Thanks are not enough

We have much to be thankful for.

But today, it is not enough to be thankful.

It is to whom those thanks are given that matters most.

The lame beggar understood this. He asked for money. Instead he received healing.

And leaping up he stood and began to walk, and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God.
–Acts 3:8

He didn’t just praise. He praised God.

Hannah understood this. She prayed so fervently and wept so bitterly as she pleaded for a son that Eli thought she was drunk. She knew not what the Lord would do. But she knew her God, and her faith was sure as she left the temple.

They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord…
— 1 Samuel 1:19

Hannah didn’t just worship. She worshiped her Lord.

Job understood this. Enduring the loss of everything–family, property, friends–he mourned, and he remembered the sovereignty of the God he served.

Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
— Job 1:20-21

Job didn’t just worship. He worshiped God.

Mary understood this. Faced with an unplanned pregnancy, the curious stares of friends and neighbors, and an uncertain engagement, Mary trusted in the one who was knitting together her Savior inside her womb, the God of her fathers who had proved himself ever faithful.

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.”
— Luke 1:46-49

Mary didn’t just rejoice. She rejoiced in her Savior.

Gratitude alone is not enough. Our gratefulness should drive us to our heavenly Father, the giver of every good and perfect gift. Our gratefulness should drive us to the feet of Jesus, who loved us and gave himself up for us.

Paul says it this way:

Thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift!— 2 Corinthians 9:15

Today, do not simply be thankful. Let your thanksgiving be to God, and in your gratitude, worship the giver of all good things.

Daddy math

She calls it "Daddy Math."

I wouldn't touch it with a thirty nine and a half foot pole. But if Justin wants to teach our six-year-old how to plot equations on graphing paper, more power to him.

She loved it. Particularly when he showed her how she could use math to make pictures.

My math lessons are going to seem so boring after this.

Quite a hike

Caleb thoroughly enjoys the great outdoors, and he loves every opportunity he gets to go hiking with his grandparents.

But he had a word of caution for his siblings after this most recent excursion.

"Be careful on a hike with Nana and Grandaddy," I overheard him whispering to his sister. "They'll make you walk forever. It's really pretty at the top, but to get there it's like five thousand miles. You'll get really tired."

For the record, I have no idea how long the hike up to the top of these falls really is.

But I am confident my in-laws did not take my four-year-old on a 5,000 mile hike.

It's worse than you think

That mess all over Levi is not what you think it is. 

It would be pretty awful if that was something that had exploded from his diaper. But the reality of it is so much worse.

That, friends, is what remains of my iced peppermint mocha.

The one I treated myself to after picking up Levi's third prescription of the week from the pharmacy.

The one I've thought about each of the four times I've passed by Starbucks on my way to the pediatrician's office in the past 6 days.

The one I was going to enjoy during the half hour of screaming that would ensue while I restrained Levi on my lap for his breathing treatment.

The one I so carelessly left sitting in harm's way next to the couch.

The one Levi just had to have a taste of during the one second that I turned my back to put his medicine in the nebulizer.

It's been a nonstop cycle of high fevers and hacking coughs and grumpiness and trips to the doctor around here.

The opening act was an impressive presentation during which Jacob, asleep in the baby carrier on my back while I lugged Levi on one hip and attempted to pick up the older two from their homschool classes, woke up just long enough to vomit all over the back of me, and all over the floor of the building. (For the record, it doesn't matter how many parenting books you read. Nothing prepares you for having someone throw up in your hair. Nothing. My mother-in-law says a good mommy is a smelly mommy. I was the rockstar of moms that day.) 

The older kids took turns coming down with whatever variety of plague it is that we have, so as not to assault us all at once. Levi, it seems, will be the closing act, as his little body just can't seem to shake it without the aid of steroids and antibiotics.

We adults have been spared the worst of it. Unless you consider caring for four sick children and spilling your coffee the worst of it, in which case, we've taken the brunt of this nasty virus.

And that pretty much sums up our week.

Travelin' man

There are few things that will interfere with my commitment to afternoon naps at home.

Croup, it turns out, is one of them.

When the after-hours pediatrician says you'd sleep better sitting up, naptime looks a lot like driving up and down the interstate for a few hours to let you rest.

This was just enough time to notice that Daddy's car doesn't reek of waffle fries and forgotten shoes. I'll need to remember to ask him what his secret is.

Gathering place

I often look forward to the day when this baby gate comes down--the day I no longer fear one of my children will finish off his or her epic slide across the kitchen by tumbling headfirst down the stairs into the room with the brick floor.

But then where will they congregate to await Daddy's arrival at the end of each day?

It's like the alphabet, but fancy

Abby breezed through her first grade spelling book already, so now there's a gap in our day that spelling and phonics used to fill. I'm fine with having one fewer thing on my lesson plans, and explained to her that now we would have more time for other stuff.

This information did not go over well with my little scholar.

She insisted she needed to learn cursive now.

