I took my three kids to see BJ Hickman The Magician at the Palace Theatre on Tuesday.  It’s an annual tradition that kicks off our summer.  It’s very special for me because it’s one of the few summer adventures where it is just the four of us.  Even though we’ve seen almost every trick he performs, I look forward to it every year.

      We’ve lived in our current home for over eight years now.  During all that time, there haven’t been any kids in the neighborhood for my kids to play with.  Any and all playdates have been scheduled, requiring transportation for drop offs and pick ups.  Until now…

     A new family just moved in two doors down with three kids around my kids’ ages.  My kids now want to play with them morning, noon and night.  I love that they all get along, but I also want to be respectful of the other family.  I don’t want to overstep their boundaries, intrude on their family time.

     Unbeknownst to me, while I’ve been trying to figure this all out, the kids themselves established their own system.  When the new kids head out to the grass circle on the cul-de-sac to play, they make as much noise as possible to signal my kids to join them.  Consequently, my kids have developed this hypersensitive hearing that rivals any super power.  No matter how deeply they are engrossed in something, they hear those voices on the summer air in three seconds flat.  If only they listened for me that well!

     Lately, my boys have been obsessed with time when the numbers repeat.  They are convinced that whatever they wish for at that moment will come true.  Zack will scream across the house at top volume, “Mason, it’s 3:33.  Make a wish!”  If we pull into the garage at 4:42, they make me sit in the mini-van until the clock on the dashboard reads 4:44.  Then they’ll yell with excitement, “It’s 4:44.  Make a wish!”

     But watch out of they don’t notice the clock until 1:12 or 5:56.  It’s as if they’ve lost a best friend: they are distraught beyond words.  I try to explain that if they just wait, the numbers will align again, that there’s a new opportunity for wishes to be made every hour.  But they can’t be consoled.  Instead, they focus on the opportunity that they just missed.  

     I was hiding away in my bedroom, trying to recharge after a crazy week.  I had a good book and a bag of Smartfood popcorn all to myself.  I was in Heaven!

     A few minutes later, there was a little knock on the door.  My five-year-old daughter Jocelyn came in.  I wasn’t surprised.  My kids have a sixth sense and x-ray vision when it comes to junk food:  they can see it through walls and ceilings.

     “You came for my popcorn, didn’t you?” I asked Jocelyn.  Very matter-of-factly, she answered, “No. I just want to be with you.”  Then she climbed up next to me and put her head on my leg.

     I started stroking her hair.  She drifted off to sleep.  We stayed like that for at least half an hour: her just sleeping on my lap, me stroking her hair as I read.  It was so peaceful.  That half hour was so tender and pure, it felt like a prayer.  

     As an almost five-year-old, Jocelyn has crossed over from being the cute, endearing little sister, to being the pesky little girl who really gets under Mason’s skin.  She can push his buttons, and does so on a regular basis: partly because with Mason’s low patience threshold it’s easy, and partly because she loves the power.

     It was one of those situations: Jocelyn kept slamming the gate at the top of the stairs; Mason kept barking at her to stop.  She wouldn’t, so he shoved her.  I was horrified!  Using unkind words is one thing, but using bodily force is completely unacceptable.  When I came on the scene, Jocelyn was on the floor crying, and Mason had the fear of God in his eyes.

     I was overwhelmed yesterday morning creating my “to do” list.  I just couldn’t see how it was possible to fit it all in.  In the midst of trying to prepare for a retreat I’m running for moms tonight (preparing food, setting up all the private prayer spaces at my church, etc.), Zack had his fifth grade school concert, I had to go and take pictures of Jocelyn’s last swim class, Zack had back to back karate classes, Mason had a baseball game, and I had another MOSAIC Moms group last night.  Somewhere in there, I had to cook dinner, help with homework, and send a heap of emails.  Looking at that long list had me pitying myself, lamenting my situation, feeling burdened by the weight of it all.  I was ready to throw in the towel before I even began my day.

     I chaperoned my daughter Jocelyn’s field trip yesterday.  It was held at a nature center recently developed in our town.  Both of the Pre-K classes from her school were included.

