September 20, 2011

Dear JackRabbit–

When you were in kindergarten I could not fathom how you, too, would one day be a gangly little second grader. Those kids seemed huge compared to your little round-faced smallness. And now here you are– one of them.

You are so independent lately. The other night I was too tired to wake you up so that you’d go to the bathroom. Daddy usually does that when he and I come upstairs to bed… and I’ve done a good job of it while Daddy’s been in Japan– but that night I was too tired. I went into my room and laid down and dozed off– only to wake up when I heard your feet hit your floor and pad down the hall to the bathroom all by yourself! I was so proud of you and (bonus!) was very happy to have you snuggle up with me in my bed for the rest of the night.

You’re helping me take care of your school things and the dogs. You’re making great choices about your lunches and clothes. When it’s homework time you don’t complain — you just work to get it done. In the car you buckle yourself in. You’re trying new foods. And new words.

You love space. Anything space related captures you. There’s StarWars, of course– but also astronauts and planets and dwarf planets and the temperature and distance of the sun. You read these things and store them up for the car rides to school when they come out in the form of, “MOMmy! Did you know that….” or as a question (some of which requires me to do some googling…)

This past Sunday afternoon I offered to ride bikes with you. You were very excited and we walked toward the garage– only to be intercepted by your pal Colin. (“Backyard Colin, Mommy, not Colin H-.”) I saw the hesitation in your eyes and sent you off to play with Colin– he wanted to show you his friend and the deer stand his Dad had put together in their backyard. “Mom– I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we can go riding, okay?” I weeded while you walked around the corner with Colin and listened for your chatter. I don’t get you all to myself anymore– you have friends and plans. I realize how lucky I am that you are still excited about coming back to go for a bike ride with me.

It’s really neat to see you growing up. I still don’t know how we got from the hospital– just yesterday or last week– to this point– but I have loved every day of it.

This has been a great year– you had such a good time with Ms. Hughes in first grade; went to that fun rental cabin for Thanksgiving with Momma & Eric (and us, too); became a Tiger Scout; came up with being a “Capital One Viking” for Halloween; visited Disney World with AunT & Maddie & Keegan– and had a week’s worth of fun adventures there and the way to Florida and back; worked out with the big kids at soccer camp; “oh!’ed at the explosions at Science Camp; went up to The Lake for a week; went to waterparks; read all sorts of new books; discovered Phineas & Ferb and Lego StarWars; got baptized; spent a week at Family Camp… really, an awful lot of adventures for a seven year old.

Seven. It’s just so hard to believe.

I love you, sweet baby. I love being your Mommy. I love watching you discover things and figure things out. I love hearing you sound out words (“dis-entry” and “Chor-lee” came out a few weeks ago while you were playing Oregon Trail on my iPhone). I love that you are beginning to think about things in a true inquirer fashion. “MOMmy! Daddy! Is that a good learner question?” I love watching you sort out where the wiggle room is on negotiations with us (that 7:30 bedtime is still a sore spot. “Daddy! Damon goes to bed at 9 o’clock!”)

And I love that I can still convince you that baked egg cups are exactly what young jedis eat.

I wouldn’t change a single hair on your head– except to somehow make time go a little slower. Still– as you say you are “to be continued” and I’m excited to see how what happens next.

I hope tomorrow is a happy 7th birthday. It’s strange to plan this without your Daddy here to help me. I’ll do the things he would do if he were here and not on his business trip to Japan– I’ll cover your floor with balloons and give you lots of kisses at 4:01 p.m. when you are officially 7. And AunT & Keegan will be on hand to sing with your church family and buddies after choir practice. (Miss Claudia’s even making spaghetti especially for you!)

I love you so very, very much,

Mommy

If they could just stay little till their malaprops wear out

I love when Jack gets a word wrong. It’s happening less and less — he’s growing out of it.