I insisted I wasn't going to teach her cursive until third grade, because that's when kids are supposed to learn cursive. (I could be wrong. Do kids even learn cursive in school anymore? Either way, I see no point in teaching it to a six year old.) And I told her I did not care how "fancy" it was. Fancy aside, it simply wasn't necessary.

This information also did not go over well with my little scholar.

"Just write it down for me and I'll teach it myself," she huffed, frustrated with my lack of enthusiasm for adding one more piece of curriculum to her schedule.

Fine. I was tired of hearing about it, so I wrote out the cursive alphabet (with the help of her dad, because I drew a blank on a number of those seldom-used letters) and handed it to her. I added her name to the top of the page, so she could see how the letters are supposed to connect to one another.

And then, she did what Abby does. She studied the page I'd given her, then set to work transcribing it in her own script. Then, using the key she'd made, she worked out how to write a few simple words, and eventually, her first sentence: "let me go."

How fitting.

I'm pretty sure she's going to put me out of a job soon.

Happy birthday, Jacob!

I cannot for the life of me figure out how this kid is already three years old.

But he is very, very three. He is loud and messy and funny and full throttle from sun up to sun down.

He is everything a three year old boy should be.

He loves puppies--especially his stuffed puppy, Tess, that he named after his favorite dog across the street. He might be a puppy when he grows up, he tells me. Because he's three, and the sky is the limit.

He wants to do everything for himself. This is problematic, because he's three, and he really can't do everything himself. Yet. But don't tell Jacob that. If his older siblings can do it, he's going to give it a try. And he's very likely going to succeed, because he is just as stubborn and determined as his big sister. His determination is on track to surpass that of his big sister, however, due mostly to the fact that everything Jacob does is done while trying to thwart the efforts of a baby brother who seeks only to destroy. He is learning patience, and he's learning it the hard way.

He is goofy. I mean really, really goofy. He tells jokes, and makes up silly games, and often makes himself laugh so hard that the rest of us can't help but join in. He has a great big personality, and a smile to match it. It's hard not to be happy around him. Especially when he flashes that infamous grin--the one with the great big brown eyes and that adorable dimple. Sheesh...this kid is adorable, and he already knows it. That dimple is going to be big trouble as he gets older.

He is kind. He doesn't like to see anyone sad, and is quick to retrieve a blankie or favorite toy for a sibling in distress, much like his big brother and sister have often done for him. He loves to snuggle, and he hugs in a way that just lets you know how much he loves you. He throws his whole body into his hugs and just melts into you, his head on your shoulder and his arms and legs encircling you so that you couldn't let him go if you wanted to. But really, when you're on the receiving end of a hug like that, letting go is the last thing on your mind.

He loves to be around people, and is happiest when there are lots of people around to play with. Mom and dad are nice, but throw in a bunch of siblings or a Sunday School class full of friends, and this kid is totally in his element. There's no separation anxiety here. He wants to be where the action is, and has no trouble making himself heard in a crowd. He has an uncanny ability to get his brothers and sister to go along with some of his crazy schemes and silly games, and as a family, we're learning a lot about doing the right thing, which is not always necessarily the next most exciting thing Jacob has planned.

He really, really wants to help you. Or play with you. Or just be wherever it is you are, doing whatever it is you do. He's not a huge fan of being by himself, except for those days when he's reached his limit of how many times a sibling can destroy something he's working on before he's had it. And when he gets there, he's quick to take a break from all the chaos and the noise, and will ask if he can simply retreat to his room to play by himself for a bit. (He's like his sister in more ways than I can count.) But it never lasts long before I hear him yelling downstairs for someone to come join him. He loves his siblings. They just drive him nuts sometimes.

He loves to build, and create, and color, and drive anything with wheels. He loves to play in the dirt, and swing and run and crash into things. He's a three year old boy, after all, and he's really, really good at it. He loves gluten free cake pops and being surrounded by family, so that was exactly what he got for his birthday.

Happy birthday to our adventurous, fun-loving Jacob. You keep us on our toes, big guy. And I have a feeling that is just the way you like it.

And I wouldn't change a thing.

Earning their keep

I gave the three eldest children each a washcloth doused in floor cleaner.

I assigned them each a section of the dining room floor, all to themselves, for which they were totally responsible.

And then I said the magic words:

"Let's see who can do the best job getting their section clean!"

I've learned the secret with these siblings. Make it a contest, and no one stops until they've won.

My floors have never been so shiny.

This was a tight race, and in the end, it was impossible to tell who had achieved the highest level of cleanliness for their area.

I promised them a rematch. They promised to remind me.

This is a winning formula for sure.

Sleepyheads

It takes a tremendous amount of willpower to wake these boys when I find them sleeping this soundly.

It helps to remind myself that it is almost 5 p.m. and that they've been asleep for four hours. 

It also helps to remember that naptime should have been over nearly an hour ago, and that I'm going to want them to go to bed in a couple of hours.

But sometimes, they don't care what I want. And no amount of me telling them it's time to get up--or even physically dragging them out of bed--will do the trick when they're this tired.