Random snippets of life with Daniel

A few weeks ago at dinner:

Doug: (insert random comment about Baltimore)

Daniel: No, Daddy. It's Vol-de-mort.


Here's a chunk of our conversation from Monday:

Daniel: I learned ALL about the pilgrims today.
Me: What'd you learn?
D: Well. There was this one Native American guy named Squanto. And he taught the pilgrims how to fish and plant corn. And if you plant a dead fish in the ground with your corn, it rots and the corn grows faster. And the corn likes it.
Me: Oh yeah?
D: Yeah. And I learned how they made water hoses.
Me: Water hoses?
D: Yeah. First, the pilgrims had to kill an animal. Like a turkey. And they used the turkey's skin to make the hose.
Me: (trying not to laugh at this point, but still very interested in this methodology) I don't think turkeys have very water resistant skin. Pretty sure it wasn't a turkey.
D: Goats. Then it was goats, because their legs are long and skinny and hollow... like a hose. So they had to kill the goat. And then they used the skin from its legs to glue together to make a hose. But they had to make the glue, because pilgrims didn't have stores. 
Me: Are you sure they didn't just carry the water from the river? Maybe with a bucket? 
D: Nope. They used animal skin.
Me: Got it. Did you learn anything else about the pilgrims?
D: Oh yes. I learned how they made bread. Let me show you. (proceeds to open a can of Pringles and a jar of peanut butter)
Me: Ok, bub. I'm with you so far, but I KNOW they didn't have Pringles or Jif.
D: So maybe I should just use a hot dog bun?
Me: .......???




And today at his class party, he asked his teacher, "Please may I have an extra plate for my little sister?"
I love this child. I need to do a better job of writing down the zany things he says, but that's a full-time job.

Break-throughs

I had two break-throughs today. Yes. Two events that empowered me, made me change my perspective, and helped me feel just amazing.

Break-through #1

I watched this video yesterday. Watch it. Go ahead. I'll wait. It's three minutes. And worth it. Please. Go ahead... You kinda need to watch it, just so you'll understand the next little bit.

Good little flick, eh? Even if you're not a mom, you HAVE a mom. You can relate. Neat perspective, huh? I'm not a mom who struggles with much. I know there's always room for improvement, but at the end of the day, I love my kids. My kids love me. We're happy, healthy, and well-adjusted. We laugh. We color. We craft. We eat healthy foods. My house is clean enough for my standards. I take care of my family AND I take care of myself. We go places. We make memories. We're happy.

But every so often, doubt creeps in. What if I'm doing it "wrong?" What if I'm doing too much FOR them? What if I'm expecting too much OF them? What am I doing TO them? All these prepositions...

This morning, Halloween, I was getting the kids ready for school. Daniel declared in May that he wanted to be Batman. Last week, he altered his costume to Batman-Spiderman. His idea was to take "a little bit of Batman and a little bit of Spiderman and SMOOSH them together." Lia wanted to be Hello Kitty, my least favorite of her picks. I had my doubts that we could pull this off (See that? Doubt.). I have to admit, I was a little stressed about getting two kids into costume and out the door in under an hour, especially because both kids' costumes required face paint. Our morning went something like this:

"Sit RIGHT. HERE. and DON'T. MOVE."
"If you don't eat that poptart in the next three minutes, you CAN.NOT be Batman-Spiderman."
"Lia. Look at mommy. LOOK at mommy. Look at MOMMY. Not down. AT MOMMY."
"Quit squinting. Quit moving. Quit blinking. QUIT."

When I finished Daniel's mask, he ran off to look at himself in the mirror. I (figuratively) held my breath. It looked less than stellar and not at all like what I had envisioned. He came tearing back into the kitchen, breathless. "I. LOOK. AWESOME!!!!!" I exhaled and smiled - a big enough smile to match his own. Silly doubt. Silly, silly doubt.

