“Horton the Egg Sitter”

One day in the cool of the pool

Horton saw an old friend from school

He went over that way

to ask the Doodlebird to play for the day.

But before Horton could speak a word,

a strange request came from the bird.

“I’m SO tired of watching this egg!

Can you come over and watch it instead?”

Then Horton said,

“Sure,sure! I’ll watch your egg!”

The bird jumped off the egg with glee.

“Bye, Horton! I’m going to the circus to see

the clowns and to eat pink cotton candy!”

For five long years, Horton sat.

He sat and he sat and he sat and he sat.

But then some men came by and they laughed.

“Silly Elephant! Get off that egg!

Come with us to the circus instead!”

Horton was tired so “Yes!” he said

but only if he could bring the egg.

Horton saw the Doodlebird there,

and that bird gave him one scary stare!

“You stole my egg!” the Doodlebird said.

Horton was all confused in the head!

And at that moment, the egg did crack,

the egg where Horton had sat and sat.

And out of the egg

what did they see?

A tiny elephant with Doodlebird wings.

Horton loved her and still today he sings,

“DIddle-doo, Diddle-doodlebird, I love you!”

P.S.S. (Added the next day) Oops, just discovered that “Horton Hatches An Egg” is an actual story by Dr. Suess from which the inspiration for Claire’s story came. So the ideas are not entirely original. We changed the name of her poem to “Horton Hatches an Egg 2.0″ by Claire Cash. (Claire was pretty upset as we watched the cartoon on youtube, to discover that she had not in fact dreamed up that story, but had evidently seen it somewhere…)But all is okay, with a simple title change, giving credit where credit is due. And what a teaching moment!

Benjamin is having a lot of trouble at yochien. It’s not entirely surprising, actually. It’s the same kinds of trouble we have with him at home. He is this boundless ball of energy, full of raw emotion and unbridled passion and he wins the strongest-willed child trophy in our family by a landslide. He seems to have this unchangeable idea in his head that things should and must go as he wants them to in all situations, and if they don’t, it isn’t pretty. We have read all the books, tried all the tricks, and we feel like we’re doing the very best that we can for him, and continuing to be “teachable” as his parents. But it’s a huge risk, bringing up a child and sending them out into the world. They don’t come with guarantees, but the Word of God promises that if we “bring up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” But how old? Egad. Scary part.

The biggest thing we want for our children (aside from having hearts that LOVE God) are to guide them to have hearts that happily obey Him. With Claire and Adam, we’ve had our struggles, but it all seems to be going the right way. They’re pretty much responding the way “the books” say they will! But not Benjamin, and it scares me to death. I pray for that boy more than I pray for the other three combined. Our pastor has said to us that he thinks Benjamin will be very powerful for the Lord when he grows up. (I really hope that’s a prophesy and not just a hunch, Pastor Paul!) Those words have stuck with me so strong. Every time I’m in the process of correcting Ben or punishing Ben, or teaching Ben, I am thinking in the back of my mind that someday, “The little tribe of Benjamin, he shall lead them all” (Psalm 68:27).

Yesterday as I sat through a terrible parent-teacher conference and heard report after report of his teacher’s troubles with him at school, I felt terrible for his teacher. But on the way home, I had the strangest concoction of feelings as I reflected on what I’d just heard. I found myself laughing a little over this precious boy’s weaknesses, and how they are so similar to my own. He’s like this little microcosm of me, poor thing. His character is so much like mine in so many ways. And the same things that Benjamin struggles with are the things that I struggle with–controlling my emotions, wanting to do things MY way, having so much energy and passion and struggling to channel it into the right places at the right times and not just overwhelm everyone with my bursts of intensity. I laughed and cried on the way home, and felt sorry for the little guy. He’s only four, after all. He’s just starting out, really. But I have this quiet confidence in my heart that the Lord has HIS hand on Benjamin too. Somehow, God keeps reminding me over and over that I’m not alone in this. Not only is Keith an amazing father, but we’ve got Him in our corner too. I felt almost a little guilty for not feeling more guilty at Ben’s behavior at school. Does that make any sense at all? Somehow God has given me the grace to see Ben’s big picture. His journey may not be as neat and tidy as Claire’s or Adam’s might be. But in my heart, I can feel it that Pastor Paul is right. That this little man is going to do great things for God, once God gets a hold of him good!!

Today Ben and I had a really good talk.  For the first time, I think Benjamin understood sin. We talked about why he does the things he does (and why I sometimes do the wrong things I do), because our hearts are filthy dirty. And when our hearts are dirty, the things that come out of our mouths and our actions will be dirty too. Benjamin looked up at me with teary eyes and asked a question that melted my heart,

“Mom, do you think God could come to our house?”

“Yes, I do. But why, honey?” I replied.

“Because I need Him to clean my heart.”

