Forest

Every night after dinner, when it's dark outside, if we close the doors to the dining room and living room and turn out all the lights, we are in a Forest.

Usually we don't go in till the kids are in their jammies and ready for bed. Then, with anticipation, we run down the hall, turning off lights and closing doors as we go, making sure everyone gets inside the Forest before we close the doors.

"Yay, we're in the Forest now!!" Claire exclaims, jumping up and down. Cole careens across the forest floor, and you can tell even in the dark that he's grinning. "I'm Snow White!" Lilah says. "And I'm the mommy cat, and Cole is the daddy cat, and mommy, you're the big sister cat, and Claire is the baby cat."

"Yes!" says Claire. "And let's play that it's nighttime now and we go to bed and then Julie won't wake up!"

We "meow" and crawl our way to the big bed in the playroom, Cole also playing a convincing cat. Everyone flops on the bed in slumber, but no sooner do we shut our eyes then someone announces, "It's morning time!"

Claire and Cole are the most energetic wakers. "Julie, Julie! Morning time! Julie, Julie!" They pat my back, bounce on the bed, go nose-to-nose with me. I snore on, and on. Then, with a cry, I spring up, awake, and everyone laughs and we collapse in a cat-pile on the bed. Mommy makes porridge for our breakfast, and we scarf down our portions. "Nighttime again!" Claire announces, and we all go back to sleep.

Or maybe I sit on the rug in the living room and the kids shoot down the slide in the dining room and come racing by me to see if I can catch them. I grab one giggling child after another and give each one a tickle or a squeeze; it's not hard to catch someone who is desperate to be caught.

Then it's time to go to our real beds, and Forest is over for another day, but when evening falls again, if we turn the lights off and close the doors, we will find the Forest waiting for us.

Delight

The last evening Melanie was here, we spent the evening chatting together on the couch, drinking tea, eating Spekulatius (spiced buttery cookies), and talking about child training and walking with Jesus and other light topics.

One thing we talked about -- really, a kind of sermon I gave to Melanie from things I have heard my mom say -- was enjoying your children. Instead of seeing them as a duty, or something to fit in between the truly important things on your schedule, or someone to endure until you can spend time with someone who is actually interesting, see their care as not only a worthwhile job but a great delight. See them as friends to enjoy, not charges with needs to meet and character flaws to train out and questions to answer.

As I woke the next morning, I realized the sermon was for me, too. I also fall into the habit of seeing these children as little heaps of need and duty and unpolished diamond instead of little people. On Friday, I had all three children to myself for the morning. Lilah had been asking for another carriage ride (one day when she and Cole were home, I took them to the grocery store in the stroller. She was wearing her Tinkerbell dress and didn't think that fairies rode in strollers, so I told her it was a carriage. She was delighted the whole time and has been talking about it since), so I loaded her and Cole into the "carriage" and Claire hopped eagerly onto her bike. We rolled down the sidewalk, cold grey fall sky overhead, to the natural foods store by the train station. I picked up a few things I needed plus fresh bread for lunch and cookies for dessert; Claire pushed a child-sized cart around the store and was thrilled that I was actually putting groceries into her cart.

On the way home the carriage riders enjoyed the scenery and Claire whizzed ahead on her bike, careful to wait for me at each street crossing. We stopped at the playground for a few minutes, but it was kind of cold and soon we were all ready to go inside. I said, "Let's have tea when we get inside!" The girls thought this was a grand idea and swarmed onto the bench in the kitchen to watch the tea-making process. They didn't want to leave their steaming mugs, so I brought a book to the kitchen table and we read together while we waited for our tea to cool and then as we sipped (or gulped) it. It was still a little early, but everyone seemed to be hungry, so lunch was next. I sliced the fresh bakery bread and took orders: meat and cheese or peanut butter and jam? Claire asked me, after a quiet moment of happy munching at the lunch table, what I was thinking. "I'm thinking how glad I am to be sitting here eating lunch with the three of you!"

"Really? Were you really thinking that?" After sandwiches and fruit, we enjoyed our cookies and Cole went down for a nap. As I was coming from his bed, I heard Lilah screaming and surmised that the girls weren't playing so well together. (Claire bosses and teases; Lilah screams at every hint of provocation; both are selfish and cling to their own way. How to clear these altercations from the bottom up?) I sent them to separate rooms to play alone while I finished cleaning up the kitchen and prayed for their hearts, then went to speak with each of them. They were both responsive to my words, and I was so glad they played happily together for an hour before their quiet times. They ended up coloring in the kitchen; I quizzed myself on German flashcards while they colored, and Claire repeated the German words after me (probably improving my pronunciation).

