Small Things

The Game Of Marbles

I spent much of Easter break involved with small things.

Small school assignments: small book reports, small research reports, baby steps towards the completion of three science fair projects.

Small yard projects: small leaves to be raked out from the borders, small leaves to be dredged out of the pool cover, multiple small balls to be also plucked out from the same, small flowers to be planted, small insects to be dealt with.

And small things to be sorted: marbles, doll shoes, beads, puzzle pieces, legos, cabin logs. This last project is one that has been in the making for several years. While homeschooling, it was impossible to keep all of these things in order. Thinking that all girls love to organize things (because I did when I was little), I containerized the clutter, thinking that when they were six or seven they would love to sort all the objects. This never happened. What did happen is that my children learned my habit of containerizing clutter. The result is an uncountable number of containers of unsorted small objects throughout the house.

Many mothers will throw out games that are missing parts. When sweeping, they will throw out beads, game pieces, and other small objects along with the dirt. You might think I’m a glutton for punishment, but I believe I am showing my optimistic spirit when I pick up these small pieces, believing that one day I will get them together with their partners.

If you are shaking your head in disbelief, you do not know the joy I found when attacking my second large bin of clutter in one week and finally putting together all the pieces of a Winnie the Pooh matching game! And with what happiness my toddler is now carrying around a small collection of hearts (“t-tines”, her word for Valentines) and flowers in her pocket. Finally, my eleven-year-old, who recently found a love of small containers for the purpose of keeping like-with-like small objects, has her small baseball beads and gemstone collection back. And my son has more legos and cabin logs with which to build. I also painstakingly matched up dozens of pairs of baby socks, who had been separated for many months from their twins, and brought smiles to the faces of the ladies at the local Birth Right center.

If you walked into my house you would not know how many hours were spent in these small details. It does not look any cleaner (except that I just steam-cleaned the living rug after the dog threw up her lamb chops) or more organized. If you open up my closets, you will see that I have a huge amount of stuff yet to go through. I will, bit by bit, and with love.

“Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.”
Mother Teresa

Easter Chocolates

Three Junior Easter Bunnies borrowed my kitchen today to make colorful chocolates. The Master Mommy Easter Bunny warmed several different colors while they painted and filled several different fun molds.



Some of them were so old that the Grand Master Grand Mother Easter Bunny used to make them many years ago. (That doesn’t make you old, GMGMEB; but the plastic does get brittle, especially if it’s been in the dishwasher one too many times.)



The MMEB then sent said JEBs to bed after extracting promises not to mention the chocolates to the little one, waited for the chocolates to dry in the fridge, trimmed them up (eating the scraps, of course), cleaned up all the molds and the chocolate drippings, wrapped them up, and hid them until MMEB comes back to put out the Easter baskets at 12:01 AM Easter morning.

Why My Floor is Never Clean

Alice

The last day of school before winter break, I knew I had my last chance to clean the floor. My floor extends from the front door all the way to the back door, through the kitchen, and to the garage. It is a porous tile, which sucks up all the dirt and gets darker over time. Although I sweep it daily and damp mop it a few times a week, the only way to get it looking clean is to use a three-in-one wax, which cleans, whitens, and protects in one step. It sounds easy, but there are a number of prerequisites to be met before I start.

1. The kids can’t be home.
2. The baby must be napping.
3. The husband cannot pay me a surprise lunch visit.
4. The dog cannot request to go in or out.
5. The phone cannot ring.
6. The front door bell cannot ring.

I start as soon as I have the baby down for her nap. I put the dog out, remove all loose furniture from the floor, sweep, and make sure I have all personal items within reach so I don’t have to backtrack over the wax: glass of water, telephone, etc.

This Friday, everything goes wrong with my plan. I have everything prepped to do the actual job, when my husband comes home for lunch. The baby is talking up a storm over the monitor; I don’t think she is going to nap.

I hang out in the living room, impatiently. “You know I love you, honey, but I’m kind of on a time table here. Do you think you’ll be leaving soon?”