This week it’s been “Per-ish-my”

Me: Do you mean “Perish me?” like “Perish me the thought?” (I was already wracking the brain trying to figure out which of his movies or books had that in it…

Jack: No. Perishmy. You know– like Rite Aid Perishmy.

Me: Oh– yes. Jack, that’s pharmacy.

Jack: Oh.

And then, today, another little gift– Jack talking about ” the cute little dogs with curly ears”… you know– Cocker Daniels.

In light of my oldest niece heading off to college I’m really beginning to question the natural order of things. It’d be really nice to get little children to stay little for twice as long… and also the lovely, new adults that high school seniors turn into over the last summer before college. It doesn’t seem fair that just when you think– hey! there’s a girl I’d like to spend lots of time with! she’s off on the first leg of her trip to the real world.

Sigh.

 

The echo makes it kind of hard to concentrate…

You realize how much you enjoy the people you work with when you spend a long, lonely week at the office by yourself. I looked forward to the two maintenance guys coming in every day to empty the wastebaskets (well, my wastebasket– noone was using the other wastebaskets…)

The main campus is pretty quiet. Most of the offices are on skeleton staffs between the summer break and vacations. A lot of the people still remaining are on weird schedules trying to accommodate their kids’/grandkids’ schoolless schedule.

Not that I didn’t get a lot done. I caught up on everybody’s plan and contacted a bunch of our students, returned phone calls… and– bonus– figured out how to hook up the laptop to the overhead projector so that I could play movies in the background. Eleanor and Marianne Dashwood and the ladies of Cranford kept me company. (The trick was to pick movies that I know so well that I could still read plans and files without getting lost in the story…)

Meanwhile, Jack was at science camp in the University science labs. He was just across the pathway from where I work– so we’ve come in every morning together. I walk him to his class and then up to the quiet office. At 12:30 he finished and I’d close up the computer and the file cabinet and walk across to meet him. A few times this week we ate lunch in the cafeteria which he thought was great. He filled his plate with his favorites– pizza and broccoli and melon. I introduced him to the big milk dispensers that dispense cold, cold milk. Between the milk and the cool explosions in the science demonstrations I’m pretty sure he’s sold on the idea of higher education. The ping pong tables in the student union will definitely tip the scales.

Monday it all goes back to normal. Wally will be back. Jack will be across campus in soccer camp.

But I’ll kind of miss the Dashwoods.

Proof that Motherhood has chipped away at your selfishness…

When you use your birthday Borders gift card on the book that your six year old son picks out for himself. Sigh.

 

End of First Grade Year

Jack’s last full day of First Grade is today. I don’t ever remember a year flying by as quickly as this one has. Back in September he was a round faced baby. Today he’s long and thin. The roundness is gone from his face– he has little cheekbones and a chin.

Jack’s always liked books– once he was old enough to hold his little board books he was hooked. And he’s long been able to absorb himself in one. It used to be the little books we’d read to him at night. He’d seek them out during the day and sit quietly looking at the pictures and sometimes mimicking the voices we used when we read the stories in them. We’d read Goodnight Moon even before he was born and it was one of his favorites to “read” to himself. Now he can sit with a book full of words and read to himself. I marvel at that. Constantly I’m told how lucky we are to have a little boy that loves to read– and I appreciate that– but more so I’m glad that he will have the same book friends and siblings and adventures I did when I was little.

At school there’s a lot of to-do about the “Learner Profile” and the attributes of a learner. Jack will try new food now and announce, “MOMmy! I’m being a risk-taker!” He’ll comfort one of us when we are tired and tell us, “MOMmy! I’m being caring!” Lately he’s been into the concept of “principled” which has led to some interesting conversations and explanations. How do you explain “justice” and “fair” to a 6 year old?

I’m heading out to a little end-of-year party that the First grade and Kindergarten teachers are throwing for the kids. I’m looking forward to seeing Jack and his buddies and their younger compatriots. We have the whole summer stretching in front of us– it’s been too long since we’ve had a whole day to fill together. I’m looking forward to it. And to soaking up every bit of the last parts of First Grade Jack before he turns into a Second Grader.