From the mouths of babes…

I get tears in my eyes looking through these old photos to find just the right ones to share today. Adam’s name appropriately means “first son” but another meaning is “made with God’s hands.” One of the things that blesses my heart in the Word of God is that while God SPOKE into being most things in our universe, the Bible says that when it came to us, He made us with His own hands, Adam first, of course, and then the rest of us He carefully knit together in our mothers’ wombs. Each of our kids is so different from the others in such amazing, intricate ways. Of course they were fearfully and wonderfully made–how could anyone doubt our loving Creator who has ever been a parent? As my little baby boy has grown, and and grown and grown (he’s hungry ALL the time already, Lord have mercy, I’m glad my husband makes a good salary with three strapping boys coming up in this house!), I feel such love and joy to reflect on what a joy he has been to me, and to have this privilege to bring him up in the ways of the Lord!

Adam Elliot Cash is smart, articulate, sensitive, imaginative, thoughtful. He’s the kids that compliments me at least 3 times a week on what a great cook I am and thanks me at almost every meal for cooking for him. He’s the kid that makes friends easily with anybody on the planet, even if they don’t speak his language. He’s the kid who always knows where we are, implanted with the same GPS chip that his Daddy has. He’s the kid who excitedly welcomes every new guest into our home, introduces everyone present, and leads them on a full tour. He’s the kid who lovingly leads other kids in play, supervising playtimes with wide eyes and a happy heart. He’s the kid who sneaks into my bed to cuddle in the mornings while the others are watching cartoons. I just can’t get over how lucky I am to be his mom. Anyway, here’s a little trip down memory lane with a few shots of him through the years. Enjoy!

But a couple days ago, I actually fell. This happens every couple years. The actual falling. It was a rainy day and I was carrying a heavy and large new computer monitor down some wet concrete stairs on base, and at the bottom of the steps, I miscalculated how many steps I had left. And I fell right into a gigantic puddle, absolutely drenching myself and hurling the brand new monitor into the puddle with me (it’s fine–I’m staring at it right now.) Now if there’s ever a time to see what’s really in a person’s heart, it’s when something like this happens to them, which is why, upon reflection, I am concerned upon my response. First of all, I uttered “Crap! Crap! Crap!” about 10 times really fast (yes, that really is my dirtiest dirty word.) Not so ladylike. But then there were about 5 people who tried to help me up, tried to pick up the monitor for me, asked me if I was okay, etc., and here’s where I screwed up. I wouldn’t let anyone help me! In fact, I didn’t even make eye contact with them, and felt a bit agitated at their “Are you okay?”s. Just pretend you didn’t see that! That would make me feel better. There was a guy who just insisted on helping me with the monitor, and I begrudgingly let him (only because I seemed to have sprained both my ankles and my pants were soaking wet), and he kindly put the monitor in the back of my van. But I couldn’t tell you what he looked like for $100 because I was so embarrassed that I didn’t even look the guy in the eye when I muttered my red-faced, “Thank you.”

So because I think about myself entirely too much apparently, I’ve been thinking about what all that says about me, about whether I respond this way anytime I fall. (Like the other kinds of falling, the kind that happens a whole lot more than bi-annually.) Do I try to pretend it didn’t happen, even when I’m soaking wet? Yeah, sometimes. Am I annoyed at the people who saw me fall, and even irked that they would ask me how I am rather then just courteously passing on by? Um, yeah. What the heck is wrong with me? Well, after a few days of reflection and pondering (and more than a few OTC pain pills and band-aids and elevated, iced ankles), I think I’ve figured it out.

I am a woman full of pride.

Good thing I’m only 32. Plenty of work to do on this one still.

Thought some of you out there might get a kick out of me and my two buddies back in 1994. Who can name those two lovely ladies? Huh??

Well, the one sitting right next to me happens to have also been the person who led me to the Lord at age 14 and was my matron of honor and is still my closest friend today. And that tall drink of water up there, she’s one of my favorite people in the world forever, a sister-friend.

We’ve all changed a bit (okay, except Starr, not so much), but we’re still thick as thieves, especially when it counts.

Anyway, I’ll stop rambling. This is for your viewing pleasure, not really because I have anything at all profound to say about it.

I’ve been asked a hundred times the last couple months why on earth we have suddenly decided to homeschool. It’s the big elephant in the blog, I know. It’s just such a complicated question with a very long and multi-faceted answer that I’ve been intimidated at the prospect of putting it in writing–why we’ve made this gigantic paradigm shift as a family. I’ve made vague promises to answer the question on here in full detail. And in my head, I’ve crafted bits and pieces of that answer and narrowed it down to the top 10 reasons why we’ve made this unorthodox choice. But a part of me can’t bear to write that post because I’d feel like I were trying to justify it to those of you out there who are skeptical of the whole homeschooling thing in general. And I don’t owe anybody that explanation because….well, because they’re OUR kids. And we get to do what we think is right for them.

However, something happened this morning which basically captured in a bottle why I’m doing this. It’s my reason #1. This may be all you get in blog-form, so savor it. (Of course, if you really want to hear more, just ask me!)