He grabs his sandwich, kisses me, and runs out. He’s in a hurry too.

I wet my mop, pour out the solution, and start. I realize I’m low on solution and must really stretch it to cover the whole floor. Then the phone rings. I have to walk on the wet floor. It’s nobody. I cover my tracks and continue.

The dog is jumping on the door. I ignore her.

The doorbell rings. I look out the front window. It’s just a package. The delivery man leaves it there and departs.

Finally, I have reached the front door. The baby is yelling, “Tissue!” which means she wants her nose wiped.

I run up the stairs. I’ll keep busy up there for the next 20 minutes, while the floor dries. Then the kids will be home for winter break, covering the floor with several new layers of dirt.

“Who can say, “I have made my heart clean, I am cleansed of my sin”?
Proverbs 20:9

The Muddy Room

For the first time in months, my now-two-year-old went to bed crying last night.

“Room. . .muddy” she whimpered.

“Muddy?” I wondered to myself.

Muddy applies to puddles that may gather anywhere on the ground.

Muddy applies to large patches of dirt that might get her new white sneakers dirty.

Now, her room might have been messy, but it certainly was clean.

So how did the term “muddy” apply to her precious space?

I had been busy at work rearranging furniture all evening. In order to fit a new (“new” for us, anyway) book shelf into her room, I had had to move half of the other pieces around, throwing books and toys out of my way as I worked.

Although I was not satisfied with any kind of finality to the layout, I had to bring the evening’s work to an end so that she could go to bed. So I straightened out her floor and turned the crib so that it would be jutting out into the middle of her room, rather than against the wall, as it had been for her entire life thus far.

This would not do at all. As she looked confusedly out of her crib, I tried to see the world through her perspective. She was on an island in a sea of disorder. Previously, being “attached” to the wall, the crib had been more like a peninsula. A mess could be overlooked from this position.

She had been able to sleep successfully at relatives’ homes while visiting, but she understood those were temporary places of residence. I had disturbed her little castle, the place she had come to understand was “hers”.

But it was too late to start rearranging again, so I did my best to soothe her and she had to go to bed a little upset. This morning she woke up cheerily, and I was able to set things to right before her naptime.

She is not upset at all right now. But neither does she sound as if she is sleepy. She is having a regular ball in her crib! Back in her peninsula, things are safe and orderly now, albeit a bit different. They make sense, and she is playing out her own little drama of the change without the necessity of moving.

“The Lord is king; let the earth rejoice; let the many islands be glad.”
Psalm 97:1

Sand Shadows is a painting of a Long Island beach by Rick Mundy at rickmundy.com

The Demerit System

I shook my head in dismay as I went into each of my school-age children’s bedrooms this morning. Each of them had neglected to open their blinds (to let their houseplants get sunlight) and make their beds. The girls had forgotten to pick their clothes up off their floor.

I have yet to find a punishment or reward system that will work to get the girls to clean their rooms. This seems inconceivable to me, as I always kept a neat room when I was a child. I loved to organize, and had always assumed that all little girls did too. My son, thankfully, seems to have a built-in organizational mind and tends to keep his things more or less in order.

A light bulb went off in my head. I sat down at my desk with some paper. “1 demerit,” I wrote, “Bed not made”. I cut a hole in it and put it on my son’s doorknob. For the girls I wrote, “2 demerits. Bed not made. Clothes not picked up.” This gave me an instant sense of satisfaction.

When the children came home, I greeted them with, “You’re not allowed to throw out your demerits.”

“Huh?’ they asked.

“I gave you demerits. They are hanging on your door.”

They rushed up to see. They all burst out into giggles.

None of my children have ever gotten demerits at school. It seems that they are seldom given out, and I always hear about it when one of their classmates gets one.

I, on the other hand, used to go to a very strict parochial school, where I got demerits on a daily basis. Passing notes, whispering, and being late to one’s desk were all causes for instant demerits. Three in a day got you detention. I served my time; as there was no late bus, my parents had to come pick me up late on those days.