Jack: MOMmy! Are you sad that I am growing up so so fast?
Me: Yes, Jacky. I wish I could keep you little and small and just mine longer.
Jack: I can’t not grow, Mommy.
Me: I know, Jack. Just not too fast, okay?/
Jack: Okay. Can we snuggle now?

 

Goals

Jack’s soccer coach is a good friend of ours. We go to church together. Jack and his son are in the first grade together. I have his daughters in youth group. I’ve known his wife for over 20 years. But we do not take his coaching for granted. Each Saturday, after we coax Jack off the field, we make our way back to the car. It’s a zig-zagging walk with Jack kicking his soccer ball and munching on whatever snack the team had at the end of the game. Robby is loaded with our chairs. I have the camera and our drinks. When we get in the car it is inevitable that one of us– Robby or I– will breathe some sigh of gratitude for gentle Coach Dan.

Coach Dan’s approach is to make sure that all the kids have a good time. That they all get to play. That they learn to work together as a team. That they learn the rules of the game. Winning is great when it happens– and when it reinforces what he’s taught them about working together. Being good sports. And losing is okay, too– as long as they did their best. Worked together. Were good sports.

It’s not that he doesn’t instill any competition in them– it’s not a philosophy of “everyone’s a winner!’ because that’s not true. On our team there are 1st and 2nd grade boys. A few are really good players. They move the ball down the field. They kick solidly. They look for openings to pass to their teammates. And a few of our boys are always slightly behind and unsure about whether to jump in or not. Jack, by the way, is somewhere in the middle and improving with each practice and each game. We’re proud of him getting in there with the bigger boys and holding his own. He’s one of the two smallest on the field each week but he’s quick. And he’s a decent goalie.

This week our little yellow-shirt guys played the black-shirt team. The field looked like a swarm of bumblebees at times. It was a tense game. The black team was aggressive. They threw elbows and tried to trip our players. When our goalie caught the ball they tried to kick it out of his hands. A no-no in the 1st/2nd grade rules. We quickly discovered that it wasn’t really the boys on their team that were the problem– it was their red-faced screaming coach. He yelled constantly.

Such bon mots as:
“Get in there! Get them out of your way!”
“Forget what the ref told you– you play like I tell you to!” (that’s our favorite)
“You just stay in that goal. He’ll throw the ball in.” (this when his goalie wasn’t performing as well as he’d like…)
“That should be a goal” (said to his angry team after the ball was stopped by our goalie then kicked out of his hands into the net… the ref immediately shook his head and said, “no goal.” Red-faced screaming coach was not pleased…)

By the second quarter it dawned on us that while our parents were cheering our boys on equally– even the ones who’s names we get confused— their parents were sitting silently. Were they afraid of their coach, too?

By the third quarter Robby was pacing the sidelines and yelling things such as, “Thank you for NOT using your elbows, Jack! That’s the way to play!” We started consoling some of their team members– when their coach yelled at one of them for not throwing the ball in as well as he might have we quickly yelled, “It’s okay! You’re doing great!”

One of their team took a ball to the face. Hard. His face immediately crumpled and the tears rolled down his cheeks. The refs hesitated– usually the 6/7 year old runs off the field to a parent and another kid is substituted for a few minutes… Big red-faced screaming coach would have none of that. “You shake that off! You’re fine. Stop!” Have you seen a sobbing 7 year old trying to stop crying while playing soccer? It’s not an easy sight.

By the last quarter the worst kid on their team– the one that used his elbows liberally, sending them flying into the ribs, shoulders, necks, and guts of our boys– and his teammate who had tripped at least 6 of our players– were ejected by the referee. (The refs, by the way, are high school kids who play on their varsity teams. They’re great with our little guys.) Elbow-boy it turns out is their coach’s son. Big red-faced screaming coach positioned his remaining players by yanking their shirts hard and berating them for moving too far up or lagging to far behind.

