Chewymom

Sally said this after she had told me that a girl at school said, “I’m going to get my Daddy to beat you up!” And I responded with, “Huh???”

Ahhhh, that blurry line between truth and fantasy….

Call me insane, but I broke my long-held rule of only allowing my children to only participate in one extra-curricular activity at a time. Sally has had not one, not two, but three activities going for most of the school year. My reasoning was that she was in a 4-k class, and next year she will start “real” school. Additionally, I am taking a small class load this year compared to what I will face next year when I enter the nursing program. This seemed to me to be a good year to try ballet, gymnastics and soccer, all three, and decide which seemed the best fit.

Soccer ended after the fall season, ballet is actually during pre-school hours, so Sally just goes during school, leaving me only gymnastics to juggle, along with swimming, tennis, and two soccer teams for my other children. Sally’s gym class is one hour per week, and for the most part it has been enjoyable.

Except for the week that a teacher who normally works with an older group of girls took it on herself to correct the behavior in Sally’s group. And by correct, what I mean is that when the group of four little five-year-olds was told that they could crawl in the “pit” as they always do at the end of gymnastics, this teacher came SCREAMING at them, “GET OUT!! LEAVE!!! GO HOME! LEAVE! GO HOME NOW!!!”

Sally hopped out of that pit faster than a bat out of a very hot place and came running to me in fear. The whole way home, she cried and complained about the mean lady who had screamed at her. She decided she never wanted to go back to gymnastics because the mean lady might be there. So I composed a letter to the owner of the facility. Her response? “Well, if I had seen those girls I probably would have yelled at them even more!”

Not exactly what I was looking for. But I took solace in the fact that the gal who actually does teach Sally’s group is sweet and fun and does not yell. But in the back of my mind I thought, “If Sally gets yelled at one more time, we’re out of here.” I refuse to pay money to a place that is going to verbally mistreat children, especially when they were actually only doing what they were told they were allowed to do.

Things went on smoothly enough until last week. When I dared to sit in the spot where I always sit to watch Sally’s gymnastics. And the owner came around a corner and YELLED across the enormous gym for me to move. Surprised, I got up and stood awkwardly, trying not to block the doorway, but still attempting to watch my daughter, while two ladies near me confessed, “I’m scared of her! I thought she was going to yell at me!”

I said, “I’m not putting up with being bullied. If she yells again, we’re out of here.”

Almost immediately, the owner peered around the corner and called out, “READ THE SIGN ON THE DOOR!”

I did read it. It says not to block the doorway. So I asked, “Where can I sit to watch my daughter?”

She responded (still yelling across the entire gym), “WE HAVE A WAITING ROOM! YOU CAN WAIT IN THERE, AND IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, YOU CAN LEAVE!”

The waiting room is completely walled in, and there is no way to see the children. I marched around the corner, took Sally by the hand, and began to walk out. The owner stopped me and tried to explain, justify, etc. I told her I felt like she and I had differing philosophies on how to treat people–she yells, as do her employees, and she does not want parents to watch (and I pointed out that it made me wonder what she is hiding). I do not pay money for my children and me to be bullied by an old lady with a bad attitude who just happens to own a gymnastics center. And I must be allowed to see what my daughter is doing. Therefore I would find a place that could meet my needs and requirements.

And with that, I walked out the door, got in the car, and drove straight over to another gymnastics class in our town. Which just happened to be having a class right then, and they invited Sally to stay and try it out! While I watched through the large window between the gym and the waiting room. And to add to Sally’s delight, one of her best friends ended up being in the class!

My friend said this to me today as we sat and watched our sons play soccer in 30-something degree rain. I cannot tell you how miserable we were, and we had coats, hats, gloves, scarves. The players had only Under Armor, jerseys, shorts, socks, and shin-guards to keep them warm.

And to think, yesterday we enjoyed a windy, 75-degree afternoon of soccer.

Twenty-four hours and forty degrees make a big difference in the enjoyment of a soccer game!

Today I had the opportunity to ESCAPE! (Yay for Chewydad!) I headed to Starbucks and ordered my favorite drink–venti, skinny, two-Splenda latte. I snuggled into a cozy chair in the corner and read. I had brought my iPod in, but I ended up enjoying the music they had playing in the store. I was so relaxed, reading my book, sipping my latte, listening to the music with the hum of conversation in the background. And then they walked in.