Then it was nap time for Lilah and quiet time for Claire; they went to their rooms cheerfully and settled down with giraffe and Legos, respectively. I enjoy quiet time, too, as a time to read or e-mail or nap. But when it was time to let Claire out of her room, I wasn't sorry to see her again, either. She brought a puzzle into my room and soon I joined her on the floor to work with her; the other children trickled in from their naps and Cole sat on my other side playing with some blocks while Lilah danced in and out in her dress-up clothes.


I interrupted writing this post today to let Lilah and Cole swarm over me in my chair. Cole just wanted to sit with me and have my attention; Lilah wanted help dressing a little doll and then she wanted to fix my hair. They trust me, they want to spend time with me, they greet me with exuberance when I get back from a run or when we get up in the morning. They are my friends.

From the World of the Wee Ones

Last night as I turned out the light for the girls, Lilah asked me to snuggle her. So I pulled her blankets up around her chin and lay down beside her, my arm circling her. "Oh Julie, I love you so much!" she said in her sing-song voice. Claire wanted to be snuggled too, after I made her blankets flat. And then Lilah made her final request. They like it when I say,

"Goodnight! Sleep tight! Don't let the bedbugs bite!
If they do, beat them black and blue
with a purple polka-dotted tennis shoe." 

So, Lilah asked for their favorite goodnight rhyme. "Julie, can you say 'don't let the bunk beds bite?'"

One day last week, I took the girls to Kita (preschool). I pulled the car to the side of the road to park, giving it gas to make it up onto the curb and then hitting the brake to avoid running into a tree.
"Why did you hit the brake?" Claire asked.
"So I wouldn't hit the tree," I told her.
"Why?"
"Because it wouldn't be good if I hit the tree."
"Oh. Would the tree fall down then?"

This morning we were playing with Legos, building a house. Cole was helping by making refreshments in the playroom kitchen and bringing us drinks and snacks. I toyed around with the bricks, off-setting them so they looked like stairs. "Oh!" said Lilah. "Is that a care stace?" I told her that yes, it was a staircase. "Oh, a case stair."

The girls were coloring at the kitchen table when I walked into the room.
"Julie's naughty," Lilah announced.
"No, she isn't!" Claire defended me. "Julie, are you naughty?"
"I don't think I'm naughty right now, but sometimes I am naughty," I told the girls.
Lilah restated her case. "You were naughty last week, but now you're not naughty."

Visitors!

Coloring in pajamas on Saturday morning while waiting for breakfast:

Familie Hausser on top of the Reichstag (German government building):

Sight-seeing buddies Joshua and Cole have a break from their strollers on the steps of the Berliner Dom:

Melanie among the 2711 bricks of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (that's the number of pages in the Talmud, in case you're wondering):

Fall Update

From a sunny fall trip to Domäne Dahlem, a nearby farm and farmer's market.

And, the latest news:
Lilah is potty-trained! One day she seemed unconcerned with accidents and bothered by trips to the toilet; the next she was calling down the hall as she ran to the toilet, "I have to go potty!" Until the chocolate chips in the cup by the toilet were gone, she had to go quite often, but now the cup is empty and she keeps track of her needs and gets herself to the bathroom whenever it's time. "Now I'm really a big kid!" she says proudly. Cole thinks it looks like fun too, and often follows us down the hall saying, "Gaby, gaby," (potty, potty). In the bathroom, he slides his hands on his thighs like he's trying to pull down his pants and squats on the wall next to the toilet. No recorded successes yet in his case.

Our kitchen is labeled "die Küche" and we also have "der Kühlschrank" and "der Mikrowelle;" Heather has been encouraging me to study her flash cards and help her review the parts of the body. So far it feels like I still have a long way to go, but I am eager to put in some effort and make a little progress. At least when the repairman came this morning to fix "die Waschbecken" (the bathroom sink) I was able to pick out enough of his words to know when to nod my head and feel reasonably confident that I wasn't being dishonest or foolish. 


And I love running in the fall. The leaves are colored and different every day and crunchy on the sidewalk, the air is fresh and cool, and it's the perfect time to pray.

Sacred

Rod Dreher wrote a book about politics in which the main point is that living life is a sacrament, which he defines as "a physical thing--an object or an action--through which holiness is transmitted. . . . Being good is not something you do because it works; being good is something you do because it's the right thing to do, even if it costs you. . . . Everyday things, occurrences, and exchanges provide an opportunity to encounter ultimate reality--even, if you like, divinity."

He's talking about "Crunchy Cons" -- conservatives who hearken back to the original meaning of the word; I think a lot of what he has to say refers to Christians who believe they are creatures in a world formed and governed by God.

So, if there is a God who is defining the rules and ordaining our days, what is beyond the scope of His reign?

The oma with her flowers on the S-Bahn last night who beams a sincere and personal smile at me every time our eyes meet and bids me farewell when I got off the train?

