Work and Joy

Recently we were singing the hymn "Go Forth with Faith" in church. When we sang, "Go forth with faith to tell the world the joy of families," I felt a little troubled. It wasn't a week where I was feeling the joy too much. The laundry had piled up when the belt in our washing machine broke. It was my turn to drive the kindergarten carpool (and listen to the endless rounds of, "He's not buckled." "Stop that!" and "He's kicking my chair!") The solar oven I had been excited about was failing dismally (and so were my dinner plans.) And I was feeling like a mother with three children under the age of five and a husband who is working full time while earning his MBA.

A couple days passed. My children were peacefully painting our driveway with sidewalk chalk, and I was musing about the relationship between work and joy. Yes, a young family provides a sometimes insurmountable amount of work.

But it also provides joy and satisfaction. I don't think you can have true joy without work. The joy of holding a newborn baby comes after nine months of (often) miserable pregnancy and at least a few hours of hard labor. The joy of watching a child make good choices comes after years of teaching, training, loving, and setting a very conscious example.

Do families bring joy?

Yes, yes, and yes.

They are a lot of hard work. But joy doesn't come any other way.

No Debate Here

I know that in some circles hereditary and environmental factors are debated in gender traits. At our house, we've never had to wonder.

Shortly after turning one, Jake became obsessed with construction and farm equipment. At age three he developed fierce loyalty to John Deere. And he still often claims that he will be a construction worker when he grows up. (We smile and say, "Oh, really?")

The summer Abby turned one she spontaneously started slinging purses up her arm and toting dolls around. She still likes to carry, pat, rock, and put her dolls to sleep. It's adorable.

Now at age one Grace wants nothing to do with Jake's rather impressive tractor collection. But she goes nuts when she sees Abby's hair bows. She often motions for us to put several bows or headbands on her at once.

She loves purses...

And hats...

And dolls.

Heredity or environment? No debate here.

Danger

Let me start by saying that I may only have one eye, but I don't like to think of myself as blind or handicapped. I have to swallow hard when people assume I can't read as well. And it was a bit of a blow a few weeks ago when Jake covered one eye and announced, "I'm blind like Mommy!" That being said, I have recently discovered one situation where I feel, uh, shall we say handicapped? The elementary school parking lot.

Yes, I know that driving through a parking lot teeming with small children (and the occasional small animal) could make anyone anxious. But I can't shift my minivan into reverse in that parking lot without being just sure that someone is about to be catapulted into the ER. I crane my neck first over one shoulder then the other. I adjust my seat. I occasionally open a window to be certain. I inch slowly backwards. I pause and marvel that I haven't heard the thumping sound of someone becoming one with the pavement. I inch farther. Several minutes later, I emerge from the parking lot.

I've decided that perhaps I should post the following sign in my back window:

Unfortunately, the people I worry about most are the ones who are too small to be seen and too young to read how imperiled their lives are about to become. And one look at my sign would surely convince some cell-phone wielding driver one vehicle over that I needed a police escort. I'm sure the carpooling kindergarteners in my backseat would love to see the inside of a cop car. I would not.

Sigh. I guess I'll keep craning my neck. Or perhaps I'll just attach a loudspeaker to my bumper. "Attention, please. If you value your scholastic potential, step away from my minivan."

Shady Happenings

With temperatures soaring into triple digits for the next few days, I am unusually grateful for the large apricot tree in our backyard. Not only does it supply more apricot products than we ever consume in a year, but this week it keeps the princess picnics we have back here while Jake's in school a little cooler.

I suppose to the untrained eye this would look like a pretty messy backyard. To me it looks like the makings of a happy childhood as Abby and Grace eat, swing, slide, dig, play catch, and best of all, giggle together. It's the best of summer.

Thank goodness for a little shade.

Small Moments

Last weekend I was running errands and the kids suggested we stop by the splash pad park for a bit. We had swim suits in the van but no towels. Of course, wet car seats were a small price to pay for their shrieks of delight and huge grins. It was by far the highlight of my day. (Bless the inventor of splash pads!)

Motherhood joy comes in spontaneous, fleeting moments. You have to savor it while you can.

Wings to Fly

This week my life changed forever. The cozy little cocoon I have woven the last 5 years is going to be broken open, whether almost imperceptibly, strand by strand, or in a handful of recognizable blows. Jake started kindergarten.

Call me melodramatic. I know, I know. The word “kindergarten” draws up mental images of finger painting five-year-olds and other benign scenes. But along the way he will hear words and be introduced to ideas he’s never heard in our sheltered four walls. Recently we became aware of the fact that a boy in our neighborhood who goes to that school has pornography on his phone and tries to share it with other boys. Pornography. There aren’t many more terrifying words for the mother of a young boy.

What will Jake be exposed to next week, next month, next year, or sometime during his mortal journey here on earth? I don’t know. All I know is that something deep within whispers that the goal of parenting isn’t to forever shelter, and thus cripple, my children. If it were, a loving Father wouldn’t have sent us here. Parenting is about preparing my children to choose joy and, in the process, giving them wings to fly.