A young couple with a boy around the age of two and a girl who appeared to be about six. The woman went to the counter and stood in the long line for what seemed like forever and ordered a drink. The man stood in the space in front of my chair and proceeded to flip the girl upside and tickle her. She screamed! And then after he put her down, the two kids began climbing up and down off of barstools, ramming their heads into the man’s leg, yelling to each other, runing in circles, and generally making me dizzy.

I darned near picked up my stuff and headed home. I mean, if I wanted total chaos, I could read my book at home with three people trying to talk to me, a certain five-year-old girl screaming at her brothers and tattling, and the tv running, along with the sound of the Wii in the background.

And for a change in my usual “pro-kid” way of thinking, I decided that someone needs to have a restaurant or coffee shop in this town with a no kids area. I mean, when I want to take my kids with me, I’m all for kid-friendly. But sheesh, sometimes I just want a BREAK!

After what seemed like hours but was probably only twenty minutes, the noisy family left, and everyone in Starbucks relaxed. By then I had to go to the bathroom, so I just packed up and headed home. Where I am now, listening to the sound of two tvs, two boys annoying their sister who is screaming at them, and water running in the kitchen.

*This post was written last Sunday, but not posted until today. So I’m not literally, now, listening to tvs, etc. And I didn’t just now enjoy a Starbucks latte. Now I’m hitting “post” really quick before I take a kid to the doctor, and after I straightened the kitchen, wiped down the potty, sucked up a few cat hairballs with the vacuum, and threw a load of clothes into the wash.

Today we were headed home from the orthodontist, and I had the pleasure of being the passenger while Ben drove. Funny how that terrified me about eight months ago. He’s turning out to be a really responsible driver, and I can actually concentrate on other things besides smacking my hand on the dash and pumping the imaginary brake.

So today I listened in on a conversation between Sally (5) and Brig (17). And I heard Sally say to Brig, “YOU are the SEXIEST!” Not once but about five times.

I’d like to tell you that I was shocked and horrified, but I was too busy laughing to think of shock and horror. And so was Ben. He asked Sally, “What does ’sexiest’ mean?” (He’s gonna be a great dad someday, I tell ya.)

Sally replied, “It means weird and dumb!”

Right.

And she continued to say, “Brig is the sexiest!” realizing she had an audience in the front seat.

So I asked, “Where did you hear the word ’sexiest?’”

“On Avatar. Katara says it to Saka,” Sally responded, placing her tv watching in serious jeopardy.

When we got home, Ben and I told the story to Drew. I informed him that Sally had heard the word “sexiest” on his beloved TV show Avatar.

Now it was Drew’s turn to burst into laughter. He said, “Mom, Katara called Saka SEXIST!”

Ahhhh….

Several years ago, Chewydad and I felt irresistibly called to go to Africa as missionairies. We learned of a school called the Rift Valley Academy, which is a boarding school for the children of missionaries. It seemed to be a great fit for our family. We learned all that we could, and daily we found ourselves gazing at pictures of the school, imagining our lives in Kijabe, Kenya. We filled out the necessary paperwork–mounds and mounds of paperwork–and attended the initial training session. Where we were told “no.”

That “no” hurt. It was the death of a dream and a desire, not only on our part but on the part of our children. For quite some time after that, I could not reengage my heart in Africa. But the longing remained.

I filled the longing for Africa by picking up a new missionary family to support. Occasionally I would surf the web, looking for information about Africa as a continent, and Kenya as a country. A few people made suggestions about other opportunities to serve in Africa, but none seemed a good fit for our family, given the ages and strengths and weaknesses of our children. I stumbled onto the Compassion website and looked through pictures, but the money was not in the budget to support a child. I perused adoption websites, wondering if rather than mothering children as a dorm parent, my call was to mother one in real life. No doors opened, and that was the end of that.

I somehow found the blog Boomama, and thoroughly enjoyed her humorous approach to life. And the fact that she was from Alabama. And likes to eat. She’s a soul-sister, I tell you. And then I read about the Blogfest she had been asked to participate in through Compassion International. I got back on their website and looked at pictures. On a whim, I decided to look for a little girl in Kenya, born in September, 2002, just like my Sally. Sally begs for a sister, and folks, that ain’t happenin’. A little girl popped up–Titolai. It was early in 2008, and I had just worked out our family budget for the year, and lo and behold, there was money to spare. The stars aligned, and I snatched up sweet Titolai before someone else could!

