is struggling needed an ear for a couple minutes. Without noticing that this, too, is part of my work, I excused myself from the rest of lunch and stepped out to take the call. After volunteering my Friday evening to help with childcare for their family, I returned to help in the kindergarten classroom, sounding out words like "car" and "green" with children who struggled to stay seated around their little tables. Later, I moved into the pre-K class to draw circles of glue and shake glitter over shape cutouts.

All the while, I felt a bit deflated, like I wasn't sure it mattered as much as the time of somebody working in a cubicle or corner office. Why was I here? Wasn't I busy with real work? Didn't I have something to do?

All of my answers seemed hollow, and I was stewing over it because a 5-year-old said I didn't have a job. Well, that, and because so many friends, family, and perfect strangers have said or implied the same.

After school, I headed to the car with the boys and checked my phone. I realized I had missed a reply from my husband, shortly after I sent him that little boy's question and little girl's reply. It just took a moment, and I smiled with tears. He gets me and my job, even when I don't.

So kid, why am I there all the time?

"because she loves her kids so much that she'd rather be with them in a noisy cafeteria than do anything else for any amount of money."

noah's wife

In the familiar story of Noah, his wife's name is never mentioned. She's just "Noah's wife." In our house, we call her "Yesah." Anyway, I've been thinking about her a lot today.

First, in case you missed the news, we got a dog this weekend. He's a lovely 5-year-old spaniel and wonderfully laid-back... a good fit for us. Oh, and yes, Wesley is a "HE" dog, so I'm even more outnumbered. Last night, Mr. Kenobi and I were day-dreaming about buying a house in the country, where our kids (and dog) could run around outside and I'd have a big vegetable garden and lots and lots of wonderful "farm" animals, like chickens, sheep and maybe a cow.

We smiled wistfully at the thoughts of a farm house... a rambling road to our place... wood-burning fires and home-canned jams... me knitting and baking whole-grain breads and planning out homeschool lessons. The boys making tree-houses and fishing in the creek. Mr. Kenobi chopping firewood and tossing hay into the barn, just like Pa Ingalls. Everyone just happy as can be.

Ahem... back to reality today.

I have two mouse traps set, one on each side of my piano. I also have a bruised finger from getting it caught in not one, not two, but three snaps of the trap. Thanks to Mr. Kenobi for talking me through the process over his cell phone, as I cursed at that stupid trap and thought about selling the house. He kindly offered to come home from work, but I really didn't want to wait (and risk that mouse going anywhere else). I will, however, definitely let him do the "man's work" of taking the (hopefully single, dead) mouse out of our house after he gets home. Please pray that it does its work.

The fact that I'm only setting traps at 11 am is a bit disconcerting, considering I thought I saw a black flash on the floor when I was nursing the baby several hours ago. I tried to look around, but figured I must have just had a weird angle from the side of my glasses and a reflection. Not sure how long this visitor has been in our home, but I'm going to try not to think about it.

Oh wait - life even gets better...

Obi-2, Wesley, and I went out the front door (Obi-3 is sleeping upstairs) to play a bit in front of our house. Turns out Wesley is definitely a cat-chaser, and Bill (the spunky cat next door, in a house approximately 25 feet from ours) is not excited about the new neighbor. Perhaps I can plant daisies in my garden instead of forks next year? Wesley practically tore my shoulder out, so we went back inside.

As I turned on the front hall light switch, I saw a swarm (yes, swarm) of ants crawling all over the front wall (inside) of our house. One is even inside a picture frame. How does this happen!?!? They are covering the soccer ball, the shoes, the bench. It's disgusting. I sprayed down and cleaned everything with tea-tree oil cleaner and baking soda, which is supposedly toxic to ants. All of this while trying to keep silent so as not to spook the mouse out from the piano, and keep Obi-2 from opening the door (thus letting more ants in, and Wesley out to find Bill). I scrubbed the front hall walls, then the floors, and I'm still not confident that this is over.

