This is Special

I bought this tiny Nativity scene from a tiny door-to-door salesman. A kid in the neighborhood, fund raiser for school. We've had it for a few years. Zach was about 4 years old the first time I set out this miniature scene. I had taken time to arrange the baby Jesus in the center, flanked by Mary and Joseph and then circled the others around them. I made sure each person was facing baby Jesus even though you wouldn't be able to see their faces. Drives me crazy to see a Nativity scene set up with the people facing out, like they are on stage or something.

But back to Zach and special. After setting it up just perfectly, I went on my way. The next time I passed by the Nativity, I gasped. Someone had flicked the family about, scattered the sheep and roughed up the others. And the angel was missing. I re-set the scene, everyone facing the baby Jesus, and recovered the angel from underneath a chair.

Next time through, same story. Frustrated I re-set the scene and found Zach. "No touching." Whatever.

Repeat this about 70 times and then feel relieved when I say January 1st rolled around and I packed up the mini nativity. Both Zach and I could relax. He could remove "wreck Nativity" from his to-do list and I could remove "fix Nativity" from mine.

Oh but the next Christmas I just had to try again. I'm sure Zach saw it all set up and thought, "Hmmm, I remember this. It's going to be a busy month for me and Mommy." We went round and round, neither of us giving in. Sometimes, if Zach were in a hurry, instead of going piece by piece on the knockdown, he'd just pull the fake snow out from under the whole scene. Done.

A third Christmas and it's deja vu for both of us. Just put it away, you say? But it's cute and I like it. Just punish Zach, you say? But he's cute and I like him.

The photo above is current. I set up the mini Nativity this year, same as the last few years. But something's different this year and I don't mean the R2-D2 beside the angel. Zach hasn't touched one single piece. Not one. The Nativity scene just sits there undisturbed with all the people facing in the right direction.

I'm sad. The routine of me setting up the scene and Zach knocking it down is no more. He's grown out of it. I should be proud of his self-control, his understanding, his development and I am but our routine was special. He is special. This memory is special.

Maybe just once for old times' sake, Zach will wheel by the Nativity and give the snow a quick yank. Just for kicks, for laughs. Just to say, "Hey Mommy, remember all those times I messed this up and you fixed it?"

Yes I remember.




Our resident Star Wars fan slipped R2-D2 into the scene (and faced him in the right direction.) Although I can't explain how I know, I know it wasn't done in sarcasm. My disclaimer. Didn't want to give the impression that we mock the Nativity around here. We don't.

Wasn't-My-Fault Wednesdays

On Wednesdays the boys bring home folders brimming with graded papers, important notes and the dreaded behavior charts. Jake's chart is printed on yellow card stock so it's referred to as the yellow card.

Two Wednesdays ago the yellow card tattled that Ms.B discovered unfinished papers in Jake's desk. This prompted her to write "very disappointed" on the yellow card. I, too, was disappointed since that is the current method of discipline I'm using. The I'm-so-disappointed-guilt-trip method. Jake explained that it wasn't his fault that those papers were crammed into the dark corners of his desk. He didn't know Ms. B wanted those turned in. I saw his point. Really, how often do teachers assign work and expect students to complete it and turn it in?

Last Wednesday Jake slinked up to me after school and complained of a stomach ache and oh, his head too. I lovingly touched his blond locks. Could it be the start of swine flu? Regular flu? The common cold? Not enough sleep? Poor eating habits? Where had I gone wrong as his mother?

I kept him close as we walked to the car, carrying his backpack for him. In his weakened state the load of the Wednesday fol...wait a minute. Wednesday folder. Yellow card. I had a hunch about this sudden illness and proved it when I pulled the screaming yellow card from the folder.

Oh my. An S- in conduct. Can't stop talking when the teacher is talking. Disappointed the teacher and now his mother once again. Feeling the guilt in his tummy even before I had served up today's helping. I asked him about the talking.

"But I wasn't talking," he claimed.

"So Ms. B said you were talking but you weren't."

"Yeah."

"Why would she mark this on your card?"

"I don't know. I was at their table but I wasn't talking."

"Whose table. Why weren't you at your table?"

"I was just seeing if they needed any help."

"And you could do that without talking?"

"Yes, but she said I was talking and made me go back to my table."

"I think it would be best for you not to be so helpful," I suggested. "What happens if you're caught talking?"

"You get a warning."

"And what about the next time?"

"You miss 10 minutes of recess."

"Did you miss 10 minutes of recess today because of this?"

"No I did not."

Relieved, I said, "Well that's good. I'd hate to know you missed 10 minutes of play because you can't be quiet."

"Well, I didn't miss 10 minutes of recess, I missed 15."

"What? 15!"

"Yeah, the first 10 were because of talking but the extra 5 wasn't my fault. That's when I was trying to help her, you know at the other table? I was seeing if those kids needed help with their work."