Meanwhile, in contrast, our Coach Dan was working the field, too. Encouraging our boys and praising them when they passed the ball to each other. When a ball shot passed our goalie Coach Dan was at his side giving him tips. The little slumped shoulders on the goalie were straightened in seconds. When our defense crept up too far Coach Dan called out their names and they quickly scuttled back with his, “Good job boys!” following them.

The game was a tie at the end. We were up by two and then they made one goal (“I guess you just needed to get mad! Feels good, doesn’t it?”) and then another.

I’ve seen my fair of bad coaches. My parents were referees for high school, junior high school, and college sports during my entire childhood. And I know that by the time you get to high school most of the red-faced screamers are a thing of the past. (I wish it was “all” but I’ll take “most”.)

When our season started we were minus our good Coach Dan. He was in the hospital. So his youngest daughter ran drills at practice and worked with the boys. Mo is initially quiet. Our boys love her. She’s just older enough (she’s in 8th grade) to be revered. Feared even. We joked that practice that she could legally do things that Coach Dan could not– there were threats she could make to get our boys to fall in line that he could be arrested for… but it was just joking. They listened to Mo because she is, truly, her father’s daughter. At their first game she ran the field with them calling out reminders and cheering them on. When our goalie missed two shots in a row she flew over and stood in the net with him to remind him of how they’d practiced. If Coach Dan had a riotous head of thick hair with a ponytail that defies gravity– well, it was easy to mistake her for a minute.

On one of the quarters when Jack was off the field he came over for a drink of water and a “snuggle! Mommy I want to sit with you!” So he crawled up on my lap to watch part of the game.
Me: I wonder if David Beckham snuggles with his Mommy at soccer games?
Jack: Who’s David Bechham?
Me: He’s a famous soccer player. And he’s handsome like you, too.
Jack: [snuggle]

Red-faced screaming coach would not be pleased.

Attention disorder

Webinar, is quite possibly, one of the dumbest words I’ve ever encountered. Our new dean has hosted a couple. I’m struggling to pay attention. I am paying attention. Sort of.

I’m also making lists in my head of the things I need to do later today and later tonight. Wondering when I’ll get through the “ASAP” folder I keep in my satchel. Wishing I had about 8 more hours in the day to tackle all the chores I’m putting off…

And trying to figure out where in the blue blazes the last 8 months have gone– how is it already the end of Jack’s first grade year? On the way to school today I looked at my little man sitting in the back seat of the rental car (my poor truck is in the shop being held hostage by a part that may or may not be available at the end of the month). Jack was flipping through his StarWars sticker book completely happy. Lately he’s been sprouting again– his legs are longer, his face is thinner– the roundness of his babyhood is gone completely.

My birthday sucked this year. It didn’t feel like an extra-ordinary day. Just an ordinary day. I have a healthy appreciation for ordinary days– I realize that, in itself, an ordinary day is a gift and blahblahblah. But birthdays are NOT to be ordinary. They are to be pink-colored days with magic around each corner. My day was a great Saturday but a terrible birthday.

I read a book this weekend. A satisfying novel set in the late 1950s in the South. I put off some of the things I should have done and finished the book instead.

A norovirus or noro-esque virus is making it’s way through the campus where I work. The email they sent out today made me wish i knew where my little bottle of Purell was. I’m pretty sure it might be what I’d had last week. I was hit with some mysterious Thing that knocked me out for a good 36 hours.

Graduation is this weekend so, for the most part, there’s the sense that there’s just a few days to get through before all the undergrads have left with their futons and mini-refrigerators. A big chunk of the staff will be gone in a short time, too. Then they’ll disinfect the dorms and common areas I suppose.

