“…God has chosen to make known among {the people in your life – your neighbors and co-workers, your family and friends, the people who work in the places you do business in and the people you know through church} the glorious riches if this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”
Ephesians 3.17b-19
“…And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. ”
The privilege {greatest honor} of my life is that I have gotten to be the “pre-school teacher” for my grandbebes. First Gavin, whose thirst for all-things-learning just blew me away. He came at 8 am on his “school days” and just was raring to go. Then I got Hunter and then Guini.
A year ago, Gemma and I started hanging out for a couple of hours for arts and crafts and “school.” We still meet on Wednesday mornings. Next week, Averi, who is almost four, will start showing up for some everyday-educatin’. I am one lucky Nonna!
Simple stuff.
For several months when Gavin was only 2, his favorite “toy” at our house was a big stack of disposable, plastic cups. He’d build and build and build with those things. Hunter got to make art from his paper shapes a few years ago, too.
Simple learning is the best.
I am drawn to big expensive learning systems like everyone. I felt my own children suffered because I couldn’t afford the I-am-hook-ed-on-pah-honics-I-am-learning-to-read” back in the day. They didn’t. Because life teaches us what we need to know.
Pre-schoolers just drink up knowledge from measuring cups while helping you cook and getting to run around the house with rulers and measuring tapes and making texture pictures with paper and crayons. They learn by watching you and yes, even watching Sesame Street.
My advice? Forget trying to have your children read at a 3rd grade level by the time they are four. Some kids are prone to it, but some parents are grieviously hungry to prove something about themselves by making their little ones bypass learning-through-play to following rigid educational systems. No bueno.
A three-year-old should be a 3-year old. And a four-year-old who is four rather than acting 12 is so much more preferable.
Shapes and colors.
I started this with Gavin and every kid since gets to do this simple thing, too.
The simplest. Colors and shapes. I pull a piece of every color of construction paper I have at the moment. I cut basic shapes from each (stack ’em four-high!). Currently we have maybe 8-10 colors (including a blue and a light blue) and the shapes are just squares, rectangles, circles, triangles, hearts and stars. With this simple little pile of paper, your pre-schooler can achieve success over and over, time after time in lots of fun ways.
Practice identifying the shape and color by using full sentences, like “This is a red triangle. Here is a purple square.”
Sort all the shapes by color.
Sort the whole pile by shape.
Divide shapes into “sets,” making sure each set has one of each shapes.
Gemma is currently into “patterns.” So you could start a pattern and have your pre-schooler finish it, like: circle, square, heart, circle, square, heart…” And then they would keep the pattern going from the shape pile.
Then there is counting. They could go through and count just the triangles, for instance. Or they could try counting the whole pile of shapes.
At the end of their pre-school time with Nonna, I let them make an art piece gluing all the colorful shapes to a large piece of paper. Somewhere surely I have pictures of everybody doing this? Must look.
Meanwhile…
Shapes and colors, because we all had to start somewhere. *smile.
Stephanie Morgan brought me a book by that title yesterday at Starbucks. The premise of the book, the author explained, is that in life, we record and particularly note and celebrate all sorts of firsts. There is a baby’s first tooth, first steps, first day of school – all beautiful milestones that deserve our attention! Yet, we are unaware of the things that pass, last things. She explained it by recalling a beautiful day outdoors with her kids when one of the little guys ran up, jumped into her arms, wrapped his legs around her waist and while touching noses told her, “I love you, mommy.” She noticed how big he was getting and how heavy he was, realizing he probably wouldn’t be doing that too much longer. Then she looked across the lawn and saw her oldest son who was about to enter middle school and realized that he used to run and jump into her arms the same way and that at some point it had been the last time.
And the thing about last times is, you usually just don’t know they are happening, and if you did, you might want to take closer note.
Of course, I read the book and it killed me.
O my goodness. I tried to tell Stormie about it when she came by earlier today. Cry. *Sniff, sniff. And to be silly and try not to be all melancholy, I grabbed Gavin, who was here helping us take down our Christmas decorations and cuddled him on to my lap like I have been doing since June 2003 and kissed his cheek and he is getting so big. At 8 1/2 he doesn’t quite melt into his Nonna’s lap anymore (he just told me he has an adult-sized head). He still likes the attention, but is slightly embarrassed. And I jokingly said, “Everybody remember this in case it is the last time.”