"So Ms. B unfairly gave you 5 minutes."

"Yeah, really, it wasn't my fault."

Of course it wasn't sweetie. Those teachers are just so unfair that way, expecting kids to do their work, keep quiet and stay in their seats. I'll have a word with your teacher right away.

I did speak to Ms. B the following day, just to be sure there wasn't anything more to Jake's chatty behavior than chatty behavior. She confirmed that Jake is talkative and friendly and sometimes needs a reminder to listen and do his work. She told me something else too. Something mothers live to hear. She said "Jacob is very polite and he has a big heart. Many children are polite but they don't all know right from wrong or have big hearts."

Jake's off the hook for this Wednesday, no school today. He's in the front yard building a fort with his buddies, not thinking about good behavior. But one week from today will be a different story when Wednesday comes around. We'll look at the yellow chart together and I'll let him know when I'm disappointed. We'll talk about ways he can do better but we'll talk about things he does well too. And I'll be certain to remind him of his big, big heart.

Quotes I Love

"Have a little faith."


Jake's response to me when I said we probably weren't going to win the $10,000 cash prize from the Subway peel and win game.

The Meaning of Meaningless Conversations

"Does Ms. B still need a new pencil sharpener?" I asked Jake as we walked into school.

"No, maybe. We have two pencil sharpeners in the room," he answered. "There's one that plugs in and then there's the, you know, school one."

"I was just wondering if anybody had brought in a new pencil sharpener because I read on Ms. B's website she'd like a new one."


"Well the one is pretty good and then the other one, like with a, um, what's that thing?"

"Crank?" I offer.

"Yeah, crank, well it's good if you want to sharpen colored pencils but not good for regular pencils."

"Oh so you use the electric one for regular pencils and use the crank one, the school's, for colored pencils. Did your pencil bag come with a sharpener this year?"

"Yeah and sometimes I just use that one but not for colored pencils, just regular ones."

"Well that's handy to have one at your desk in case the line is long at the pencil sharpener."

"Oh yeah."

Meaningless conversation filled with meaning. Here's my theory on conversations with kids: keep 'em talking. If Jake wants to talk about pencil sharpeners today maybe he will want to talk about peer pressure tomorrow. I figure if he is comfortable talking and he knows I'm listening then I'll hear more and miss less.

Maybe I'm a little sensitive about conversations with my kids. Maybe it's because I have one child for whom conversation flows and another child for whom conversation drips. I don't take words lightly.

So if Jake wants to tell me scene by scene the latest episode of Star Wars The Clone Wars I'll listen. Even when there seems to be no point at all, there is.

Grown Up

Yesterday Jake and I went to the dentist. He was scheduled to get sealants on his four permanent molars. As we pulled into the parking lot I assured him, once again, that this would be an easy appointment. Even easier than getting your teeth cleaned. "When you're finished," I promised, "we'll go right to the store and buy candy." Jake was all for it.

Jake settled into the dentist's chair and I took my place in the corner on a small, rolling chair. The hygienist started the procedure and things were going well, for about 3 minutes. Then came the placement of a cotton roll and another type of absorbent pad and Jake started to whimper. The whimper escalated to a low intensity wail as the hygienist repositioned the cotton roll and pad and reminded Jake that she can't put the sealant on if his tooth gets wet. She worked a minute or two despite Jake's mild wailing but then stopped, looked at me and said, "I can't do this if he doesn't settle down," with frustration in her voice. I rolled forward, wiped a tear away from my boy's face, said a few encouraging things then I rolled back into my corner.

An assistant was called to the scene and they started again, positioning cotton and drying the tooth but before the tooth was properly cleaned, Jake began crying again. The hygienist and assistant assured him that nothing would hurt and he should just relax. This bit of information didn't comfort Jake and from the corner of those big, blue eyes dropped a couple of real tears. I looked at him lying stiffly in the dental chair, scrappy legs, scuffed sneakers, hands tucked nervously beneath his body and I knew he needed to be rescued.

We're outta here Jake. Those cotton rolls are the worst. I remember the way they taste from my own childhood. And that other cotton pad has those sharp edges that cut into your mouth. Ouch. They're pulling your lips and telling you to open big and commanding you to not swallow. It's all too much. I hate this place. Everything smells weird and there's too many mystery tools on that tray behind your head that you can't see. Don't look at it, just trust me, it's scary. Let's make a run for it, we'll go get that candy and pretend all this never happened. Who needs sealants anyway? I didn't have them when I was a kid and look at me now. Those fillings in my molars are holding up just fine. On my count, we bolt for the door. Are you ready?