“What do we have to do to get more demerits?”

“Does the person with the least number of demerits get a prize?”

As the questions came, I worked out the system out loud. One demerit equals ten minutes of time doing a chore, of my choosing, and most likely of the type they most disliked. The demerits would most likely be worked off on the weekend, but if I needed them to do something on a weeknight and their homework was done, it could be done then as well.

My nine-year-old finished her homework early and I asked her to take the baby while I cleaned up after dinner. She worked off her twenty minutes.

This could work out nicely! I am already thinking of all the things I can get them to do this weekend. I will be sure to let you all know how our new system works out!

Picture above:
Third prize winner of the National Messy Room Contest sponsored by Kodak.

Strawberries and Cream

The baby was in her high chair having strawberries and a bowlful of plain vanilla yogurt. The bus stopped in front of our house and she turned excitedly, knowing her siblings were due to come in the door.

“Ooh! Strawberries and cream!” exclaimed my ten-year-old daughter. “Can we have some?”

So they all sat down with a bowlful of strawberries and “cream”.

Feeding herself, alternating between fingers and spoon, the baby managed to eat quite a bit, but needed a bath afterward.

The kids love to participate in her bath time, rinsing her hair, sudsing her up, brushing her hair, and encouraging her to splash and play. The bathroom can get a bit crowded this way, so I have to ask them to take turns.

While I was dressing her, the other kids played downstairs on-and-off with doing homework. Three times they came to me, tattling. This one poked that one, and that one pinched this one. “Go back downstairs and I’ll talk to you about this in a minute,” I answered.

How was I going to deal with this, this time?

An answer quickly came to me.

I went to my eight-year-old’s room and grabbed her Precious Moments Bible.

“All of you sit down on the couch, right now,” I commanded.

They did so, and I opened up the Bible to I Corinthians 13.

“Who knows what I Corinthians 13 is about?”

“Love,” answered both my 8- and 10- year old daughters. My 6-year-old son was silent.

“Good,” I responded, and read aloud the entire chapter, stressing the verses that especially pertained to the behavior that was expected among them.

Here and there, they requested that I define a word, such as "provoked".

“And who are we supposed to love?” I asked.

“Everyone,” came the correct answer.

“And where are we supposed to start?”

No answer.

“Our family. This is where it all starts. You have to learn to love your own family before you can love all of the human family. Now hug and kiss each other.”

Genuine hugs and kisses went around.

If I had scolded them, there would have been a stiff hug and a muttered, begrudging “Sorry”.

I am looking in my concordance, preparing another passage for tomorrow.

Creative Messes

In college I became friends with a young woman, one of three daughters, who grew up in a very traditional Italian home. Years later she came to my home for dinner. She was thinking about getting her own apartment and was looking forward to learning how to cook. I remarked with surprise that I had assumed her mother would have taught her how to cook.

“She didn’t want us to mess up the kitchen,” she explained.

The last time I made brownies with my son, I asked him to crack an egg into a bowl. He accidentally let the entire egg open outside of the bowl.

“Oh no,” I started, then checked myself. I thought of my friend.

“It’s okay,” I continued in a calmer voice, “Just try to get it into the bowl this time.”

Kids make messes. Four kids make lots of messes. Often it seems like all I do is clean up after their continual mess-making. Sometimes it seems like a fruitless use of my energy and abilities. But messes are necessary bi-products of creativity; creativity yields higher-order thinking; higher-order thinking yields productive, moral, intelligent adults.

So let your kids bake and make a mess; then have them all pitch in to clean up. You will have made more than a nice batch of cookies. The smell of the freshly-baked goods, the feel of the powdery flour, the taste of the uncooked batter, the sight of the rising dough, the sound of timers and chattering siblings, all come together firing hundreds of neurons from multiple brain centers to make a memory that will last a lifetime.

“Give her a reward of her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.”
Proverbs 31:31

The All Purpose Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, Ethan Becker, and Marion Rombauer Becker (Hardcover - Nov 1998)

The only cookbook I ever really USE!