Smart Little Monkey

So I was just giving Owen lunch, and I walked over to hand him a bottle of juice. He was sitting in a booster chair with a feeding tray, holding one saltine in each hand. He didn't even feign an attempt to give up the crackers -- he just opened his mouth and looked at me pleadingly, like the most newly hatched of baby birds. I gave in for a second and held his juice bottle to his mouth. Then I left go and let it slide down to the tray, believing if he was thirsty, he'd figure it out. And so he did.

Owen's bottle was standing upright between his two outstretched arms. He went to grab it in his right hand but found it slipped out, what with a handful of awkward, pointy saltine blocking his gripping fingers. So put down the cracker. And he picked up the bottle. Then he put down the bottle and picked up the cracker.

Dilemma! "But how can I have them BOTH?" I could almost see him thinking.

He kept the cracker in his hand and wrapped his full, greedy little paw around the bottle. He braced the bottle against his torso and put his chin down to his chest, looking to make contact with the bottle nipple. Once he secured the top of the bottle in his mouth, he used his head muscles -- along with his limited range of motion fingers -- to lift the bottle and the cracker, still in one hand, high enough to tip the liquid down.

Success! Triumph! When I shook my head at him, and then laughed, I got another easily readable expression out of Owen. "I am very smart," his face said. "And I am VERY well pleased with me."

Ah, well, I guess that's how it should be, when one is 13 months old and the apple of one's family's eye. We're pretty well pleased with you, too, Owen. (You greedy, impatient little mess-maker! You know that cracker is going to pulverize into tiny crumbs I will later have to pick off your booster seat, the floor, your clothes, your bottle, and out of your hair. You know that, right? Right?)

Hallmark Jesus

I saw a sign in a Christian bookstore this morning. A very tasteful sign, with a beige scroll background and flowing type, all pleasingly matched and laid out to echo many a modern home. It was a very nice sign. And it just pissed me off.

The sign asked, "Do you know Christ's story?" It was a promo for a new product line of little objects -- tchotckes, I call them -- that serve as memory aids for events in Christ's earthly life. Like, for instance, there's a burgundy glass heart, a polished river stone in blue, a metal cross, etc. etc.

Look, I know it's just a sign. And they're just things. Little things that some people may embrace. And who am I to judge, right? Because some people may be completely moved by this collection of objects. Some may happily buy the slick, processed, perfectly marketed set of knick-knacky things, may receive them as a gift, may delight in them and ruminate upon them and use them to better understand eternal truths. Some people may rub them like rosaries every day and feel their burdens lifted due to these items of comfort.

This is all true. And, still, I've got a good head of steam on this rant and I can't say it's misplaced. This feels -- a lot -- like righteous indignation. Because stop and consider here. The idea that launched this "product line" ... and pretty clearly the marketing of it ... is all about consumerism and hubris. Which is worse, I'm not sure. But let's dwell a moment on the absolute, misplaced pride that leads to a burgundy glass paperweight to "tell Jesus' story."

This is JESUS we're talking about: Jesus The Word. Who was with God, and was God, and was and is and is to come. Jesus Messiah. Jesus Christ. Emmanuel. ...I'm supposed to KNOW Jesus because I buy a boxed set of factory-minted trinkets?

"Do I know?" Really, they're asking me that? Me? Do I know Jesus' story?

What I KNOW -- really KNOW -- is only what I have experienced. This I know. And I've experienced Jesus. And there's no way He fits into a box!

I am SO angry right now.

As the season of Packaged Jesus rolls around, I have to announce that My Lord & Savior is a lot bigger than a marketing campaign to sell needless junk to a privileged class of people who waste more resources than the rest of the world duly uses.

Jesus is not to be reduced to a ploy or a plot or a jot or a tiddle when His is an entire language not completely known or knowable to man.

The Franklin Mint does not own Jesus' story.

"How do you define what you can't compare?"

...OK, the fiery pitch of my fury must be fading because those were no longer my words right there. They belong to the Newsboys'. From a song I initially hated because of its -- wait for it -- commercialism. :)

Argh! The irony. The irony!

Dammit.

Look, I still don't think I'm wrong about this cock-a-mamie paperweight crap. Nobody NEEDS that to know Jesus' story. But we all need something. A starting place. I'll give us that. And maybe, if I can internalize something provoking and powerful from a song that quotes the "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" catchphrase, then just MAYBE, even the Hallmark version of Jesus can speak Truth and become More in seeking hands.

