Oh how I wish I could blog something clever every day, but yesterday, I spent fourteen straight hours scraping and painting our den, which I hoped I could turn into our new schoolroom, only to discover that there’s NO WAY our school stuff is going to fit into that room (at least unless we put in a whole lot more hours into building a custom bookshelf/desk unit, which Lukus is not highly motivated to do).  I’m so worn out that I just tried to spell the time increment “hours” as “ours” and couldn’t figure out why that looked so strange.

In case you can’t tell from the previous paragraph, I have decided to homeschool again this year.  I plan on taking a decidedly new approach however, and I’ll be sharing that approach as well as my experiments, failures, fun moments and probably more than one emotional meltdown along the way.  For now, I want to send you all out to the library to check out two books that I think every parent should read, because whether you homeschool or send your child to public school or unschool or whatever, every parent is an educator of a little soul.  So go read these, and I hope they will inspire you as much as they did me.  I’ll be back as soon as the disaster of letting the house be free-range for my girls and husband for a mere fourteen hours is brought back to a sane level.

The Reading Promise

Love In the Time of Homeschooling – A Mother & Daughter’s Uncommon Year

*What our house looks like when I’m working in one room and the kids are playing in the other rooms (and this is just one room.  Pretty much the whole house looks this way except where I was):

I never really do product reviews on my blog, but I absolutely HAD to share with you one of the most amazing resources for any family.  It’s the Jesus Storybook Bible Deluxe Edition by Zonderkidz.  On a whim, I went and picked it up today after one of the pastors of our church recommended it to me, and WOW!  Just WOW!

For the last few years, I’ve used my old bible story book from when I was a child to read to Taytem.  It’s a pretty good storybook, a little too detailed in places, not many pictures, but I still loved it as a kid, as evidenced by my 8-year-old penmanship, where I had carefully written my name under the banner “This Book Belongs To:”.  And though I had looked through various children’s bible story books in the past, I’d never found one that just really stood out.  Until now, thanks to my pastor’s suggestion.  Other people’s suggestions are always the best place to find great products or what-have-you, so I’m passing along that suggestion.

After buying the book and CD set, I popped in the first CD for the girls to listen to on the ride home.  Unlike a lot of children’s audio products, this one didn’t have busy, annoying kiddie music, or a woman’s overly gentle voice lulling the child to sleep.  Instead, the acclaimed British actor, David Suchet, with his warm, deep British voice and subtle enthusiasm captivated us into his story-telling.  And what story-telling!  We were all three mesmerized as the narrator described what the Bible is all about – it certainly has rules, but it’s not about rules or what we should and shouldn’t do.  It’s about what God has done.  It has heroes in it, but it’s not about them either.  It’s about One Hero who comes to win back His lost treasure.  It’s about a Prince who leaves His palace to rescue the one He loves.  It’s an adventure story that’s true!

When it came to the story of creation, I was literally on the verge of tears, reminded of God’s grandeur and His great, unending love as He created this amazing world and His favorite thing of all:  People.

The subtitle is “Every story whispers His name,” and throughout the entire storybook, the message of Jesus is woven thoughtfully and seamlessly into each and every story.  Even the story of Leah, Jacob’s wife whom he took for granted over her younger, more attractive sister, Rachel, is written so that the story reflects Jesus, and how God did not take Leah for granted, but through her lineage, the Christ would be born.

In the book, every single page is illustrated with whimsical, colorful drawings that I consider to be more artistic than most cartoonish illustrations, or old-fashioned painted illustrations like many storybooks have.

I cannot tell you how thoroughly enjoyable I think this storybook/CD combo is for both parents and children alike.  So I guess I’ll just have to give one to every person on the planet.  Eventually.  For now, I’ll just start with one lucky reader.

To enter the drawing to win one Jesus Storybook Bible Deluxe Edition (storybook with CD’s) please leave a comment below of what your favorite Bible story is.  I will pick a winner next Friday (July 15th), so be sure your entry is in by Thursday (July 14th).

* This giveaway is now over and a winner has been chosen.

I was in my favorite coffee shop the other day (seriously, why is my chair not “reserved” at all times?) and heard a father talking to his 7ish to 9ish year-old sons.  They were being a tad bit rowdy (he did give them cupcakes after all), and the father was trying to get them to calm down.  He negotiated another cupcake in exchange for good behavior.  It didn’t work.  He begged them to stop.  It didn’t work.  He pulled out petty manipulation, “You don’t act like this with your mom.  This hurts my feelings.”  It didn’t work.  “I’m going to go sit somewhere else because you’re embarrassing me.”  That hit the spot.  Oh wait, no it didn’t.  This father held no respect from his children because he was trying to treat them as equals instead of asserting his parental authority.  Even I found the dad far more annoying than the boys.

