When she gets enough sleep, my five year old Jocelyn spends her days singing and singing.  She even narrates her every action and thought in song: “I’m going to make my friend Caroline a kite, yeah, yeah.  This is how I do it, oh yeah.  I cut the edges off and I add some stickers…” and on and on the song goes until the craft is complete.

     Most of the time, she has no idea I’m listening.  She’s not singing for me, or for anyone else.  She’s singing for herself.  The fact is, her joy brings on her song, and her song brings on her joy.  It’s one of those positive spirals that’s wonderful to be caught in.

     Although summer is wonderful with no homework, sleeping late, and fun adventures with my kids, my “to do” list gets pushed to the back burner.  By August, balls are crashing down all around me.  Knowing this, I thought I had the perfect solution: this year all three kids could be enrolled in Vacation Bible School (VBS).

     In mid-August, Monday to Friday, for three hours a day, I’d have the time and space to catch up on my life.  A friend and I even planned a child swap after camp so that each of us would have one day from 9:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. kid-free.  I could hear angels singing just thinking about it!

     By the time the first day of VBS rolled around, I had a “to do” list a mile long.  At drop-off, it was as if a race gun was just fired.  I sprinted home and jumped into my list full throttle.  My neck muscles were clenched, and my breathing was shallow and fast as I raced from one thing to the next, trying to get it all done.  I was so focused and determined, I don’t think I even ate, drank or used the bathroom during those free blocks.

     However, someone must have fast forwarded time; those mornings went by in a blink.  Before I knew it, it was time for pick-up and not much had been crossed off my list.  Each and every day I drove back to the church feeling frustrated and downright cranky.  The week that was supposed to magically leave me light and task-free, left me feeling more burdened and discouraged.  Obviously my expectations were my down fall.  Silly me: I thought I could cram an entire summer’s catch-up into a few measly hours.  Expectations have always been my Achilles heel.

     A while back, I was playing Pop-Up Pirate with Jocelyn, who was four at the time.  In the game, you take turns pushing swords into a plastic barrel where a pirate is hiding.  Each time, a different slot accesses a spring activated coil that shoots the pirate up into the air when you push a sword in.  It’s like a Jack-In-The-Box: you know the pirate is going to pop up at some point, but it’s nerve wracking not knowing when, then utterly startling when it does.  The one who pops up the pirate loses the game.

     Although Jocelyn screamed every time the pirate popped up, she loved the thrill of the unexpected.  She thought that was the funnest part, and decided to change the rules: the one who popped up the pirate now became the winner.

     I loved her perspective.  I loved that she could embrace the discomfort of not knowing when the pirate would pop up, and then see losing as winning.  I am a control freak who does not like anything to “pop up.”  I want things to go according to my agenda.  I plan everything, and most things I plan weeks or months in advance.

     But summer weather in New England is like Pop-Up Pirate.  You never know when those storm clouds are going to appear.  Tuesday was a perfect example.

     My nine-year-old Mason is an old soul.  He says things that are so wise they stop me in my tracks.

     A while back, he was laughing at something that made absolutely no sense to me.  When I asked him about it, he said, “That’s the best part about being a kid.”  I thought he was referring to what he was laughing about, so I asked him to explain it to me.  His response was, “Laughing.  Kids laugh way more than grown-ups.  And it feels good.”  Then he paused for a moment and added, “To tell you the truth, grown-ups don’t laugh much.”

     His words hit me hard.  It felt like it wasn’t Mason talking: it was God talking to me through Mason, telling me that I’m taking it all too seriously.  Obviously I was the grown-up Mason was talking about, and I haven’t been laughing much lately.

     As a family, we rarely eat out.  But on vacation in Maine a few weeks ago, we ate out at least once a day.  The first few days were at very kid friendly places:  places with picnic tables on an expanse of lawn with outdoor games.  One restaurant even had an indoor game room next to its picnic tables.  It was appropriate and okay for the kids to nibble on their pizza or chicken nuggets, go play, come back and nibble again, and repeat.  It made it nice for my husband and me because, for the most part, we were eating dinner alone, like a date-night without having to pay a sitter.

     But further into the week, we ended up at a more traditional restaurant in Bar Harbor where the expectation was to stay in our seats for the entire meal.  I was utterly horrified by my kids’ behavior!  They were extremely loud, up and down in their seats, and seemed to have forgotten every rule I have ever taught them about table manners and behavior.  I got so fed up, I actually withdrew into myself, waving the white flag of defeat, leaving my husband to deal with it all, while I sulked and felt like a failure as a mother.

     My five-year-old Jocelyn loves her sleep.  During the school year, I have to haul her out of bed at 7 a.m. so I can get everyone fed and ready before we have to go to the bus stop for my older boys.  That’s too early for her, so she begins her day cranky and whiny.  As the morning goes on, that goes away.  However, it always seems to be lurking at the edges of her mood.

     We’ve had some lazy summer days recently where we haven’t had to get up at any certain time to rush off to an adventure.  Jocelyn has been sleeping until 9 or 9:30 a.m., waking up rested and happy.  It’s a whole new scene.  I can hear her through her door, singing in her bed.  Sometimes she’ll hold a private concert for fifteen minutes or more.  When she does come out and join us, she’s radiant.  She’s glowing because her well is full, her needs have been met, and all is right in her world. 

     I, on the other hand, am not so radiant…

     I got an email the other day from a dear friend asking my advice.  Her son wanted to sleep over a friend’s house.  She wasn’t ready for that yet, so she said no.  In his extreme disappointment, he blew up.  She has invested so much in her son, advocating for him, building a strong relationship with him.  His response left her heartbroken and bewildered.  She asked me to shift her perspective: to help her see it all differently, objectively, and through the lens of faith.

     I was touched to be asked.  I immediately responded and shared my experience with my own son’s growths spurts and growing pains trying to childproof his life.  I told her that from my objective viewpoint, it seemed that her son wanted more freedom and independence while she was trying to protect and shield him from the pitfalls she had outlined.  Because safety wasn’t among them, I advised that she give him more freedom.  I thought her son wanted her to trust him, believe in him, have faith in him.  Even if he did experience every pitfall she imagined, the impact of her trusting him would far outweigh any failure he might experience.

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     My middle child, Mason, is highly sensitive.  The upside of that is he is incredibly thoughtful, loving, and gentle.  The challenge of that is he is hard to correct and discipline.  No matter how delicately I try to point out his mistakes, he is devastated.  Rather than hearing me talk about the bad choice he has made, he interprets it that he is a bad person.  It’s like walking through a minefield!

     His little sister Jocelyn shares a lot of his personality traits.  The older she gets, the more I find myself giving her the same exact lectures and lessons that I give Mason.

     Something really interesting has happened recently.  Out of the corner of my eye I have seen Mason, on several occasions, stop what he was doing to listen to me disciplining Jocelyn.  Even more interesting is the fact that some of the chronic issues that I’ve been trying to help him work on for months, have suddenly disappeared.  Lo and behold, they are the same issues that have reared their ugly heads with Jocelyn!

     Where Mason shuts downs and hears white noise when I am addressing him for his issues, his ears open wide when I’m dealing with Jocelyn.  Of course, part of it is human nature: he’s secretly thrilled that it’s his sister who is being corrected and not him.  But I think it’s bigger than that.