I'm doubting it. And I'm still pissed about it. But I'm begrudgingly accepting this as a POSSIBLE path to the one, great, vast, personal and personable God-in-three-persons whom I see as Jesus Christ.

Advent, indeed. It's shaping up to be a trying season. ...But I need to let it come!

Owen, Oh!

Dear Baby O,

I can never fully express how much refreshment you have brought to my soul, in just one short year of life.

You are a wonder and a delight.

You are one of the happiest, most content babies I have ever encountered -- though your giggles and smiles are somewhat tempered, these days, by the serious eyes and puckered lips with which you approach anything to be 'figured out.'

You are also one of the loudest babies... ever! And, sometimes, the most frustrated. (Again -- you've got a CLEAR and SERIOUS goal in front of you, most of the time. It is NOT COOL when someone bigger and stronger removes you from your intended exploration/ destruction.)

I love the gutteral, consonant-filled utterings you make along with the usual baby vowel sounds. It sometimes sounds like the transcript of a mumbling, stuttering drunk, but it is precious, nonetheless. "KEEEY!" you say for kitty. "Gee-ur. Zhesh!" I hear while you're on the crawl. Then, absorbed in thought over the everyday object in your hands, you mumble: "Zsa-zsa. Zsa-zsa. Zhurrrr..."

You do have real words, too. Lots of them! You ask for favorite foods by name. Say "milk" for your bottle. Ask for "mo, peas" at about every meal. (That's "more, please," not "more peas.") You call for the pacifier as just the "-ier" (sounds like "e-yar." You say "Mow-sey" for Miles. You say Mama and Daddy and Mama Kay.

...But, mostly, you babble a lot to yourself in that secret language that makes adults feel like babies might have some intrinsic knowledge, some hidden memories of a time before birth, in a place very close to Divine Mystery.

Certainly, to us, you seem fresh from the hands of God.

Thanks for being our baby, wee little man. And no rush on the walking. The world out here is big and wide and will all be yours, one day. For now, you just ponder the mysteries put in you by your Creator. You are a fearful and wonderful thing.

Dust Off the Cobwebs...

Whew! That was weird. It has been so long since I posted to this blog, that I actually forgot my password!

...Travelocity, I can afford to forget. (There's always the Expedia account!) Proflowers and AA.com, I will forever have to look up before using. But Blogger? Now
that is shameful.

Let's all pause briefly to focus scorn upon my head... just for a moment... really feelin' it now... and that's about all the judgment I can take. Moving on!

Let's shift focus to the First Day of School. Ahhh.... the sweetness!

You know, I really am an education junkie. An absolute groupie to the whole process of public schooling. It fascinates me! Admittedly, earlier in adult life, I would have died of embarrassment at the thought that I would willingly succumb to the... ... Parent Teacher Association. Today, however, I find myself on the PTA board. (See? WHAT a suck-up!)

But the shift has come about so honestly. While I'm still not above making fun of myself (and all the other Type A moms), it feels right to plug in and find a spot at the school where I can be useful. I really want to do something helpful for the people trying their best to do right by my kid. And by everybody else's kid who comes their way.

About this time of year, I find in my deepest, truest heart the urge to buy extra Clorox wipes and value tubs of Goldfish! :) (Yes, I realize how very silly I sound. That's kind-of the best part!)

But enough of my hogging the day. I actually set out to report on Miles...

My marvelous M. took his first morning of 1st Grade in admirable stride, and watching him fit right in gave me such a gush of gratefulness. That boy really has come a long way! I certainly don't give his father and myself all the credit, but I'm proud we've been part of the process.

I'm starting to understand some deeper things about shy kids, observing Miles. He's really come into his own over the last year or so. His nature is still to clam up when in question or on display. (Mine, on the other hand, is to gush at the mouth. Go figure!) But his growth has shown me this: Where reserved children may be more unsure of their environments than bold children, that doesn't mean they're unsure of themselves.

Miles knows, deep down, that he can "do" school. He has the system down. So, he might be extra quiet on Meet the Teacher Day. He might pause and look to Mrs. McIntosh for direction just inside her room, Day One. But he doesn't dead stop anywhere on campus. He just keeps moving ahead. And the grace of that very simple life skill amazes me!

Where I constantly looked for some sign that Miles' REALLY needed me today, I didn't find any. I honestly think I could have dropped him off in the circle drive and let him walk to Room 308 by himself. (I may tomorrow!) It's so gratifying to see this once-mulish little person -- the same one who WOULD NOT go into his preschool class for TWO ENTIRE YEARS without being pushed from behind -- step out on his own and do what needs to be done. Plus, appear to actually ENJOY doing it! No stalling. No whining. No foot-dragging. Just a quiet good attitude and this giddy thought (voiced to himself, evidently) halfway down the 1st Grade hall: "Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun at RECESS!"