I do not have years of experience and letters to share with you, but I will say that just learning about her family, her area, her challenges has been moving. Knowing there is a real person over in Africa with whom I have a connection gives mehope. Did you hear that? This little girl gives me hope! Hope that someday I can realize my dream of going to Africa–to Kenya. I don’t know if I will be going as a missionary or simply to meet Titolai in person, but I will go.

I have been privileged to write Titolai and tell her about our family. She comes from a large family, too. I have been able to send her pictures of us. And I was able to send a little extra money to purchase her a doll. Sally loves dolls, and Titolai’s profile stated that she does as well. I want her to have something tangible that represents her American family to her. Something that gives her hope that she is loved from across the ocean–that she matters, and that she too can have hope. Hope of an education, hope of rising out of poverty, along with her family, and most of all hope of a Savior who loves her very much.

Click over to Shawn Groves’s blog to read his stories about his trip with Compassion. Also, he links to other bloggers who are writing their story of compassion. Read them. And won’t you consider sponsoring a child yourself?

I’ll admit it. I’m annoyed. We have made significant strides to cut our budget, and we have succeeded. When I worked through our new budget plan for 2008, I was pleased to see that even more money will be going toward savings, and we had enough money to support a child through Compassion International. Two huge accomplishments!

Still, it just seems that our budget is tight, and way too much money is disappearing from my checking account. Our housing expenses, which should actually be quite low, are much higher than I am comfortable with. Do you want to know why?

Technology.

We are paying for cell phones. And now, you can’t just pay for a phone and monthly service. Oh no! If you have teens, you have to add a text message plan. Which we did. And can I just say, I LOVE text messages!! Oh, the fun I’ve been missing!

But it doesn’t end there. We also have to pay for data plans. So my kids can get on the internet, you know. And if we don’t pay, well, they can still get on the internet. And then we pay–the equivalent of a mortgage payment. Ask me how I know….

Maybe because our first bill was over $700.

Maybe.

Anyhoo….Not only is there a cell phone bill, but there’s the internet. And of course, we have to have high speed. No slow connection for Chewymom, nosireebob.

And let’s not leave out our Satellite TV. Because college football just ended! And lots of games are on ESPN now, rather than regular networks. Especially if you like teams outside of Alabama. Which we do. (Go Yellow Jackets!) (Go Paladins!)

And Oh. My. how those bills add up.

And I ask you. Was life really so bad when we had one phone–maybe two–attached to the wall? With a long cord to get out of parental earshot, of course–at least stretching to the laundry room. And when you got a busy signal for two straight hours when trying to call anyone with a teenager. Was it really that bad?

Or when you got off your butt to turn the dial on the old black and white tv? With 3 channels, or 8 if you lived in a big city like Atlanta. And were forced to watch HeeHaw, Lawrence Welk, and if you were really lucky or had a babysitter, The Sonny and Cher Show, Was that so bad?

Or when you had to do your research using the World Book Encyclopedia set that was sold to your parents one summer by a poor college student trying to earn a buck?

And was it so bad to type your papers on a clickety-clackety typewriter, to go back with your Liquid Paper or white typing tape to correct errors?

I know, I know, I use technology like the rest of the world, and I love it. Truly I do. But sheesh, when I feel like I’m making a mortgage payment to “technology,” sometimes I just want to go bury my head in 1970’s sand and live there for a while.

So on Sunday night our church held the first of a three-part seminar on parenting. Chewydad and I were so excited! The man leading the seminar, Gordon, is one we have seen for marriage counseling in the past. He is so gospel-focused. Every time we met with him for counseling, we could see this man’s heart for Jesus. He would use examples of his own marriage, he would tear up with empathy, and over and over he would remind us of the goodness of God and his love for us, even as we were struggling.

The first session in this seminar was primarily about marriage. Gordon reminded us of how our marriage relationship sets a tone for our home. We want our home to be a place of safety and rest, and so we desire that for our marriage. Such good stuff! True to what we had experienced in counseling, he gave personal examples, and he became quite emotional as he recounted stories both of his own failures to be a loving husband and of God’s grace in bringing his marital and family relationships to the place they now are.