This is often the image many people have of what it means for parents to be friends with their children, and therefore, they don’t believe in it.  They view friendship as being synonymous with equality.  But this is a misunderstanding, and unfortunately, they’re missing out on something totally amazing by being friends with their children.

I love my girls – it’s an instinct that permeates my maternal being.  I’m proud of my girls – every accomplishment they make or new thing they discover for themselves fills me with pride.  My girls need to know that I love them and I’m proud of them.  But there’s a third element that is just as essential to their internal knowledge of my view toward them:  My girls need to know that I like them exactly for who they are.

Everyone needs to be liked, not just loved or respected.  Love can be taken for granted because it’s an automatic assumption built into a healthy relationship.  Respect, though also needed, is wrapped up in accomplishment, and can sometimes carry a burden of fulfilling someone else’s expectations.  But knowing that you are liked connects to the deeper part of us – it tells us that our unique qualities are accepted and enjoyed; it says that we do not have to perform but we can safely and simply be who we are; it shows that our God-given personality is, well, likeable.

Most of the time, people have to look to friends to know that they are liked, accepted and enjoyed.  We may know our family loves us, would give us a kidney, or dive in front of a bus to save us.  We may know our parents are proud of our accomplishments.  But what we’re all really craving to know is:  If I wasn’t related to you, or if I could no longer be a star quarterback or amazing dancer, would I still be someone you’d want to get coffee with?  In other words, “Do you like me?”

This is where the parent/child friendship comes into play.

I’m not a family therapist or child psychologist.  My entire justification for building a friendship with our children is the example of our heavenly Father.  Our Father teaches us, disciplines us, expects things of us - absolutely.  But as we grow in that walk with our Father, He then becomes our friend.  James 2:23 says, “Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for righteousness: and he was called the Friend of God.”  In John 15, Jesus told His disciples that they were His friends because they obeyed Him.

We are children of God if we obey Him, but as we continue to obey Him, trust and intimacy develop, and though God remains our Father and the ultimate authority, He then considers us His friends.  Shouldn’t that be the model for our relationship with our own children?

Friendship is developed through two major things:  trusting from the heart and simply enjoying each other.

As parents, we teach our children by example.  If we want them to open their hearts to us, then we need to be willing to open our hearts to them.  This is a scary balance.  Of course they don’t need to know our deep, specific, personal struggles at five years old.  But we can share our hearts in smaller terms.  Mom can say, “I’m sorry I’m distracted from your story sweetie.  A co-worker was mean to me today and I’m still a little upset about it.  But go on.”  It’s honesty without all of the adult details, but most importantly, it shows your child that you’re human, that you have problems, and that you’re capable of understanding their problems.  Or Dad can confess, “I still have a dream of going to China someday.  I don’t know how it will work out, but I’d like to find a way.”  Sharing mistakes, hurts, desires shows our kids how to share their mistakes, hurts and desires.  If we can’t be vulnerable (in measure) with our kids, they won’t be vulnerable with us at all.

This too, is exemplified by Father God throughout the Bible.  God was vulnerable with His children when He spoke about His hurts, His delights, His anger and jealousy, His affections.  God was vulnerable with Man.  The least we could do is be vulnerable with our own children.  That’s the element of trust.  It’s the hard part.

The easy part is enjoying each other.  Letting our kids know that we like them takes paying attention because this has nothing whatsoever to do with their accomplishments or talents.  This is who they are.  It’s easy to remember to tell Taytem, “Good job!” when she reads a whole book by herself, but it’s harder to remember to spontaneously say, “Taytem, you’re really funny and I like the silly stories you tell me.”  She needs the “good job” to encourage her to keep reading, but she needs the “I like you” part even more.  If we learn to pay attention to how we compliment our kids, and focus not only on ability or character, but also simply on personality, they’ll have a greater sense of acceptance for who they are.  Don’t look at what they do, look at their heart:  are they funny?  Compassionate? Interesting? Imaginative? Resourceful?  Think about the reasons why you like your grown-up friends and if you like your kids for any of the same reasons.  Then casually tell them that.  A lot.

So I like my girls.  I love them because they’re mine.  I’m proud of them because they’re smart and beautiful.  But I like Taytem because she’s a really nice person who cares about others.  I like Eisley because she makes the funniest faces and is such a ham.  I enjoy Taytem because she tells imaginative little stories, and she’s adventurous and she’s curious.  And I enjoy Eisley for how affectionate she is.  No matter what they do, this is who they are, and I like it.  And I probably like my children a lot more than that poor, defeated dad in the coffee shop likes his.