     It was total chaos as the thirty-five kids waited outside the center for the field trip to begin.  Their excited energy had them jumping off rock walls, running after each other on the sidewalk right next to the oncoming cars, and moving and grooving like only four-year-olds can.

     The last car to pull up had one of the little boys in it that I was assigned to watch over.  Knowing he was a shy kid, I approached the car, welcomed him, and led him over to the chaos.  He looked around at all the crazy movement, and then looked up at me.  With his big brown eyes wide open, he timidly asked, “What do I do?”

     I gently took his little hand and led him over to a calmer group who were watching water spray through a solar powered spigot.  Then I turned to the mom next to me and said, “I feel like that a lot.  I wish I had a chaperon that I could turn to whenever I have that question.”

     We didn’t have any travel plans for April school vacation.  So I tried really hard to create a fun week for my children.  I planned it so my three kids would have a playdate or an “adventure,” each with a different friend, for all five days.  Knowing it would make them happy, I spent the time coordinating with all those parents, syncing calendars, and arranging transportation, keeping everything a secret so I could surprise them over and over again, each day of the week.

     Although they were happy and excited on Monday when they discovered we were headed to Legoland, and that each one had a friend coming along, I didn’t find my kids to be all that grateful.  When they greedily asked why they couldn’t get soda and buy Lego sets in the gift shop, the greedy or grateful lecture began.  That lecture continued straight into Tuesday as their ingratitude continued.

     By Tuesday night, it was quite evident that nothing I was lecturing about was sinking in. I think all my kids were hearing was the “wha-wha” sound that all adults make in the Charlie Brown cartoons.  I was so upset, I wanted to cancel the rest of the week’s plans.  But I felt that canceling would be punishing more than my kids; it would also be punishing their friends, and their friends’ parents, some of whom work full time and were relying on me for the planned childcare.  So I continued to stew in my frustration and anger.  Before I went to bed, I realized I was fixating on the problem, not fixing it.  That is not the mom I want to be. 

     My four-year-old daughter Jocelyn has this new obsession with making little gifts for people.  However, hers are not gifts of the traditional sort.  They’re not useful, beautiful, or even recognizable.  They are visions from her imagination, and usually consist of scraps of paper, stickers, markers, crayons, an envelope, and random bits of trash that she attaches to the finished product by using almost an entire roll of adhesive tape.  Most times, the recipient has a confused look on her face as she unwraps one of these items of no value, that looks, in truth, like a mess.

     But I see it differently.  I watch her make them.  I see the time and effort Jocelyn invests in each and every one of these creations, sitting at her little table with her head bent, focusing all of her attention, pouring out her love as she does it.  These creations hold her entire heart, making each one of them a masterpiece.

     I’ve known for a long time that my health related habits have been very poor.  Never eating fruits or vegetables, my definition of a “salad” was mixing popcorn and Cheetos together.  I claimed that chasing after my three young kids was exercise enough.  And with no time to get anything done while my kids were awake, most nights I’d stay up past midnight trying to put a dent in my “to do” list.

     I was one of the lucky ones.  Despite all my poor habits, I still had endless energy.  When people threatened, “It’s going to catch up to you,” I smugly thought, “Not me,” and continued down the path of burning the candle at both ends, while giving my body nothing healthy to sustain it.

     It’s no surprise that it did catch up to me about two years ago.  And it wasn’t a gradual decline either.  It was a crash and burn that I couldn’t seem to recover from.  Suddenly, my body was betraying me.  During those two years, I wasn’t just exhausted, I was weak and shaky.  I developed a premature heart beat, fluid around my heart, high blood pressure, Thoracic Outlet Syndrome, Subclavian Steal Syndrome, became a borderline diabetic and prone to blood clots.

     During all of this, I laid on the couch getting weaker, and gaining weight.  The only habit I changed was going to bed earlier, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t function the next day.  I became a terrible mother who did the bare minimum, and even that was done with impatience and resentment because I was always so physically exhausted.

     I prayed for God to heal me.  I prayed for Him to give me a miracle that would make it all go away.  I wanted to be restored to good health, but I was waiting for Him to do all the work.