Lia was just as thrilled with her face paint. She twirled her skirt, meowed, twisted, hopped, and sang in her sweet little voice, "I'm Hello Kitty cat on happy Halloween!" My doubt was cast aside. My kids were thrilled. Here's a little peak:

Break-through #2

Doug and I run. A lot. Neither of us strive to set any records, win any races, or become any sort of national phenomenon. But we enjoy the challenge, the endorphins, and the health benefits associated with running. We ran our first half-marathon in April (see this blog for more details). We ran the Space City 10 Miler just three weeks ago. We're running our second half-marathon in 9 days. We run. But you see, I've never said the words, "I am a runner." It somehow seemed like I hadn't earned the right to actually call myself a "runner."

This morning, while walking Hello Kitty into class, another mom and I were chatting about Halloween and other stuff. We'd never talked before, but we wave and say hi twice a week. She said to me, "I always see you in workout clothes up here. Do you always work out after you drop your little girl?" I replied, "I'm a runner." It felt amazing to say those words. According to RunKeeper, I've run 647 miles in the last year. I think I've finally earned the right to call myself a runner. It felt great. Look. I'm gonna say it again. I am a runner. :o)

Happy Thursday, y'all.

Theology, kindergarten style

Church last Sunday was unique in many ways. Our church was celebrating Splash into Summer, so we had bbq, water slides, a "unified service" (which basically means they combine the hip folks from the contemporary service with the traditional folks from the. . . traditional service), and a baptism. Daniel had never seen a baptism before, but didn't really say much about it at the time. Later in the week, it caught up with him.

We were eating dinner at home and he piped up, "Why at church do they sometimes baptize babies?" My eyes lit up, but my mouth was full so I had to grunt a bit to make sure he knew I was engaged but busy. "Oh," he said. "Is this a daddy question?" So many times he'll ask me how a car makes carbon monoxide or why birds have liquid poop or how fast the earth is spinning or how many gallons of water are in the earth's oceans. I either have to say "That's a daddy question," or I have to consult my phone and the endless wealth of knowledge that is the internet. I shook my head spastically and gestured for Doug to back off. This is firmly in mama territory. Finally having swallowed my food, I got a little indignant. "No way, bucko. This is a mama question!"

Enter my explanation for baptism. I didn't pare it down too much. I got to the point and summed it up something like this - when you decide that you love God and Jesus, and you know that God and Jesus love you, and you know that Jesus died for your sins and you want to show to whole wide world that you want to follow Jesus all the days of your life and you want Him to be with you always, you get baptized. Without missing a beat, Daniel says, "But a baby *can't* know all that." Badabing. 

When Doug and I first joined the Presbyterian Church, this was a sticking point. I was baptized by immersion after a public profession of faith. Doug was baptized by immersion after a public profession of faith. My parents were. My grandparents were. It's a "thing" for me. I absolutely believe in baby dedications and I understand the logistics of why we sprinkle babies. I understand why we do confirmation and classes leading up to this ceremony. I also believe that if a child recognizes the basic tenets of his faith at the age of 5, he should not have to wait until he's 14 to be confirmed with a group of his peers. I believe in being moved by the spirit. When I was five, Brother Ray did the same thing he did every Sunday at the end of a service. The choir hummed "Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling - calling for you and for me..." while Ray stood at the front of the church and prayed. And by God. I got up and walked to the front of that church. My mama didn't know I was going. My daddy didn't know I was going. Heck. I didn't even know I was going. But softly and tenderly, I heard my Savior call and away I went. My spirituality is something I feel. Not something I follow. To hear my child sum up the way I feel about baptism in seven short words at the tender age of five. . . wow. Move my heart.

I went on to explain why we sprinkle babies and why Doug and I feel strongly about baptism being Daniel's (and Lia's) idea. After I finished, Daniel looked down at his plate for a minute then met my eyes. "I'm ready now. I want to get baptized right now." Be still my heart. As with most huge decisions like this, I felt it was best we talk about it at length before taking any further action.Just as Brother Ray came and talked with me about why I wanted to be baptized before we actually did it, I want to makes sure he understands what this means.  We've brought it up a few more times and I really do think he gets it. Fortunately for us, our head pastor talked with Doug and I about our feelings about baptism before we joined. He assured us that if Daniel came to him and said he wanted to be baptized by immersion, he would be happy to perform the ceremony. After that discussion, we were all in.

