Loving a Life of Biblical Womanhood
My husband and I went through a spiritual revival about 18 months ago. Part of that revival was cleaning out what we take in. I don’t mean food. I mean all of our sensory input: television, movies, games, music, internet, radio, etc. We stopped consuming sin, in a way to quit condoning so much sin in our culture.
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Shopping one day, Scott brought to me a can of kids’ pasta in ABC and 123 shapes. This was an organic version of Chef Boyardee’s famous product, but the ingredient list was as long as my arm and it cost $3. So, I told him, “No.” He put the can back then pointed my attention to pasta made in the same shapes.
Pin ItI had my day and my week planned down to the minute. My home ran like a well oiled machine. Things would interrupt that smooth operation — an out of town trip, the early stages of garden growing when you have to be outside tending the garden constantly, a night with no sleep and a cranky child — but for the most part, it was all good. For three years I excelled at the housekeeping part of homemaking.
Our church has an awesome preschool through elementary school. I checked into it to know what my options were and discovered that they have a part time program on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. But the more we looked at that option, the less we liked it. I home school preschool, and we have invested a lot of time, prayer, and money into building our preschool curriculum. Consequently, I didn’t want them in a preschool environment two days a week on top of what we were doing at home. That would seem counter-productive.
Poor Jeb was in such pain that they gave him an IV and a shot of Morphine. That eased the pain enough to allow him to play cars with Scott. There’s hardly anything worse than holding down your 2-year-old while two strangers put an IV in him. I know. I’ve had to do it to all three of my kids right around that age.
I took a small ceramic plate and made five separate globs: red, blue, green, yellow, orange, and purple. I put it in between two boys who each had a sheet of construction paper. We’ve done this before – we do this often. Painting with brushes, sponges, fingers — none of it is new. But this time, Scott decided to lay his entire hand on the globs of paint at one time. With glee, he smeared his hand over his yellow construction paper and exclaimed at the fact that the colors all mixed together made brown.
The first time Kaylee ever kneeded dough, she still had a pacifier in her mouth (I wish I could find that picture.) That made her younger than 3. Now, at 13, she can make anything. She can read just about any recipe, follow the instructions, and create. I let her cook without restraint, and have, just this year, started letting her cook even if I’m not home.
I love it how they’re young enough to WANT to help.
Now, wherever we go, so goes Wightning. And Scott replays the movie as he races Lightning over the backs of chairs in the dentist office waiting room, his car seat arms, the back of the couch, his bed, his stroller frame, the slide at the park. He is never without Wightning unless we’re at the table (“No cars at the table, here, Mommy,”) or in the bath, (“Wightning will get ruined in the bath, here, Mommy.”). The only time he wakes up in the middle of the night anymore is when it falls out of his hand. I’ve spent many a 3AM pulling the fallen car out from behind Scott’s bed or digging it out from under his pillow.
I don’t know what time Johnathan was born. Before 9AM, I think. He was 6lbs, 7oz, and 19 inches long. Those extra 6 weeks he got beefed him up compared to his brother’s 3-pounder birth. Like with Scott, I was too sick to see him after his birth, and he went straight to the NICU. When Gregg brought me pictures, I joked that his nickname didn’t need to be Jeb, it needed to be Biff, because he looked like a little football player.
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