I Did Not Purposefully Teach Him This!

(Or... The Son of Two Coffee Addicts Speaks)


Miles is home sick today. And tonight is the big preschool Christmas pageant in which he, Tejas and Joon Yung are to be Wise Men.

I'm all unnerved, worried that the kid's going to vomit or spike a high fever and thereby miss his big chance to don the musty robes, hold the spray-painted paper towel roll scepter and participate in the time-honored procession of a pint-sized Nativity complete with blue-eyed Baby Jesus doll. (Ahhh, tradition! :) )

So I'm loading him down with children's Tylenol, vitamin C and fluids. Since he's burned out on juice, I just gave him some iced tea, and he said: "But I cannot have Dr. Pepper. I know. That's OK, even though the morether the caffiene, the gooder a drink is!"

"What?!" I ask. "Why do you think that?" Yep, I feigned innocence -- surprise, even -- completely denying our closet cola drinking out of coffee mugs when he was younger, and the many, many trips to Starbucks during which he has learned that "latte" is one of mommy's favorite words.

He just giggled. And THEN he said, "Yep! But the gooder it is, the badder it is for your body! That's pretty funny, huh? The GOODER, the really BADDER!" Tee, hee, hee, hee, hee.....

From the mouths of babes, my friends. From the very sweet-tea-stained lips....

Yep, I really love them.... Does it show much?

A bit of dialogue from a recent wintery evening, when the 3 of us snuggled in bed to work on puzzles and build pillow forts (adults then former and child the latter):

"So, Miles, do you like it better when Mommy tickles you or when Daddy tickles you?
Because Mommy tickles kinda softly, like this (indicating that I should provide example)...
... (pause for sound of small giggle)... but I tickle harder, like THIS!" (Pause for complete disruption of cozy snuggling posture and machine-gun bursts of laughter as child is tickled/ bounced/ buried under a pillow-mound of his own making.)

...The flailing and guffawing stop and the boy gasps for air.

"(Heave, sigh...) I like it better when you do it, Daddy."

"Oh, really? (Perhaps I detected a bit of a superior tone... perhaps not.) Why is that?"

"Because I get to laugh morether."

Gettin' Though It

So my church's senior pastor is leaving. In just a few weeks. Amidst an environment of dissention and strife the likes of which I have never witnessed.

Living through it, as we might say around these parts, is gonna be a whippin.'

It's a hard place for any church to be in, facing a new year down one minister. (We are a big enough body that he is not the only minister... but he is the senior minister.) It isn't easy, no matter how strong and stoic we try to be, feeling a bit adrift and anxious about the long process hunkering in front of stability.

But finding ourselves in this place, in this church, seems harder still because of all the ugliness. I hope not to exaggerate or inflame in my reporting, just to come clean: We are a house divided, and our problems certainly aren't over because the lightning rod removed himself from the situation.

I have been slow to react to the news of the senior minister's departure, and I wonder if I've really reacted yet. It's possible I've felt nothing yet...

I do know, though -- it's gonna be a while before anything is remotely "normal" in my church family again. If normal is ever to be found.

I've come up with these self-imposed House Rules I'm gonna try to live by during the storm:

• No PERSONAL maligning. (But accurate descriptions of actions taken seem to be fair game. It ain't slander if it's true.)
• No speaking out or writing (even to friends) in moments of absolute rage or indignation.
• A mandatory re-read for all emails BEFORE they're sent -- at about 24 hours after they're composed, with deletion the only option for posts that shame the Spirit so few hours later.
• ...And pretty much any emotion I feel is fair game. No berating myself while I feel it. This is a real spiritual fight I feel myself up against. And I'm not sure just how, today, but I know I've gotta get through it.
  

I hope the rules will help. Maybe I should make them public and create a place where more of us can post -- where we can ALL work on gettin' through it. But this place is mostly just personal, anyway. I keep it around in the belief that the written record will remind me, later, how God was in motion through every detail of my life way back when. :)

I believe He's here, ya' know. In every contentious corner. He's got all our backs. He safeguards my soul and He will not turn me free from the church universal just because the church in particular has turned into a battleground. My soul is fine. It's my heart, I'm afraid, that's about to be broken.

Something You Do Not Want to Hear Your 4-Year-Old Say....

"I know what color electricity is when it comes out of the wall."

Yeah, see, that's not good. And, knowing my kid, I had to half believe he was knew what he was talking about, even before I investigated.

"Is it yellow?" I ask. A VERY SERIOUS FACE is my response.

"Oh, no. It's blue. The sun is yellow. But -- somepin' kinda funny about that -- since the sun is yellow and orange, I don't think it runs on electricity at all. (Then, mumbling to himself) I think it must be lava. Fire rocks and hot lava."