Sunday nights are late nights for our kids because of Awana, so they’re always a little extra sleepy, so I let them sleep in this morning, until about 8:30. Before, the kids had to get up at about 6:30 to get to school on time and they had to be rushed every step of the way out that front door every single morning. Hate that. So back to this morning–we were leisurely eating our breakfast and chatting, and Adam began quite the detailed monologue on a dream he had last night. Seriously, he went on and on for 10 minutes about how he and his Daddy were swimming in the ocean and got swallowed by a fish who then got swallowed by a bigger fish who then got swallowed by a bigger fish who then got swallowed by a bigger fish. (You get the point.) For real, 10 minutes of excruciating description, not a single fearful omitted and told with sleepy-headed awe. Claire and I listened and responded appropriately with “oooos” and “ahhhhs” and when it was all done, Claire exclaimed, “Adam, you had a dream about the food chain!”

I about spit my Oatmeal Squares out all over the place. We laughed long and hard at the breakfast table this morning. And I realized we were having one of those moments. Aerosmith moments. Sing it with me:

“Don’t wanna close my eyes!

Don’t wanna fall asleep

cuz I’d miss you, baby

And I don’t wanna miss a thing.”

So here’s the #1 reason why we’re homeschooling. It’s not the most cerebral of my reasons (I have those kinds of reasons too). But here’s the deal: I don’t want to miss those moments. Before, when Claire and Adam were going to school all day long (and then extracurricular activities after school and then homework and then dinner and then baths and then bible story and then bedtime), our life was becoming this horrible rushing treadmill, each day identical to each other and full of busyness but void of the magic I want them to grow up in. Just like every other kid, I’d ask them how their day was, and mostly all I could get out of them was “Fine.” I felt like my primary job was to get them ready and out the door for their next activity. I was constantly rushing them and it was necessary to keep them on that path. But I could feel it in my bones that my kids were slowly slipping away from me, that in a few years, they’d be assimilated into a peer-needy culture and I’d have to fight daily for their hearts not to be stolen by the world. Something was in danger of being irrevocably lost, and I was giving that up basically because I was looking forward to that not-so-far-away-day when all my kids would be in school and I’d have the spare time to do whatever it was in the world I wanted to do all day long. But there came a day a few months ago, in the car with Claire, driving her home from ballet class (at 4pm it was the first time I’d seen her all day), and she looked at me with aching eyes and said, “Mom, I really miss you.”

I want to know these little people, to deeply and truly know them. And I want them to know me (and their dad). And that kind of thing takes a lot of magic moments. It takes time and commitment and wide open spaces to live and breathe.

And though I’ve certainly been more exhausted since we started doing this, and my house is perhaps not as clean, I’ve been blessed to be reminded almost daily why this is going to be entirely worth it.

Claire asked,

“But why is it called a nerd collector?”

And back to what the unnamed blogger’s mother might have said (with genuine curiosity and confusion) upon seeing the above unit in person,

“How do the clothes get from the washer to the dryer?”

Unnamed blogger might have replied in jest (after composing herself from hysterical laughter),

“Oh! We have a laundry fairy that does that!”

Adam is a hoot. He’s a surprising little guy, seriously. Lately, I don’t know what’s gonna come out of his mouth from one minute to the next, and he’s been sprinkling precocious terms like “indeed” and ” quite” and “certainly” into his everyday conversations. Not sure what to do about that. Read to him less? Anyhow…

This afternoon we were in the rare, wonderful situation where it was just him and me in the car while Claire was at piano practice. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, just killing time. I thought about putting on some music or an audiobook for him, but then something inside said, “No! Things are about the get interesting.”  I listened to my inner mommy.

Not even 30 seconds later, Adam looked at me and shifted into his “little man” voice, which is this weird mumbly tone he only uses when he’s trying to sound grown up or when he’s talking to his Papaw. Oh yeah, things are gonna get good.

Adam: “So, Mom, I just really don’t know who I’m gonna marry. I think I wanna marry someone with brown hair. But not Japanese. I think I should marry an American. An American with brown hair. But I just really don’t know. “

Me: “Ya know, little man, you’re just 5. You’ve got nothing but time, kid. ” (I didn’t know little boys ever thought about this kind of stuff!)

Adam: “Well, maybe I’ll just marry Claire. That would be easy. We get along well.” (They really do.)

Me: “Um, hon, I’m afraid that won’t work. There are rules about that. Brothers and sisters can’t marry each other.”

Adam: “Oh, okay.” (Long pause while I try REALLY hard not to CRACK UP!!!)

Adam: “In that case, actually, I think I can marry someone with blond hair then.”

(Okay, okay, I confess! I then pounced on the opportunity to tell him an abbreviated version of our sovereign love story, and told him that God’s got it covered. Still I cannot believe I had that conversation with my 5 year-old son today.)