Our television shows (that we don’t have time to watch but do anyway) are wrapping up their seasons. So far we’ve had to stomach the ousting of our beloved Cowboys on Amazing Race and the close-but-no-cigar finish of our second favorite team– Mallory and Gary (Daughter/Father). We’re hoping Boston Rob somehow makes it to the end of Survivor– because we were so afraid in the beginning that he’d be knocked out before it really started. Oprah’s about to go off the air– which will leave a pop-culture watercooler void for a while till we get used to it. We’re oddly fascinated with Sister Wives– the TLC show about a polygamist family. We watch it after Jack has gone to bed (actually– 90% of our viewing is done after Jack goes to bed, come to think about it). Kody Brown (stupid name, by the way) and his four wives are strangely normal in one minute until you remember, “Wait. They’re all married to each other. This is weird.” We’re curious as to how NBC is continually cleansing our palettes between the exit of Steve Carrell and the entrance of the next manager of Dundler-Mifflin. (Some might say that Will Ferrill’s character was atrocious… I say it was brilliant. As is the timing– had “Michael Scott” walked out in the last episode of the current season then the next season would have had an odd rhythm until it found its feet again… ) In the TiVo cargo hold there is a wealth of the new Deadliest Catch eps. We’ll have a mini-marathon some night when we have a chance.

I want to go to Chicago. I want to go away for the night without any responsibility other than “Do not lose hotel key.” I want a grown up weekend. I want to eat dinner at 9:30 p.m. at a restaurant without any children. I want to walk around Rush Street at midnight and watch the people and listen to the snippets of live music coming out of the bars. And then I want to find some silly thing to bring back home to Jack who will have his own adventures to tell us about.

I also want this nice lady on the webinar to shush. She’s throwing too much data at us right now. More than two sentences at a time shouldn’t start with a percentage number. She’s just told us to think outside the box. Sigh.

The coffee shop on campus uses a martini shaker to make the iced-tea. It’s brilliant. And it’s particularly silly because this isn’t just a dry campus– it’s a culture that shuns alcohol. Every time there is a line when I order an iced-tea I wonder how many of the students standing in it watch my tea being made and then think, “Oh! That’s what that thing is for! I’ve seen them in the movies…”

I haven’t been to a movie since– uh. I don’t remember when. I think the last one might have been The King’s Speech? I want to see Jane Eyre and Water for Elephants.

Water for Elephants was a good book. Robby and I read it on the way to Florida. My sister had suggested it. “Can we read it with Jack in the car?,” I’d asked. She thought for a minute– “Oh yes! He’ll love it– it’s about a veterinarian working at a circus…” I think it was the second chapter when the hooch tent entered the plot. We quickly decided to read it when he had his little headphones on with the portable DVD player. By the time we got to Florida– where Trish and her girls were waiting we’d read all but the last three chapters. “What, pray tell, were you smoking when you said that ‘sure!’ we could read that to Jack?” Trish blinked, “What?” “Uh, the fact that there’s a liberal sprinkling of the uck word? the graphic description of the stripper? the violent beatings? the unresolved sexual tension of the husband, wife, and Jacob?” There was a long pause. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that.” [Trish would sum up Jaws as that nice movie about the beach trip...]

Well. Webinar is done. There are 8 of us in here and 6 of us just laughed at the sign off of the second host, “Thank you Dr. Ruth.” Poor Ruths with doctorates.

Ranting raving and now not so mad

I’ve been busy lately. Maybe you’ve noticed the lack of posts. I didn’t realize how busy until tonight. There was a big conference at work, which moved some of the normal work to the back burner until I could catch back up… and then our Youth Sunday that hits this week. In there, too was a trip to Florida for Spring Break (more on that in a few days), and a Tiger Scout uniform that needed patches, a cabaret show featuring the oldest niece, Easter, the book fair and teaching an art program at Jack’s school, and a backlog of household chores that may require the governor declaring our house a state of emergency.

The three of us went to church for Jack’s choir rehearsal and supper. I’d dropped the boys (Husband and Jack) and ran a quick errand then met them in the sanctuary where the run-through for the Mother’s Day Musical was well in progress. I slipped into one of the front pews to watch the kids practice.