There was practically a boooo and an eye-rolling moan from everyone, but also a palpable realization that this – this moment, this totally open relationship between a little boy and his Nonna, is a relationship that will grow and change and be re-defined as he becomes who God created him to be and has to pull away to become independent before he can, with full confidence in who he is, move back in closer with appreciation for these two old people who have loved him since the day he was born. And there is realization that time is flying and kissy-cheeks from Nonna, at least in their present, freely-flowing form, are making their way into a land of remember-when-memories. And growth is good and the destination is the point, but it changes everything you love in the moments that make life worth living to begin with. Nothing stays the same.
The first time
I don’t recall, though I love baby’s feet, when the last time I kissed the bottoms of my children’s feet was? I know I kept kissing them, even when they were “too old” for it because it made them laugh and I wanted them to know I adored them all the way from the bottoms of their little feet. They weren’t babies in age, but they were my babies. I can’t remember the last time I braided my little girls’ hair (I remember combing long, silky locks – or terrible tangles…lots of them) or what year I quit weaving red ribbons into their braids at Christmas? In my ornament box, I found a note my mom tucked into the branches of our Christmas tree in 2001…was that my last Christmas with my mom? I don’t know when the last time we sang “Testify” together at some church or played Risk as a family or any other number of mundane things that make up life. When was the last time Tara baked Jiffy pizza-bread sticks, anyway?
Lasting impressions
I do know the book struck a chord, something deeply reverberating through my heart. I am past the halfway mark now, but my senses and ability to feel love have increased exponentially with age, with experience. When the years rolled out ahead like there was no end in sight, I didn’t have to be as cautious in gathering memory, in recording the story, in remembering. But now that the lasts are happening, I don’t want to miss anything, not one thing.
2011 ~ 2012
One year rolls into another. And the year we have just lived, all the beauty and joy and ups and downs and round-abouts and surprises and laughs, the tears, the disappointments, the things that did not go our way – all of it, with the slightest move of a second hand on a clock becomes {*tick} last year, {*tock} a new year.
The days ahead
We get this brand-spanking-new-year in just a few hours. It will be filled with so much yet-undiscovered adventure. I am hoping for 3 new grandbebes in 2012 – or at least some good work toward that! *smile. And I am excited to see what God is going to do through Heaven Fest this year and the songs I have yet to sing and the seasons changing and the garden tomatoes filling my counters and time with the love and watching the incredible lives of my children whom I cherish and the children they share…but like the author of the book, my prayer is, even as each day brings new things in a new year, “Let me hold on longer, God, to every precious last.”
This was totally unrelated
Gavin took a quick break from Christmas packing-away for a snack. I turned on the TV and an old Rockford Files episode was on. I said to the grand-boy, “See James Garner? Now that is some swagger.”
“What show is this, anyway?” he asked me.
“‘The Rockford Files’ from the 1970’s!” I told him.
He grimmaced and asked “Why do people want shows from the 70s anyway? Do they wish they had a time machine so they could go back there or something?”
Haha. Laugh. Laugh. Maybe…
But then it became related
Just now, as I was about ready to push the “publish” button on this post, Gavin was leaving to go home to have a special New Year’s Eve night with his family, games and snacks and good times. He came to say good-bye and I hugged him tight and said, “One last kiss in 2011.” He kissed my cheek. I feigned sorrow, “But now my other cheek needs one last kiss in 2011 – for you and I will never hug and kiss in 2011 ever again.” He giggled and kissed my other cheek before bolting toward the door
as he quipped, “Nuh-uh, Nonna – I will build a time machine to come back to 2011.”
{Heart m e l t i n g } And I would get into that machine, Gav, to collect all the lasts I have maybe missed.
Hello, 2012
Dear 2011 – you gave me all the days you promised you would and I will carry them in my heart forever.
Ok, Stephanie Morgan-you did this to me. Love you for the sharing. But you’re killing me! xxoo
Time is my favorite gift of all. Time is limited. Time is fleeting. Time flies. It runs out and it is money. Time is of the essence and time is on my side. And time is my love language (you can quote me on that).