Inside, he put away his backpack, crossed to his desk and started reading the copied page in front of his name card. I had to tag along behind to request a picture. He looked up at me, all business, blue crayon in hand, then went back to coloring. I caught the smallest beginning of a grin when he looked down at his page. And then I left.

...It was GREAT!

Bottom line: I really love this kid. I think he got off to a good start this morning. And that makes my heart swell with happy.

Quotable Moment

Oh, the offspring! The little one is costing me sleep and the bigger one is costing me non-gray hairs, rapidly... but we're not ready to trade them in just yet.

And one reason why we keep them must surely be the amusing things Miles says along his way in life. To wit, as I was loading the dishwasher last night, Miles walks in and pipes up: "Mom! Y'know what Owen should try, right after he tries milk for the first time?"

"What, honey?"

"Chocolate milk. And y'know what he should try after that?"

"Uhhhnnnn..."

"Half and half. It's so CREAMY! I just know he's gonna love it!"

Mid-day Musings

Another swift post -- so YGWYG (you get what you get!) -- to address my need for writing things down, while simultaneously fighting the dragon who needs things to sound so damn nice when I do....

I got to see my friend Susie over the weekend, and that always makes me happy! My heart feels lighter, my load lessened, after time with my friend. Anyway, whenever we catch up I find myself telling Miles tales, and in recounting some fairly recent stories for Susie, I am reminded of two moments that both greatly amused & kind of horrified me.


I. Biblical Newsflash
Miles takes a kids' Bible to Sunday School now. He's just starting to read, but as grades k-2 share a class, the whole group is encouraged to bring their own Bibles, to learn how to use them. It did seem like time....

I gave him one that had been given to our family. It says, right there on the cover, "Beginner's Bible." And, in smaller letters, "The New Testament." Things had been going swimmingly well, I thought, with my own little Martin Luther, direct reader of the Word (or at least viewer of the pictures). Then one Sunday afternoon Miles came to me half alarmed, half excited.

"Mom! Did you know --" (a slight pause while his Bible appeared from nowhere at my midsection, having been swung up from his side and thrust into my ribs) "-- there's a WHOLE other Bible, just like this one! And it has whole different stories in it. But it's called... THE OLD TESTAMENT. We should REALLY get it!


II. Return on Investment
Another Sunday School practice at our church is to award "Bible Bucks" for doing the right thing. (Yeah, yeah, yeah... we've debated the whole theology of this. I don't wanna get into it now. But if you're vaguely disturbed, just wait! You may soon be appalled....)

Kids get 1 Bible Buck for class attendance, and they get extras awarded for, say, helping clean up, for being kind, for remembering to bring an offering.... (Yeah, yeah! I know!)
Bible Bucks are only useful at the Bible Bucks store, which kids visit once a month to trade their "earnings" for small prizes and games.

So, meanwhile, Miles turns 6 and is given some cash for his birthday. He pooled his new money with his savings, counted his piggy bank collection and came up with a walloping $30 -- a good chunk of change for a kid! He was probably impressed with this large figure, because he began to throw it around. For weeks, he would volunteer money for any/ every purpose when it might be needed.

Once, Papa Jim had no cash on him and Miles said, "I been thinkin' I could share some of my money, 'cause Papa Jim doesn't have any. But I have $30! We could give him some." Or.... if I turned down a request for an after-school treat with the line, "I don't have any cash on me, honey," he would quickly remind me that he had money we could spend!

And then came the Sunday when we were heading into church and I mentioned that I had no offering for him to give this day, because my wallet was empty. And Miles said, "I have money! I have a lot of money. We could use it. ...I wonder how many Bible Bucks I'd get for the WHOLE $30!?"

Yeah. He wanted to buy some reward from God's house. Yeah. That's my boy!

Eek.

And, yet, so sweet!

I tried a whole lecture on how it's not the AMOUNT that matters to God; it's the attitude with which we give our money back to him. Lost the boy's attention in 90 seconds flat.

And that might just be the way with boys. It takes a long time to make a boy into a man. :) But God bless us learners! We all need a little grace for our misguidedness, don't we? Meanwhile, there's a whole other Bible we REALLY should look into....

Two-Minute Tale

I INTERRUPT my well-planned and carefully polished (though never quote POSTED) entries to offer something fast but actually UPDATED in this space!