I rolled up to my boy and asked the hygienist to please give us a moment. I pulled Jake to a sitting position and put my hands on his saying, "Take a breath, Jake, just breathe and let's talk about it." He tried to nod and breathe slowly but wasn't quite ready. "It's OK Jake, nothing they are doing hurts but I know the cotton tastes bad, doesn't it?" He managed to nod yes. "And that other cotton pad feels sharp in your mouth, right?" Again with the nods and Jake began to breathe easier. "It's very important that they keep your tooth dry because the sealant paint won't stick to a wet tooth. If you can't settle down then we need to leave. That's OK if we have to leave but then we will go to the other dentist (referring to the pediatric dentist) and you'll need to drink the special medicine (a wooze-inducing potion) for him to put the sealants on your teeth." I could tell that he was taking all this in so I kept going. "So you have to help me decide what to do. Do you want to try again here or do you want to go to the other dentist and take the medicine? It's your choice."

My big, little eight year old who wanted to be brave told me, "Try again. Stay here." "OK, let's try again." I squeezed his hands and helped him lie back down in position. I didn't roll back into the corner. I stayed really close and kept his right hand in mine. Small boy, big moment. The ladies began again and offered encouragement and left the frustration out. I gave a play-by-play for Jake and told him "Now she's got the mirror and you're feeling the metal part, now she's painting the stuff on and you're doing great keeping everything very dry, now she's getting out the special light to dry it and it kinda looks like a mini light saber." Doing great Jake, doing great.

I was overcome with pride for my boy's bravery which led me to ante up the reward from gum to something much better. "Jake I am so proud of you that I think you've earned a special prize. I'm thinking we'll finish up here and head over to Target." He squeezed my hand. Now you're talkin' Mom. "Maybe a new Lego set?" "Oh yeah," he managed to say through an open, cottoned mouth. Talk of the trip to Target got us all through the remainder of the procedure. Four teeth with sealants, done.

I gave Jake a hug and told him I was so proud that he tried again and did it. Maybe it seems like he is a wimpy kid and the tears were unjustified but it was real to him which means it was justified for me. We went to Target for that victory purchase and he cruised the Lego aisle debating over different sets. He settled on a very expensive set which I declined to purchase. "But Mom, it was FOUR teeth and it was hard," he reasoned with sincerity. Truthfully, the trip to the pediatric dentist and the magic potion would cost five times as much as that Lego set but I did have to draw the line. "Christmas wish list," I offered and then redirected him to some reasonably priced rewards.

"How did it go?" Andy asked when we got home. "A shaky start but Jake really pulled through," I said. And me too, I thought. Today was real mom moment. One of those times when I realize I am the grown up, I am the one who (supposedly) has all the answers, I am the one who (allegedly) makes everything better. I too pulled through at the dentist's office and my reward is watching my boy grow up right in front of my eyes.

Explaining Marriage and Divorce to an Eight Year-Old Boy

"Why did Eric's mom and dad move to different houses?" Jake asks me. His second question was prompted by his first. He and I were in the car driving to church and Jake asked, "Will Eric be at church today?" My social Jake is thinking ahead to the buddy he can connect with and sit by at church. I answered the first question very easily. "Eric probably won't be at church because this is his weekend with his dad at his church. When you see him at our church that's his weekend with his mom," I rattled off. Jake asked the second question and the answer wasn't so easy.

I'd talked to Jake about our friends' divorce when it happened months ago but this was an opportunity to talk again. What's the simple answer to why do a mom and dad live in different houses? They can't stand each other? Seems harsh to say to an eight year old. They fell out of love? Sets my boy up for thinking love is something you randomly fall in and out of not something you decide. They aren't happy? Don't get me started on "happy".

So I begin. "When two people get married they decide to be together forever, like best friends forever, until they die. A very long time. Like when Dad and I got married we said we would be best friends and husband and wife forever, until we die and when we had you and then Bebe (Jake's name for Zach) we said we would be a family forever. Sometimes people who are married decide that forever is too long. Sometimes a mom and dad fight and they fight so much they don't want to be together anymore. When two people who are married decide they don't want to be together anymore they get a divorce and move apart. That's what a divorce is and that's why Eric's parents have two houses."

"But even though Eric's parents are divorced they still love Eric and his brother very much. They are still parents, just not husband and wife, just not a family like they were," I add. "Just so you know Daddy and I are not going to get a divorce and you will never live in two houses, ok? We will be married forever."

I take a breath and Jake asks, "Do I haft to get married?" That's not a typo, he said "haft". "No, you don't," I quickly reply, "but one day you might want to get married and that's why you have to choose very carefully who will be your wife. Very carefully because forever-until-you-die is a long time. Because even when you choose carefully things are still hard sometimes and you have to work to be best friends forever."

"So does that answer your question, Jake? Do you understand what I've said about divorce?" I probe. "Yeah, can I watch the monster trucks DVD now?" he replies. I turn on the car's DVD player and think to myself yeah you can watch monster trucks now just be aware that marriage happens and divorce happens and things are complicated and simple but you don't have to make sense of it all right now. Just be eight today watching monster trucks and knowing your mom and dad and brother live in one house and we are a family forever.