My 6 fav trees this year, each uniquely crafted by one of my grandbebes
I LOVE-LOVE-LOVE getting to spend time with my family, with other people I adore at Christmas just because it is Christmas. You could make the argument that we cram too much togetherness into the Christmas season, but it would be wasted on me because without a reason drawing us, we are prone to let too much time and activity slip between our fingers – and not with people who matter to us more than life. Then it is just gone, along with chances to love…
Every year, the gift that means the most to me is the time my busy kids and husband give me on December 25 (and the few days before and after). I realize its great value and matchless worth. I cherish it like gold.
Mailed for one-cent in the early 1900s.
There is a time at Christmas for everything,
and a season for every Christmas activity under the heavens (though maybe not everything all at once or every year – over the course of life, everything needed to be accomplished and enjoyed and celebrated during Christmas will be…):
a time to be born (a looking forward to adoption this Christmas!) and a time to make snowman hand-print ornaments for the family-tree,
a time to glue-together glittery-paper trees and a time to clean out the toy box for all the new blessings,
a time to play movie games and a time to break out the brand new Play-Dough,
a time to tear down the tents Poppa built and a time to re-build them in your own houses,
At Christmas there is a time to weep when your cousin grabs your new doll and a time to laugh while bright-colored papers fly through the air and some one who gets you gave you something you’d never have asked for but secretly desired,
There’s a time to bemoan too many cookies and snacks and a time to dance in the Christmas program,
a time to scatter 64 brand new Crayola crayons and 276 tiny army guys all over the place and a time to gather receipts for returns,
a time to embrace and a time to appreciate,
a time to search for lost pieces of the new puzzle and a time to give up,
a time to keep these people close in your heart and a time to throw away grudges and offense,
a time to split the last chocolate chip cookie in half and a time to mend toy parts,
a time to be silent, just delighting in the people who surround you and a time to speak life-giving words,
There is a time to love until your heart is wrung out of all love (at which time God Himself will pour His love into us, flow through us) and a time to hate evil and destruction and defy it to enter our homes, our families,
Christmas is a time for reminding the enemy of our souls that Jesus came and saved us and a time for the Prince of Peace to be welcomed into our lives to rule and reign as He should…
What on earth do we gain from all the work of Christmas? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race, but the times of celebration He wants us to have, too. He has made everything beautiful in its time…there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat pumpkin pie and spiral-cut honey-hams and drink eggnog and punch, and find satisfaction in all their outdoor illumination and tree-decorating and gift-giving and singing—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does (even in the Christmas celebrations we present to Him in worship) will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.
Thank-you for the time at Christmas, Father.
Obvious rip-off of Ecclesiastes 3.
Ornaments made through the years for the family tree
Dan Wakefield wrote it. Dave (the son-in-law) just flat sings it, with a stage-full of his prayer and worship buds. “A million stars could not outshine You, a million miles could not out-run Your love. A million songs could not contain the praise You’re due…”
My favorite line of the song?
“A single seed reveals Your Kingdom”
Think about that for a little bit because it so absolutely does! It must appeal to the gardener in me. Truth!
“The common cold generally involves a runny nose, nasal congestion, and sneezing. You may also have a sore throat, cough, headache, or other symptoms.”
Yep. I have that runny-nose-scratchy-throat-sneezing-and-coughing-so-you-can’t-sleep thing. I held it at bay until about 11:30 pm Christmas night. We fought. It won.
I look like Rudolph, but sound like Herr Bergermeister. Bleh.
We actually had to have a sign like this (I just got it from google-images) on our front door in Des Moines, Iowa when my brother Tim and I had Scarlet Fever in the 1960s.
Lisa Bierer hand-painted a Christmas card for me about a year after we met them. She painted a colorful tree with boxes below and each was labeled with one of the names of Dave and I and the kids. And she wrote a sentiment that said something like “You were the gifts under our tree this year.” I have never forgotten how truly appreciated and cherished I felt by that lovely visual and those kind words. And in life, I have found, that some people just appear from nowhere and you recognize that are divine gifts – you could never have chosen them if you’d had the choice, you could never have recognized them on the street.
First – the children God gave me. That He chose me to mother these people, well…speechless. They are admirable and gifted and beyond me in every possible way. I could not have comprehended how precious they were before they came and would have been paralyzed with fear if I had. The greatest gifts I ever got…
Then the grandchildren my children are having. Beyond words, delight to the moon and back! I love them a gazillion-million-trillion and have only barely tapped the resources of that love, it just keeps erupting.
And friends (including my best friend, Dave). I can count the forever friends on my fingers. And that is more than I deserve.