One of the Musical Moms scolded me for not helping out with the musical more. At first I was shocked. Then I was peeved. And then I was pissed. It’s not like I’m just showing up on Chreaster. I’m on the board. I’m a lay leader. I’m in the youth room every Sunday with the teenagers.

The things I should have said came to me later– things I would have said coated with thick layers of karo syrupy sweetness, “I’d love to be more involved in the children’s musical– and I’ll be glad to have your help every Sunday in the youth room! That will be super!”

But instead I was flustered and said something about doing what I could do but that I wouldn’t be at the rehearsal on Saturday and I didn’t know if I’d be there for Wednesday’s…

The annoying thing is that Robby IS there. It’s been a busy couple of months for me so Robby took on the “little boy wrangling” that is needed for the choir rehearsals. Our family is represented.

The real issue, of course, is that there are 6 boys aged 6-7… they’re all lively on their own. Combined they end up with super-powers. And they seem to multiply. The little guys freak out the two women who assist the director. They prefer the little girls who, admittedly, are less likely to figure out a way to swing from the balcony. (Of course, given enough slack, those little girls could raise a ruckus. One, in particular, would be happier if only she could be lumped in with the boys.)

I love those ruckus-raising boys. I love their goofy glee at being given foam tipped spears. (Here’s a tip– don’t arm them. They’re boys.) And I’m not as blind to the imperfections of the girls since the narrator’s phone is a constant source of irritation in my Sunday school class. I’m more annoyed with the snippy attitude of one of the older girls (who SHOULD be in youth group but never is…) who rolls her eyes and says terrible things in front of the little ones and unfamiliar adults such as, “Well I don’t know how I became the school whore…” (Yes, really.)

Robby, for his part, is doing a bang-up job holding down the fort with the little guys and representing us. I’m grateful he’s recognized that I’m overtaxed this quarter and that he’s quietly taken up the slack.

Anyway. Tonight made me realize that I’ve been a little overwhelmed. And it’s reminded me to say “no” when I need to… and that there will be people that cannot be pleased. And that the scolding I got was due to the other mom’s own over-extensions.

The evening ended nicely. We sat with one of our favorite church families and laughed about the fat lip and black eye that one of our favorite church daughters had accumulated from her sister and mother in a series of accidents that had the entire table alternating between laughing and “poor baby!”

And the Mother’s Day Musical is going to be great this year. Jack has a couple of lines and some great props– in addition to the spear he also gets to wield a whistle and a bike horn. Forgive me if I forget to reign him in.

iPad aPad iWant

Last night I didn’t win an imaginary iPad. There was a lecture at the University given by Dr. Quentin Schultze. I’d gone to hear what he had to say about social media and faith. The room was packed with undergrads. Robby was impressed that so many would come out on a miserable, cold night. “Are they all getting extra credit or is this required?”

Turned out there was an iPad giveaway. I didn’t know about it. But for a second it was exciting to think we might come by one… We’d given up our second row seats to let the college kids sit nearer to Schultze… Robby and I leaned against some tables in the back corner. I watch enough Oprah to know that it was possible that somehow it might be underneath a chair. And, with our luck, it would be the chairs we’d given up.

The lecture was good. Worth an iPad. It made us both think about the connections we’ve made using social media as well as the time we’ve frittered because the lure of facebook is strong. The iPad was won by a boy who had the closest birthday to the founder of the college. They were out of iPads in our town– he got the promise of one.

Meanwhile, at our house, Jack has his own imaginary iPad. He calls it his “aPad.” We don’t know how the a replaced the i… only that it’s logical to him. Occasionally he plays “Angry Birds” or “Ninja Fruit” on his aPad (AunT has an iPhone…). It’s equipped with a front camera, apparently, because he uses his to talk to GeorgiaBear (who also has one) on his way to school. He also receives “reports” on his aPad and weather warnings.