Oh. My.

Where to start?

"Son: How do you know this about electricity?"

"Cause, when you plug in my fan, if you only plug it in halfway, the electricity comes out in a little line and you can watch it."

Oh. My.

BIG SAFETY LECTURE ensues. SERIOUS FACE takes it well. (It isn't all his fault. Something really is weird about that outlet. It doesn't hold plugs in as tightly as it should.)

I stop, breathe deeply, and ask the series of questions hard experience has taught me to ask: "So... you heard me just now, right? ...Did you understand? ...And, do you know what Mama needs you to do next time you need to plug in your fan? ...And, if you understand, I need to HEAR you say, 'Yes, Mam.' So we're both clear that you will not touch the electricity plug any more.... RIGHT?!"

Then I felt free to praise the mind in action. "And, actually, you're on the right track about the sun. That's some pretty good thinkin,' young man. "

Keyboard Ponderings

I've rubbed away part of the upper curve of the "S" on my computer keyboard. It really bothers me.

I bet it's not that uncommon, to wear away the letter decals with heavy use or over time. I got this keyboard in Dec. '04, and since then I guess I've tended to hit that second row left-hand corner too hard -- I do sort of thud my way through the day, unable to click daintily like anyone who was ever trained in typing.

It's understandable. Still.... I am bothered by that small, missing piece of S. It leaps out at me every time I type.

Oh, and the bottom half of the left side of the A -- you know, the little part under the horizontal line? -- it's missing, too. That one doesn't bother me so much, because my pinky often rests on top of it. Plus, the A just sort of fades away at the bottom. The S has a clear gap in it... a bit of jarring non-congruity in its serpentine curve.

I think all the best people are like letters in heavy use. We have missing edges and little gaps life has worn into our shapes. Sometimes, our wear marks are hardly noticeable. Sometimes, they jump out at those observant.

Either way, we all get worn. All the more when we try to be the letters in heavy rotation... to use ourselves in the service of many words, to fully give ourselves away. Sometimes, "best letter" people wear down to the point of being unreadable. But, if a careful hand knows just where to find it and how much pressure to apply, a key with no observable label will still create its intended shape.

I don't know what this means, but it makes me much less sad about my S. It makes me much less sad to be an S.

And less sad is very good.

Miles & Michelle

There's a little girl in Miles' class named Michelle. Michelle and Miles. Miles and Michelle. As you may have guessed, they've become fast friends.

Michelle's family moved here from Michigan, but her parents are originally from Mexico. So her Mom speaks Spanish and teaches their preschool class some Spanish, every other week. Anyway, I think Michelle is a darling, nice, smart-as-a-whip little girl... and have said so since she moved into Miles' class last spring. It's possible I have extolled her virtues a little too persistently (or the great minds in my family just think alike), because Miles' teacher told me that my redhead has developed a noticeable crush on the little brown-pigtailed girl.

Ahhh, so... it all adds up!

Earlier this week, I walked in to pick Miles up and found him power hugging Michelle -- just squeezing the life out of her with a big bear hug around her shoulders. (This is a game a group of boys usually play at the end of the day, and they seem to get extra points for knocking each other down and rolling around in the bear hug on the floor, until some mom says "enough!") I mentioned the lovey-dovey hug to the boy's father, and he brought it up later at dinner. Though Miles brags about his rough-housing exploits with Tejas and Christian Q. and would never leave class without hugging Nathan, he grew strangely silent about this little episode ...he appeared EMBARRASSED, even.

Add to this.... Miles asked last week if we could buy a birthday present for Michelle. I said sure, as soon as it is her birthday. Now, according to Miles, it's been Michelle's birthday twice in the last 10 days. Again this morning he says, "Today is Michelle's birthday." Oh, and he's invited to her party. To eat pizza. Somewhere. At some time.

I began to explain to the young love-bird that we need a party invitation ( in order to know when and where to go) but I was interrupted as Miles said, "It's OK. Michelle already invited me to her house." I then explained that no kid has this many birthdays, so only ONE day is Michelle's real birthday, and I need to know what day that is before we start handing over presents and weird her parents out. (What if her birth were in August, for instance, and they believe Miles is a pint-sized stalker?)

This stumped the band for a moment, and then Miles said, "Oh, so THAT'S why we need the moms to talk. Well, she might talk in Spanish but that's OK. (then another small pause.) And you might not understand her. But that's OK, too. I'll tell you what she said."

Priceless. Just priceless. Though he retains next to NO Spanish vocabulary, I find the boy's confidence refreshing. His optimism heartening. His little fixation sweet and endearing.

Here's to boys everywhere, and to the mothers who see them through their first crushes, latest crushes, crushed hearts and best attempts at communication. It really is a joy to be the mom of a boy!