Whatchawant, mom?

Chickadee has just run up to me with a marker and pad.

“Whatchawant, mom?”

Not entirely sure what she meant, I assumed that she wanted me to request a drawing.

“A giraffe, please.”

She looks boggled, points the marker at me, and says, “Giraffe. is. not. a. food.”

“Ohh…  Errm…” I contemplate my next move in this dance.

“Fish?  Fish. is. a. food.” After this suggestion, she adds “Three sharks coming up.”

Again with the prayer

A friend and I have been having some meaningful conversations about praying with our children.  Or, more specifically, our children praying.  I am going to share some thoughts on that here.

While I usually opt to let my girls use their own words to describe the desires of their heart when they pray, I do have to correct them from time to time.

I will interrupt them when the prayer sounds more like a nursery rhyme.

Jesus sat on a wall.  And then He fell.

When they pray selfishly, I correct them afterwards.  I try to direct them to the attributes of God.  I figure if they know more about who God is then they will approach Him in prayer more appropriately.

Dear God, Please let me best friend A come over tomorrow.  And let there be tons of new legos for me.

They are always watching me, so I try to model good behavior and prayers.  As such, I have had plenty of opportunities to teach them about prayer and God.

Recently I was having a very stressful morning, and at the first stop sign on the way to school, I prayed to God to show me His presence.

But, MOM, you are praying in the car!

It was good for me to show them that it doesn’t matter where we pray because our Mighty God is everywhere.

Back to the nighttime prayer, I have been able to witness how my girls understand the world.  I asked them if they wanted me to pray that evening or if they wanted to do it themselves.  To which I was told:

Only small girls pray.  The brown and yellow ones.

For a while, I’ve known that Chickadee can’t tell the difference between brown and black.  Well, she does see the difference but she always switches them up.  I think it has to do with the fact that her black sister has brown skin.  I also think that she has also been told a few times by an embarrassed mom that we don’t draw attention to the skin color of people in public.  (Chickadee can be very loud.)  So I think she was describing her sister and herself by their hair colors.  (Yes, Wren’s hair is black, but remember she gets the two colors confused.)

But I got the point.  They wanted to pray by themselves.

What a blessing.

Dear God.  And Jesus.

Oh, maybe we’re getting the point!  I thought to myself.

Please don’t fall off that wall.

Nevermind.

The end.

A Prayer for Outer Space

A dear aunt gave Wren a book about outer space for Christmas.  Rather than continuing opening the rest of her presents, Wren paused to “read” this new book about her favorite topic.

She carefully reviewed each page before turning to the next.  When she closed the book, she pronounced, “There’s no Pluto in this book.”

I was startled by this observation that I had to check the book myself.  She was absolutely correct.  Poor Pluto!

Now that Wren is five, her interest in outer space has only grown.  Last night her daddy found her kneeling beside her bed.

“I’m just praying,” she told him.

He inquired if he could pray with her.

“No, I’m just praying for outer space,” she replied before concluding the rest of her prayer in whispers.  “… and let me go to outer space.  The end.”

Snow, Flower, Sun and Rainbow

I came across this very short poem I wrote about Wren when she was turning two.  She was full of energy and joy (as a matter of fact, she still is).  One of our favorite things to do together was to walk around the little circle in our old neighborhood.  She loved going outside to play no matter the weather.

The other thing about Wren was that her speech was slightly delayed.  I yearned for her to talk so I could know her desires… her dislikes… her imagination… her.  I’d get one word out of her, but I wanted more.

This poem was jotted down in the late winter long after the beauty of the first snowfall and I was getting antsy for Spring like I do every March.  The structure of this poem is akin to the Wheel of Fortune “before and after” theme.  Enjoy.

Snow, Flower, Sun and Rainbow

The robin in the white
Snow
A word she knows so well.

I hope she’ll learn
Flower, sun and rainbow
Should be here soon.

I went for a run

This is my first day of the first week since having children that I feel like I can have the morning to do whatever I want.  So I went for a “run.”

I last went for a “run” at the gym last winter.  I did pretty horribly back then (like 16 minute miles), so I wasn’t expecting myself to make any accomplishments other than getting to the stop sign at the half mile mark and eventually getting back.

Not only did I go further, but I actually managed to “run” further without walking breaks and to “run” further than intended.  And that makes me worried.

The best part about being  a fair-weather runner is knowing that when you dust off and lace up those shoes, you will do the worst run of the season.  You console yourself knowing that not only can it get better but that it must get better.

You see, I’m upset because I did my first “comeback run” better than any of my other “return to running” runs.  In fact, I even completed my course faster than my lifetime running average.

Today’s pace:  12’12”

All-time average pace:  12’26”

Best annual average pace (2010): 11:37″

How am I supposed to compete with that?   I wasn’t looking for those kinds of goals, so I’ll just keep the next goal simpler for now:  Run the 1.4 miles without stopping.

The Fate of Mr. Devereaux’s Cello

A while ago, I subscribed to The Daily Post which, if you didn’t know, gives daily and weekly writing prompts.   I’ve written a few posts based on the prompts, but those will remain in my draft folder likely forever.  And you’re welcome for that.

The prompt for this week piqued my interest.  The challenge is to write a story in exactly fifty words.  I found myself sharing the following micro story with my girls throughout the day… which is probably why it sounds like a nursery rhyme.  Still I like it enough that I will publish it here.

The Fate of Mr. Devereaux’s Cello

Mr. Deveraux was not just any fellow

For he was quite skilled at playing the cello.

Oh, the lovely sounds produced by that bow!

It was said only he could make a wasp mellow.

Alas one day, he let out a bellow,

“Oh no! Why is my prized cello yellow?” 

Rejoicing

The breeze was gentle.

The sky was the perfect blue.

Her arms stretched upwards.

Her smile grew.

“Ahaha,” she laughed.

Down the sidewalk she flew.

This is the day that the Lord has made.

I will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118 v24