Delightful

I've been in a little funk.

Nothing major. I'm just weary. From thinking about various things.

Things like...

...everyone else in the house has had strep at least once in the last month (and I don't think we're done, either.).

...no matter what, at this time of year, we're always strapped financially. I want to go back to work, but I'm still getting that "wait" answer from the Lord. Waiting stinks.

...disciplining children even when there doesn't seem to be much evidence of resolution or repentance. Parenting is hard.

...being more busy than I ought to be. I can't say I'm so busy that I'm even stressed out, because I'm not feeling particularly stressed. But I am just busy enough that I realize, again, that my family is not my main ministry. And it should be.

...trying to get all three of our kids to smile pretty for the camera so we could send out a photo Christmas card. All to no avail. Evidently my children are photo Christmas card retardant. I tried. Bruce tried. Two separate days. Two different cameras. Probably 50 pictures. Not one worth printing off. This is the best one I took, but Bruce vetoed it because I didn't clear the background.



And this was the best one that Bruce took, but I vetoed it because Allison doesn't look like Allison.



So we went a different route and took individual shots and Bruce got online for a Photoshop tutorial (because he's into tutorials. I am not.). Bruce made our cards this year, with lots of input from me. Probably too much input. A good time was not had by all.

But God always provides some relief. A bright spot or two.

My mother is coming from Germany to visit over Christmas. We are all very excited about that.

I found the green 6 card that was missing from our Uno deck for weeks. These things matter!

I'm loving Bible Study Fellowship more and more during this study of Moses. It's rich. Some days, the things I learn speak to me nearly every minute of the next week.

And last week, when I was particularly bummed about Spencer's report card, two things happened.

I got a comment on my last post about the report card from my good friend, Amie, who teaches first grade at my kids' school (and has taught all three of our children during Sunday school at some point, before she abandoned us and headed to another church down the road. Just kidding. We miss her though!). I so needed to hear what she wrote. So here it is:

"Keep in mind kindergarten 'report cards' are not really report cards. They should be called progress reports. Kindergartners do not get grades for the same reasons you are stating. We just discussed this at lunch today. Calling it a report card gives parents the idea that they are grades and they are not."

That was antibiotic ointment for my wounded psyche.

And then at school, I got the bandaid. From the P.E. teacher.

I rotate eating lunch in the school cafeteria with the kids, and it was Allison's turn. I had planned to join her for lunch later in the month, but I got a phone call from her teacher while I was driving to BSF.

Allison had put her head down and cried in the cafeteria when the bus dropped her off that morning. Her teacher took her to her classroom, thinking she'd perk up. Nope. She put her head down and continued to be mopey.

So I made a decision. That day was the day I'd eat lunch with my girl, even though it meant leaving BSF early.

I know how Allison's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day began. I made her wear the dreaded purple sweatpants again. (I'm getting rid of them now.)

Evidently, her woes continued when she had to move her behavior light from green to yellow. For talking. (Yeah, yeah. I know. She's making up for not being able to talk at home because of her brothers' constant chatter.).

Still, Allison and I enjoyed our lunch of spaghetti, cheese stick and salad. I stopped at Spencer's table, too, to give him some attention.

After lunch, Allison wanted me to go back to her classroom so she could show me something about a panda that they've been learning. She held my hand in line, and before we moved off, the P.E. teacher came up.

He said to me, "She is a delightful child. Well prepared for kindergarten."

I almost said, "You do know that she's the sister of two of my boys who attend here, don't you?" But I didn't want to diminish the moment.

I thanked him for the compliment, and he thanked me for preparing Allison to be a good student.

I loved hearing praise for our daughter.

But later, my reaction bothered me. For two reasons.

First, because it was based off of comparing my kids to each other. And that's not fair to any of them. They are each good little apples, but on any given day of the week any one of them can turn rotten.

Second, because my joy was based off of pride. My kids are who they are because God made them that way. I have a responsibility to parent them the best I can, but each one of them will apply the lessons I give them differently. The end result? That's God's masterpiece, not mine. He gets the glory, not me.

I forgot that for a minute.

I still liked getting the bandaid though. And I do believe the compliment came because of God's prompting, whether the P.E. teacher knows that or not.