It’s been one of those rare days that I spend almost entirely with my kids. When I rolled out of bed, they were both sitting in front of the television watching Flapjack. I was torn. I remembered fondly getting up early on Saturday morning with nothing on the agenda but Saturday morning cartoons. I also remember about mid-morning the wake-up call my mom would give me to turn off the TV and get to work on picking up the house.
I did manage to get a little assistance for about 15 minutes without too much groaning and complaining. After some discussion over breakfast, I discovered both my children had projects to work on over the weekend. First, I helped my first grader find numbers around the house. He was supposed to cut them out and paste them to his worksheet. All went well until he wanted to cut into the front cover of my husband’s 2009 Fantasy Football magazine (the draft’s next weekend).
Then we went onto my third grader’s projects, which involved choosing from a list of pioneer learning activities. She wanted to make dried apples. I taught my son how to peel the apples with a parer and taught my daughter how to carefully slice the apples. They spent a good hour peeling, slicing, eating, and arranging apple slices on cookie sheets. I was so proud of them for getting along and working together and not watching TV.
After a call from our church secretary about prayer requests, I suddenly remembered I had promised to visit my friend in the hospital with her new baby boy. My children, probably antsy from being inside all morning, were a little too loud and rambuncous as we traveled up and down the halls.
After lunch (and, yes, cartoons and computer games), we headed to the church for children’s choir practice. I got frustrated with my son who would not stand still. We visited with some friends nearby afterwards, and I had a terrible time getting them to clean up and get ready to go home. On the way home they bickered smacked at each other. I had had it up to here (and you know what I mean).
My husband came to the rescue for dinner with pizza and breadsticks, and I squeezed a few loads of laundry in before going to the grocery store. I had hoped for a little alone time, but my daughter begged to go with me.
My daughter was very helpful. As I loaded groceries into the car, I had to smile at my daughter’s exuberance, demonstrating how her shoes made her bounce when she skipped. She slowed down, looked around and said, “the day is dimming, and I am dimming.” My daughter apparently has the heart of a poet.
Children are definitely a blessing from God. Sometimes that involves exposing our character weaknesses so that we can grow. Sometimes we just feel fortunate to be a part of their lives.