Paper Towels and Shakespeare

Recently, somehow, we got down to our last roll of paper towels. There was much shock and horror, many questions about how the household would continue to function without such an important supply. Running to Walmart was not going to fit in my schedule for the next couple days, so I put too much faith in Amazon and “figuring it out” and ordered a large pack. We immediately started going through dish towels faster than my laundry pile could keep up.

When I began homeschooling years ago, Shakespeare wasn’t exactly on my radar. I had cute little squishy kids who would maybe care about advanced things like Shakespeare when they were about to move out of the house. That’s the time I’d tackle his writings, I figured. Maybe that’s also when I would begin to appreciate him.

But of course, as is the way with many homeschooling moms, curriculums and methods come and go until there’s finally something that works. For us, that has been Ambleside. A little late to the game but fully invested. And enter: Shakespeare. Le sigh.

We dove into the first play, reading aloud so I could skip chunks as needed. I did not anticipate how invested my older kids would get. Many days they rearrange the books in my Morning Time basket so that Shakespeare will be front and center, which always makes me giggle.

We got to the end of that first play, awaiting our late shipment of paper towels, as it were, and everything came to a halt. No lunch could be had when there was only a matter of pages left. Two kids fully engrossed and demanding to know the ending, one kid bored and scooting around in his chair, one hungry toddler enthusiastically causing mayhem. I read louder and faster and we laughed our way through the terrible ending, though my oldest was distraught.

When I closed the book and turned around, the toddler had dumped both jars of pencils and crayons and flung them around the room. Simple enough to pick up. I started warming up lunch. Then there were shrieks. Said toddler had gotten extra bored and made a pee puddle next to the workout mats we had on the floor. As I whisked him up to a bath, I told the remaining kids to stand against the wall and wait the five minutes for me to come back and give further instruction.

They obeyed, at least initially, then one got a little antsy and I came back down to the pee having been tracked around and underneath the mats. Mmmm. I added “hose down mats” to my mental checklist. Lunch first.

“MOM!!!”

The paper towels had arrived. Turns out, they were just in time.

Through wisdom a house is built,
And by understanding it is established;
By knowledge the rooms are filled
With all precious and pleasant riches.
Proverbs 24:3-4

Slowly we have been filling this little house with knowledge, through books I didn’t foresee reading and many that I couldn’t wait to get our hands on. Scripture always, daily, again and again. “Visit many good books,” Spurgeon said, “but live in the Bible.” The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. We plod along and rub shoulders with others and look up every now and then to realize we’ve grown and matured again. These rooms have been filled with all precious and pleasant riches. Even without paper towels - but we can glean lessons from that, too.

I Get To

The gingerbread frosting ran down the roof and the candies slid down with it, a clearish-white smudge of sugar that should’ve been much thicker and fluffier.

“Well, I guess that’s how it’s going to be today,” shrugged my 8-year-old.

I smiled. He didn’t know that I had been bemoaning my lot in life the day before. Who knew what the day would hold, and I didn’t really feel like facing it. Maybe a child would be up too early or too late, maybe we’d run out of coffee, an appliance might break, something might spill all over the school books - and hopefully not all of these at once, but hey, some days are just like that. I forced myself to change perspectives.

I have to became I get to.

I get to wash dishes again and enjoy a clean kitchen and full bellies.

I get to do laundry and teach my kids how to do it as well.

I get to be the one they come crying to, to help them solve problems and sort out emotions.

I get to create and add magic to the Christmas season, with traditions and decorations and foods. Some they will love, and some they will not - and we will wind up with some pretty great routines in the end.

I get to watch the wonder in their eyes and their excitement as they learn, even if we don’t get to all the material I’d planned.

I get to work to make a clean, inviting home that we can invite others into, knowing we all will have to clean it again when friends leave.

I get to sit and read story after story, expanding their imaginations and throwing hooks into the past for them to hold onto.

I get to learn how to joyfully accept what comes, and flex with the day and my children.

I get to is far more helpful and edifying than I have to.

And someday, I’ll get to drink my coffee while it’s hot too. But lukewarm is how it’ll be today.

If you need a fun, quick idea - make yourself some whipped cream, spread it in a pan, toss on some sprinkles and freeze it. Cut into shapes and store in the freezer. Plop a couple into coffee or hot chocolate.

Stories || Friday Magnify

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt His name together!”
Psalm 34:3

I sat in my comfy chair early one morning, sipping coffee and reading through Judges while waiting or the sun to come up. Outside was dreary, yet I felt the day had so much potential. One kiddo was awake, rolling around in his bed. The baby started stretching and cooing in his crib, and the other two kiddos were still fast asleep. Soon the quiet would become loud with laughter and pattering of feet.

I took a break from writing, for about a year - the days were simply too full. Too tiring, too emotional (and misplaced emotions - or, unchecked emotions - don’t make for good blog posts). I focused on homeschooling and therapy, healing from losing a little human and growing another precious one. Constantly learning all that I could to stay ahead of each child and make sure his needs were being met. It is a marathon, this role of parenting.

Some days, like this one, I wake up and realize that wow! Here we are. All the plodding has amounted to something. I also realize that there are foot- and handprints to clean on the hallway wall, close to the ceiling, from boys who were not interested in bedtime. I realize that I have a pyrotechnic who just proved he can use a lighter well. I realize that at any given moment my sink may not give me water when I need it, because one son enjoys randomly shutting the valves off. I realize that therapy may turn into a dance party and everyone will come unhinged, even the baby.

And I realize that all of these moments come together to make up a pretty good life. God writes the best stories, doesn’t He?

The Gift of Time || Friday Magnify

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!”
Psalm 34:3

The pot full of dill caught my eye, and I plucked a stem and spun the flower between my fingers. I hadn’t planted it myself; my six-year-old son had dumped way too many seeds in a starter pot, months ago, and per usual they all sprouted. I laughed, thinking of his natural green thumb. Even the morning glories he had placed along the fence were forcefully pushing their way through the weeds I’ve been neglecting.

As I watch my children grow, it amazes me to see that everything they are has been there since the beginning. One boy studying nature, and trying to defy gravity every chance he gets. One who is forever building, with all the things, and asking all the questions. And though we will always be learning about each child, the interests of our younger two are still emerging. One tells me about animals as he’s gaining words in his vocabulary. The baby (yes, there are four kiddos now!) goes with the flow and grins and speaks his mind when needed.

Each stage with each child is new and exciting. Each child is similar to those dill seeds, formed with all their potential right from the beginning. Time is a beautiful thing, a gift to watch each flower bloom.