Maybe I can borrow Georgia’s while Jack’s at school?

The Gospel According to Jack

Tonight at our Ash Wednesday service Jack squirmed his way through the sermon. He and the other little people provided most of the music for the short service which included both communion and the disposition of ashes. Jack was skeptical about the latter. He held our hands as we approached Pastor Sue. I leaned down to try to explain it again, “This is a way to show that we love Jesus. That we think God is in charge.”

I realize that this is oversimplifying things– to say the least– but lately that’s how Jack has understood God. “Mommy and Daddy are in charge of me. I am in charge of Georgia, my son [Teddy Bear]. God is in charge of our house.”

Last year we took Jack to the Ash Wednesday service, too– so he was trying to take in the information we were giving him on the walk to Pastor Sue while trying to remember what it had been like last year. “It doesn’t hurt,” I added. Jack nodded and looked a little less apprehensive.

Pastor Sue got down to his level. Robby held back Jack’s hair so that she could make the smudgy little cross on his forehead. “Repent and believe in the gospel, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “Okay.” And then trotted back to our pew.

Repent. Believe. Okay.

We should all keep it so simple. Repent. Believe. Okay.

 

+++

The other day I laid in bed wishing that NPR wasn’t about to “wake” me up. I savored the last few minutes of the pre-alarm morning and tried to make out what it was Jack was chattering to Georgia the Bear down the hall. Thump. Thump. Thumpety thumpety thumpety.

Jack: Mommy?

Me: Yes, Jack?

Jack crawled into bed and snuggled into bed next to me. “Mommy, I don’t think today is going to be a good day at school.”

Me: Why? It’s a brand new day, sweetpea– why don’t you think it’s going to be a good day?

Jack: (sighing) I just don’t. I don’t think I’ll be very good today.

Me: Well… do you think it would help if we said a little prayer and asked God to help you today?

Jack: Okay.

Me: Dear God– please watch over my Jack today and help him to be a good boy and to have a good day at school…

Jack: Amen.

We went downstairs and ate breakfast and got ready for school. Jack chattered on about other things. At school we hung up his little coat and deposited his lunchbox in the bin and did our usual ritual of kissing each other’s palm. At the door of his classroom we said goodbye and I turned to walk back to the exit.

Jack: Mommy!

Me: What baby? Did you forget something?

Jack’s eyes were big and solemn and pleading, “Mommy. I just don’t think still that it’s going to be a good day.”

Me: Sweet boy–I’ll say prayers all day, okay? Will that help?

Jack sadly shook his head, “Okay. Thanks, Mommy.”

All day I wondered how it was going at school. His teacher, the good Ms. H never called so I took it as a good sign and hoped for the best. I punctuated every task with a little prayer hoping that he was doing okay.

When I went to pick him up he came running down the hall towards me.

Jack: Mommy! Mommy! I was green today! I was good!

Me: Awesome! I said prayers for you all day. I’m so glad you had a good day!

Jack: Mommy! I was so good I didn’t need Jesus!

 

+++

I should note somewhere that we’ve been having conversations with Pastor Sue about Jack being baptized. Jack’s been bringing it up lately and we’re taking our cues from him. Pastor Sue has been slipping in some questions for Jack lately to see where he is on the matter.

He gets it. She gets that he gets it.

And that was brought home at the Ash Wednesday service. When we went up for communion Jack stayed behind in the pew– we were in the first one so we were only two steps away in the aisle to take the bread and grape juice from Pastor Sue. I took communion. Robby took communion. We rejoined Jack. When Pastor Sue’s line was finished she came over to where we sat and bent down to Jack, “Jack this is for you– this is the body and blood of Jesus for you. Jesus loves you, Jack.” And just like that Jack took his first communion. No big bells or whistles or special clothes– just Jack with a smudgy forehead and a choir robe that was just this much too long. He took it sitting down between his mom and dad. And afterwards he beamed.

Okay.