I'm not sure I can stay in my own home today, even though it's pouring and forecasted to keep raining all week. If one more animal invades my space, I may turn in MY resignation. :-)

obi-1 goes to kindergarten

When Obi-1 was born, I received and read a lot of advice. Today, a couple snippets stood out in my memory. This, from a well-referenced author:

"...studies have shown that toddlers who have a secure attachment to their mother tend to adapt easier to new play situations and play more independently..." (Dr. Sears on attachment parenting)

And this, from a good family friend:

"...encourage your child to have other people involved in his life. It will be a blessing to both of them and create a well-rounded young person in your family..."

I received this advice with skeptical ears. Obi-1 was the baby who would cry if I left the room or even set him down. I wondered if I'd ever have a moment - day or night - apart from him. My adjustment to motherhood had many speed bumps, and I felt awkward and tired, trying to balance my own identity with a baby who didn't want to leave my arms.

Today, he was the boy I could hardly keep up with as he ran down the hall into kindergarten.

It's the First Day of School. It's been on our calendar, and now it's arrived. It's a day full of squeaky new sneakers, freshly cut hair, and a new lunchbox. A chance to sit at a new table with friends, new and old. A start with a teacher who has a soft and kind voice and has raised boys of her own. A return to a school we love and a principal who always seems freshly caffeinated and ready with a smile and high-five.

All summer, Obi-1 has been so excited for the all-day program at this wonderful little neighborhood school. As the months sped by, he got more and more eager to get into class. He hasn't quit smiling when he thinks about it. While he woke up early and dressed in the outfit he'd set aside last night, I took advantage of a little quiet time to get my spirit prepared for this day. I'm excited for Obi-1's excitement, but if I'm honest, I'm also sad to see him head into classes every day, all day.

For six years, I've been the primary teacher in his life. In the deepest parts of my heart, I'd love to homeschool. However, the more shallow parts of me know I can't do everything well, and I don't want to put my child in a little experiment when it's neither needed nor wanted. So, I am thankful that we have a good school and teachers to influence him in this season.

Today we packed a lunch, ate breakfast, and walked to school. Obi-1 went skipping and running, talking about all of the wonderful things he looks forward to in kindergarten. Obi-2, running to keep up, was excited to start Pre-K later today (which is, in itself, an exciting first!). And I, MamaToo, was pushing Obi-3 in a stroller and grabbing my camera to capture the memory.

happy birthday obi-1

All he could think of wanting for his birthday was a party at the park (“the one with the rose gardens and soccer fields”), with Eddie’s Pizza and carrot cupcakes. He imagined a party with his best friends and family in attendance, and everyone playing games outside and loving his cupcakes.

His best friend moved to St. Louis this summer, and for the first time ever, won’t be at Obi-1’s birthday celebration. A few additional friends and grandparents are out of town for the Labor Day weekend, and others can only come if the party is early in the day.

So, we scheduled the party for lunchtime.

Eddie’s Pizza doesn’t open until late afternoon.

So, we found an alternative pizza place.

I promised I’d make the cupcakes myself. I may have accidentally doubled the amount of carrots required for the recipe.

He declared he prefers carrot muffins better, anyway.

And, today we woke up to pouring rain, which is supposed to continue all day long.

So we’re having the party in the pizzeria, where kickball and water-fights won’t be part of the celebration.

Though this sixth birthday seems to launch my baby ever closer to independence, many of his own ideas for the day have not come to pass. He could be mopey. I could be mopey. But instead, we’ve figured out each challenge together and come up with alternatives. We’ve prioritized and re-prioritized as a team. The process of planning a celebration reminds me of how much older he - and I - are getting. I am proud of him for the maturity and grace he’s shown at every turn. He’s transforming in front of my eyes, and I can hardly blink because I know how quickly time passes.

There are many “firsts” for the firstborn. Next week, we’ll enter a new season as Obi-1 starts kindergarten. The baby who could never go more than a couple hours without me will be with classmates all day, every day. The child who has ushered me into motherhood will continue to propel us into the grade-school years. I still think of him as a little boy, but even that is quickly changing. In his eyes and words are hints of a young man - charming and smart, thoughtful and loving. The infant who wanted nothing more than his mother’s constant hold is giving me a hug and rushing off into childhood.

So as I enter a day full of “other” plans, I hope both he and I can enjoy some moments of sheer celebration. May memories be sweeter than preparations. Happy Birthday, Obi-1.

I love you,

MamaToo