I have a favorite saying that I like to use at home.  It can be said in that compassionate mom tone, or it can be said with a bit of self-congratulation, and every now and then, it can be said threateningly.

And I got to say it last night at 4 a.m., “Mama knows.  Mama always knows.”

At approximately 4 a.m., Lukus and I awoke to a strange sound Eisley was making in her room.  Lukus jumped up, looked at her from the doorway and saw that she was fast asleep, and came back to bed.  This was an unsatisfactory investigation to me.

I got up, went into the girl’s room, didn’t see, hear or smell anything unusual.  But I went over to Eisley anyway, and though she was sound asleep on her tummy and breathing normally, I risked waking a sleeping baby, and rolled her over.

She was laying in a pool of her own vomit – and lots of it.

Lukus got up to help me clean things up, and we put her back to bed only to have her go through the routine twice more before settling down for the rest of the night.  Lukus was surprised that it hadn’t smelled at all, and made a comment about my impressive intuitive skills.

To which I proudly replied while crawling back into bed, “Mama knows.  Mama always knows.”

When I was a kid, I was consistently amazed by how my mom always seemed to know everything that concerned me.  She knew what every physical ailment needed, whether upset stomach, fever or a sprained ankle.  I never once went to the doctor with the exception of when I broke my arm.

She knew that I was faking being asleep to avoid getting a spanking for acting up at church when I was four.  Despite my vigilant efforts to pretend to be asleep as they carried me to the car, laid me down in the backseat, and carried me inside, as she put me to bed, she looked right in my face at my stubbornly closed eyes, grinned and said, “I know you’re playing possum.  Goodnight.”

Sometimes at night, I would hear my mom in the living room, sitting on the floor by our couch, praying.  I never really knew what she was praying about, but I did know that if God was waking her up in the middle of the night to pray, then it wasn’t too far of a long-shot to think He might tell her that my teacher did give me homework that night, or that I had watched a rated-R movie at a friend’s house during a sleep-over.  But regardless of how she knew, Mom knew.  Mom always knew.

And somehow, she even knew the time when my best friend Rachel and I tried to run away when we were twelve.  My parents and I had driven the 1,500 mile trek from California to Texas a dozen times, and I was pretty sure Rach and I could make it on our bikes.  We were going to cut all our hair off so we’d look like boys so people wouldn’t mess with us.  We had $48 in cash, and even better, a couple pieces of gold jewelry that we could trade for tacos for the journey.  Man, we were stupid.

But we were careful to not let anything slip to our parents.  So when midnight on Saturday night came, I got up, got dressed in my “boy clothes” (I really did look like a boy when I was twelve), grabbed my stash of food, pocket knives, can opener, cigarette lighter and of course the gold jewelry, and made my way downstairs.  I made it out the front door.  I got into the apartment complex’s storage room and unlocked my bike.  I headed over to the complex’s laundry room where I’d meet up with Rachel.  I waited.

And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Fortunately, I’d had the sense to leave the front door unlocked in case of Plan B.  Rachel never showed up, so I simply returned to bed.  The next day, there was a cop in our living room lecturing me and Rachel on the dangers of running away from home.  He simply smiled as we adamantly denied our plans of running away.  But I got the message loud and clear:  Mom knew.  Mom always knew.

Now that I’m a mom, I’m not as awestruck by my mom’s sixth sense as I used to be.  After all, kids really aren’t that complicated.  Their faces are pretty easy to read, their actions predictable, their intentions obvious.  I’d almost be inclined to simply call it “wisdom” than call it “a gift”, except that moms always seem to know other things too, like when a doctor’s diagnosis is wrong, or when that 8th jump off the diving board just doesn’t feel right, or when a child doesn’t appear to be sick, but they’re lying in their own vomit.

And thankfully, my mom knew when I was ready to stay home alone the first time.  I was eight and she needed to run some errands.  She felt like I was ready that day.  That day, as she was driving, she was hit by a car on the passenger side.  My mom was injured, but had I been in the passenger seat like I normally would have been, I would have been crushed.  Somehow, she knew I should stay home.  So yeah, I guess it is a gift.

My hope is that my kids will grow up thinking what I thought when I was a kid.  Not so that they are awestricken by my uncanny insight, but because as parents, we represent the heavenly Father to our children.  If thinking that “Mama will find out,” stops them from making a bad choice (like it did for me), that’s great.  But what it really did for me was help me to see how aware and how invested God is in me.  He knows my thoughts of running away.  He knows when I’m playing possum.  He knows when I’m lying in my own vomit.  And better than the best of moms, He knows how to make it alright – because Father knows.  Father always knows.