I still haven't quite figured out exactly how to handle this step in his/our faith walk. I'm not sure whether it's time to approach a pastor or if we should continue to explore our faith together at home before we move forward. I recently read this book and it has absolutely changed my life. Jen Hatmaker has made me examine parts of my faith I didn't know existed. She's made me question decisions I never knew I made. She's moved me. She's changed me. She's opened my eyes. I'm in the midst of a personal spiritual awakening. I want to be His hands and feet. I want to serve. I want to move and shake. Knowing my child is impassioned by the same things I am stirs a fire in my heart. It makes me want to do more; to do better. I want him to come with me on this journey, and I want it to be his idea. Softly and tenderly, I'll hold his hand and pray I'm guiding him down the right path.

13.25 < 13.1

On December 2, 2012, I made a decision. Well. A commitment, really. I've toyed with the idea of running a half marathon for about 5 years now. One morning (December 2, 2012), I finally realized that the only thing keeping me from reaching this goal was my head. All of my excuses had run out. That's all they were - excuses. I laced up my shoes that afternoon and went for a 3-mile run. Since that day, I have run 265 miles in preparation for Angie's Half-Crazy! Half Marathon.

Last Sunday, Doug and I set out to conquer this 13.1 miles together. I was nervous, excited, intimidated, and confident all at the same time. I knew I was ready. My training had paid off. This enormous goal I had set for myself was a mere 2:30:ish away. We stuck together for roughly 7 miles. Chatting some, sweating more, and generally enjoying being together on this journey. Around mile 8, I should have known something was wrong. This is Texas. Houston, no less. In April. And I was cold. Wait. What? Cold. I convinced myself that I was just really sweaty and the cross-breeze coming off the lake was making me chilly (this should have been an indicator that I was getting overheated). I plodded along, alone with my thoughts and my iPod. Somewhere around mile 11, I seriously considered offering a guy in a parking lot $10 for his bottle of Ozarka (and this should have been an indicator that I was dehydrated). When I saw the marker at mile 12, I KNEW I was going to make it. (let me interject here that while the course said mile 12, my GPS read 12.5)

My last turn on the course was onto the UHCL campus. At this point, I remember very vague bits and pieces of the course. I saw a photo of myself on a bridge I don't recall crossing (I look like I'm dying, by the way). I knew I was a mere .25 miles from the finish, and I knew I was out of gas. I stopped to walk - just for a minute - and I collapsed. My legs wouldn't carry me. Not another quarter mile. Not another foot. Two amazing ladies helped me get to the nearest aid station where I managed to lose what little bit of Gatorade and water I had left in my system. I fell into the grass and my whole world fell apart. Shaky, sweaty, nauseated, freezing, embarrassed, defeated, victorious (MY GPS said 13.25). I somehow managed to stop my RunKeeper so I would have an accurate record of my run, but after that, I just didn't care. The race director came. EMTs came. There was a sheriff there with a gun, but I can't remember her name or why she came to visit. Walter made me laugh. LT blew two veins trying to start the IV. Another guy held me down and covered my eyes while yet another guy dug around in my wrist with the largest gauge needle they had. In short, it sucked. Runners streamed by. Joggers plodded on. Walkers even passed me by. Somebody called my husband and my parents, but they couldn't get to me on the course. Gah. Four months of training for a ride into the finish line on a stretcher.

I picked up right where I left off with my training. I've decided to run another race this summer. My husband thinks I'm insane. My mother thinks I may be a bit reckless. My doctor thinks I'm doing the right thing by getting back out there and trying again. The feeling of disappointment and failure that I'm carrying around with me are both motivating and self-defeating. I just can't wait until November to try again. In my head, I know I ran 13.25 miles in 2:37:36. In my heart, I know I didn't cross the finish line. While simple math tells me that 13.25 is greater than 13.1, this time around, it's not.