Gordon had to travel over an hour to get to our town, and on the way his car broke down. Someone drove down to pick him up and bring him the rest of the way to our church, but we did have to start a little later than we had planned. When Chewydad heard that, he immediately offered to drive him back down to his city after it was over. Hey, he’s no dummy–it would be a free counseling session!

Turns out another friend had also offered the same thing. Only his offer one-upped Chewydad’s. He had to work there the next day anyway, and he had family in town. So the friend won the honor of taking Gordon home. As this friend walked past our car, Chewydad rolled his window down and said, “You suck!”

He wasn’t prompted by his godly wife or anything.

Immediately Sally rolled her window down, and YELLED out, “YOU SUCK!” Sally is no quiet little girl, and it seemed her words echoed in the air.

We looked sheepishly at Gordon who was maybe five feet from Sally’s window. He burst out laughing, thankfully, and said, “Oh that was classic.”

Next week, I feel confident that I will be asked to lead the parenting seminar, because my parenting is clearly that good.

A few weeks ago, I had the honor of posting over on Adventures in Mercy about the changes in my parenting style from a punitive paradigm to a grace-based one. I had some awesome comments over there, and I wanted to discuss one of them further. Ruth said, “Here’s a question for all the folks that have dealt with Ezzo/Pearl parenting - is there a way/should I talk with friends who just love the books and parenting style given there? And I don’t want to come across as I’m right you’re wrong and mean to your little ones, especially considering the fact that sometimes mine are a bit wild and like to holler and run in church/store/wherever and aren’t exactly the model of obedience that the books strive for.”

Back in some of my Ezzo materials–Growing Kids God’s Way, I assume–there was this cute little story that Gary told. He would put a marshmallow in front of a kid. He would tell the kid that if he would wait to eat the marshmallow, then when he (Gary) returned in five minutes, he would give the kid two marshmallows! Amazingly, the GKGW trained kids were able to muster the self-control to wait it out and receive the second marshmallow. As opposed to those poor AP kids, I assume, who stuffed the one marshmallow into their greedy little mouths the second he left the room. The point being that we were teaching our kids how to delay an immediate gratification in exchange for something better.

Here’s the irony in that. As Ruth said, she’d love to share the great things she has learned about grace-based parenting, but her children don’t behave up to the Ezzo’s standards. And that is a problem. What Ezzo parent is willing to have a child who is more…expressive, open, willing to explore, and less easy to manage in the short term? None, I can bet. The goal is to have obedient children…now! Not thoughtful children down the road. The goal is to hear a “yes ma’am,” and obedience “right away, all the way, and with a happy heart,” not to have a toddler who thinks for himself, stomps a foot or two or ten, and who is strong and self-confident standing up for himself as a teenager. Ezzo parents aren’t willing to go the difficult route for the sake of what they might find down the road. That feels too risky–too dangerous–too ungodly. And yet, they miss out on seeing their child’s real personality develop–on helping along a childish exuberance, an adolescent strength, and a teenage confidence–because they have got to have control–complete control–of their tiny children.

Take a look at Gary’s own family, for example. He and Anne Marie had excellent control over their young daughters, which is why they were asked to start teaching parenting classes in the first place. Their well-behaved girls were a testimony to their parenting skills. Or were they? Now both girls are estranged from the Ezzos, and Gary and Anne Marie moved all the way to the opposite coast from their daughters. They had excellent immediate results, but is their family what I want for mine down the road?

Not that parenting in a way opposite of the Ezzos is a guarantee of a great relationship down the road, either, of course.

I just find it ironic that those who are into the Ezzo’s material are so hung up on the behavior of infants, toddlers, preschoolers, school-aged kids as a mark of good parenting. They can’t see that they are wanting a reward and they want it now!

In other words, these parents haven’t learned about delayed gratification–doing what may be more difficult in the immediate (allowing more freedom for a toddler, for example) in order to potentially reap greater results down the road. Ironic, huh?

What’s up with this???

That’s Sam. That’s what he wore to school today. Yes, he wore one glove. Ben asked him why. Which is what I wanted to know: why. Sam said, “Because I couldn’t find the other!”

Makes perfect sense. IF YOU’RE NINE! You have one glove, you can’t find the other, it’s 65 degrees outside, so you wear one glove.

And resemble a popular singer-from-the-80’s-turned-noseless-child-molester.