With the addition of the new-kid, Ryan (Tredessa’s husband!!), we are now 17. It is hard to tell, but Stephanie is holding my new grand-dog, a 7 week-old cute-as-a-button terrier mix.
The gifts:: It really is not about a new toaster or diamond earrings or even the highly-thoughtful hand-knitted scarf, but about the person who hands it to me, or when I get to wrap something up for some one I love with so much of my heart I have nearly none left (Shakespeare rip-off), but they get it. They see behind the meager attempt-in-a-box the love that placed it there, even though a “thing,” an inanimate object, is powerless to say what I really want to say.
The gifts are sweet. They are thoughtful. They are appreciated, and cherished. They are really the people who gave them. They are the people I love.
This pic by Dani Lay Photography (taken at The Heaven Fest Christmas Party)
I grew up in humble surroundings. In fact, I just had some one recently refer to the neighborhood I grew up in as the “ghetto.” But to me it was Leave it to Beaver-middle America. My dad was bi-vocational, a milkman in the wee hours and a church-planting-pastor by night, which in those days meant that he was, besides everything else, also financing it. And I watched my mom toil over her budget and struggle to make ends meet. Into the night she’d sit figuring out how to feed us and clothe us and support missionaries, too. But when Christmas came, she made it amazing.
Every year she’d tell me, “We can’t do much this year, but I will make sure you have at least 5 gifts under the tree” (I think her budget was $25 per child and there were 5 of us). There were always more. Plus the little touches like nuts in the shell for cracking throughout December.
She’d make “popcorn-ball garlands,” red and green rounds wrapped in cello and tied with red and green curling ribbon for relatives and neighbors. Her baked goods were prized gifts.
She made a big deal of December 15 – the day we always got the tree (my dad would not allow it earlier) and we’d carefully unpack a mish-mash of ornaments her relatives had given to her when she got married. I so regret getting her to switch to more organized “designer” trees 20 years ago or so, and teaching her to “theme.” I think she has reverted back somewhat, but I don’t know if any of my childhood ornaments, like the little collectors elves you see now, are still around. She gave me the angel-hair/spun glasss angel tree topper from 1964, but much of the rest is now gone. Because 20 years ago I was too busy trying to be unique to recognize the rich beauty of the traditions and little pieces of Christmas that had always been there.
On Christmas eve (right about now as I write), as soon as the sun began to set, we were home – warm and cozy and ate snacks and had homemade hot cocoa (not pre-mixed, please, my mom made it in a heavy pan with whole milk and fresh cocoa). There’d be popcorn and Bugles. Bugles. They were a Christmas Eve snack. And there were these things called Pizza Spins, which they no longer make. Usually some chips and dip, a rare treat in those days. And we would snack while watching A Charlie Brown Christmas or The Davy & Goliath Christmas episode.
We’d go to bed a little earlier than usual on Christmas Eve, dad having read the Christmas story to us from the Bible and the fam praying on our knees together before then, most years. I would agonize trying to go to sleep. I was always filled with such anticipation. Then there was always an unwrapped gift that we came out to in the morning. And other things my mom managed to fit into her budget.
I loved it.
I am still trying to figure out how she did it….
“All that I come from and all that I live for and all that I’m going to be – my precious famaily is more than an heirloom to me.”
Grandbebe’s annual Christmas PJ Party with Nonna and Poppa~
1.7 seconds after they got through the front door, this is what I saw.
The PJ party included, but was not limited to cookies for baking and Toys R Us for shopping and Good Times for eating and food playing. There was hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream and popcorn and movies and 7up and cookies and cousins and the-best-way-to-spread-Christmas-cheer-is-singing-LOUD-for-all-to-hear and the Christmas story and making ornaments for Nonna’s tree and the annual reindeer-head print using little-but-growing hands and feet and paint (what the heck am I thinking!??) and watching Gilligan’s Island, of all things and sleepy little heads nodding off anywhere from between 9 pm and 2 in the morning (Guini and Hunter are almost always the hold-outs). And somehow they still wake up at the butt-crack of dawn no matter how late the festivities and little monkeys jumping on beds and o-my-goodness: I was born for this!
I snapped these while talking to my mom on the phone while the kids ate breakfast with Grandpa.
The employees at Toys R Us did not seem nearly as joyously enchanted with our little monkeys as we were. It was merry mischief.