So Miles and I were having a picnic lunch outside, when he was home sick recently. I took a bag of baby carrots out with our sandwiches. The fledgling reader stared it down, sounded out "KEEP" and asked: "What's this other word, Mom?"

"Refrigerated, honey. Keep Refrigerated. It means, once we bring these home from the store, we keep them cold so they don't go bad."

"OHH! (pause.) I wish my school cafeteria would read that instructions, because they keep theirs in the oven. By the time they give 'em to us kids, they're GROSS!"

:)

Four Months, Fleetingly...

Owen, darlin'...

Tomorrow we visit the doctor for your 4-month check-up, and tonight I'm up late thinking about what a wonderful little person you're turning out to be.

...OK, actually, I'm up late washing all the bedding and clothing you projectile vomited on earlier. It was gross, my friend. Not good. But, A.) I really didn't want to finish Pan's Labyrinth, anyway (Oscar, Smoscher -- this is not a very uplifting film experience!) and B.), you do have that vicious sinus infection and a throat full of phlegm to excuse the booting.

And, hey, as long as I'm awake, I really do think you're a wonderful little person.

I hope one day you get you get your own go-round with the first, fleeting months of new baby life. The early weeks are hard to explain, but they're definitely worth experiencing.

Not much seems to be changing, or even happening, for large stretches of time. And then, sort-of unpleasant things will happen at regular intervals (that would be anytime between 2 and 6 a.m. for you, buddy). But the moments in between can bring a dry and dusty human soul as close to the Divine as possible this side of Heaven.

In both seasons of life when I've had new babies, I've felt flashes of peace and perfection that compare to nothing ...NOTHING... else. On earth.

In the first two months of knowing you, Owen, my eyes would often well with tears just from noticing something ordinary. Something ordinarily babylike, I mean, but extraordinarily nice. It might have been an alert expression -- a swivel of your head or a furrow in your brow. Maybe it was a certain purse of your lips mid-slumber. One tiny open palm could especially get me, waving idly to the world or conducting music, as yours seemed to do while you drifted into sleep.

I would look at you, in the most ordinary of circumstances, and suddenly be crying. My eyes literally launched my heart into a salty tide of blessing. The abundance was simply too great for me, unworthy, to take in. I have cried for the goodness of you, Owen, for the bounty of you, and for all the little lives just like you, greatly expected and lost too soon.

...I have idly wondered, during this tender, cocooning stage of life, if God is sheltering me from seeing or knowing anything sweeter than you or Miles. Maybe He knows that if I felt anything "more" than I feel the weight of you, my too-full heart would actually, physically explode.

And yet this overwrought, emotional stage of "new babyness" is quickly winding down. (Healthy, I think! All part of God's great design...) See, we're getting used to you, O. Growing accustomed. Rubbing the super-shiny wax coating off. While you're still miraculous, you're becoming more of an everyday miracle -- like the fact that your Dad always, without fail, every night comes home to me. Like the reality of your brother, who goes to bed one door over and who wakes up, still perfectly Miles, every new morning. Same as the other boys in this home, Owen, you're now one of my constants.

If this evolution goes the way it went with Miles, your dad and I will ever be impressed that you're here on earth; it will just seem, as time moves on, that you've always been here. With us. And, in this way, as we get all "commonplace" with each another, it will be easier for us to end our monopoly on your goodness. Bit by little bit, Owen, we will release you into the greater world.

And, speaking of that, you just started going to our church's Mother's Day Out program, a few hours a day, almost every day. You took to it on Day One and haven't looked back. You really seem to crave the interaction with other babies, the doting attention of the teachers who all think you are the cutest, most engaging, happiest and easy-going boy they know. (I am not exaggerating because I'm your mom. They seriously like you there! Teachers who have nothing to do with the infant age come in to visit you. I show up to take you home and, often, have to physically remove you from someone else's arms. Once they pick you up, no one seems to want to let go!)

I love that you're taking to the swim of life so easily, Owen. I love that I'm able to leave you some place other than in my own care, and feel safe, and get my work done. I love how perfectly you fit into this family, as if either we were meant for you, or you were meant for us. (Think maybe both?) I love that we have baby things in our house again!

I love all these things that are part of having you -- but above all I love YOU, Owen. Just you. Because you are an end as well as a means, a universe unto yourself. You are a lovely human being, both now and in the making. You are one of God's children, my son, created with seeds of promise and a spark of the Divine. My dearest prayer, young James Owen, is to fan your flame....