The sweet little girl who perches on the toilet and grins up at me with a light in her eyes as she hears a tinkle, telling me, "I go pee-pee!" and then sings as she gets dressed, "My underwear is dry!"?

A twenty-three-year-old English girl who invites me to her flat for tea and hopes I will stay for her housewarming party later that night, sharing her vision for working with a ministry for students in Berlin as we eat a piece of her flatmate's delicious chocolate red wine cake?

An affectionate toddler who tumbles all over me while I am sitting on the floor, practicing his kissing and dimples, then lies on the rug alongside my legs and falls asleep?

Three children who swarm me as I cut up vegetables for dinner, begging for just one more slice of red pepper, cucumber, or carrot until I laugh and let them demolish a mountain of fresh, raw "begetables?"

An eager baker who proudly mixed flour and spices, eggs and oil and apples, and then everything together for apple muffins? After the dishes were done, we sat on stools on either side of the oven, having a big girl chat while we waited for the timer to go off, the littles happy in the playroom. 

Eric Irwin mentioned in a recent e-mail to his church one of the results of knowing your own sinfulness and receiving God's gift of life:

You become loving. Your self-consciousness or shyness, your irritation at
how long the line is, your indifference to "lesser" people, your obsession
with your all-important agenda: there has been a great reverse and now the
world is filled with potential objects of God's affection. God is love, he
indwells you, you are loving. Now the world is a target-rich environment;
fire at will.

There is no one, no moment, which is not sacred; fire at will. 

An Overdue Photo

Here is what Cinderella and Snow White are looking like these days.

Dress-Up

In her floor-length Snow White dress, Lilah gets inspired to great heights of beauty and sophistication. She slowly promenaded down the wide hall yesterday afternoon, holding the skirt out at the sides and announcing, "Look at this beautiful girl having her wedding!" Overcome with the emotion of the moment, she said to me, "Julie, my heart is full of love."

Claire was apparently also inspired by this display:
 "Lilah, you are a treasure. You are God's treasure."

Lilah was unimpressed. "I'm not a treasure. I'm a girl."

Claire: "No, you are God's treasure."

Lilah: "Julie, is I a treasure? Is I?"

Julie: "Girls can be treasures. You are a girl, but you are also a treasure."

Lilah: "I don't want to be a treasure."

Routine

We're still working out our fall routine -- who takes the girls to preschool, who picks them up, how the afternoons go. But during the morning when the girls are at preschool and Heather is at language school, it's just Cole and me. He follows me around, understands and obeys almost everything I say, and delights in life.

If I'm sitting on the floor making cards, he comes in with some blocks and builds towers, weaseling his way into my lap for a snuggle with a most triumphant look on his face and then puckering up his poochy lips to plant a big kiss right on my own.

If I'm reading or journaling or writing e-mails on the couch, he usually comes out with some dishes from the play kitchen and wants me to smack my lips over them. Sometimes he just climbs up to sit beside me or to lay his head in my lap while he sucks his favorite two fingers.

He also loves the give and take of conversation, although the content isn't too complex. Perhaps we would exchange several "hi"s or "hello"s back and forth, or maybe just copy each other's tongue-clicking noises. Here you can see some of his first steps when we were in Maryland, and also some of our activities during the past few days:

In the mornings, Lilah and I have been working on memorizing some verses together. She sits on my lap and looks at a picture for the verse while she repeats the phrases after me. "Trust in the Lord . . . with all your heart . . . and do not lean . . . on your own understanding." I love to see the Word soaking in to her open mind.

Lilah has also been working on potty training. Or rather, Heather and I have been working on potty training Lilah. So far she's not opposed to the idea, but doesn't really see the need to put forth any effort. She usually doesn't tell us she's wet until we take her into the bathroom. "Oh, my underwear is wet," she will tell us. Hmm, why yes it is. When we ask her where she wet, she can usually tell us. "On the couch," or "On the bed." We keep rehearsing the routine for if she has to go potty: tell Mommy or Julie and go in the toilet! Hopefully at some point it will sink into that open mind.

Buongy-Buongy and the Pumpkin Patch

On the way home from our morning at a pumpkin patch outside of Berlin on Saturday, Lilah awoke from a nap and said, "I'm going to tell Buongy-Buongy about the pumpkin patch." (I'm not sure of the correct spelling of Buongy-Buongy - the sound is something between "Bungy" and "Bongy", but he is a dearly beloved giraffe, clutched while Lilah sucks her wrist for the ultimate in comfort and security.)

Later, at home, I heard a conversation down the hall: "We went to a pumpkin patch today. We seed pumpkins!" Claire added, "And some pumpkins were white!" Then Lilah again: "Buongy-Buongy, why are you sad? Mommy, Buongy-Buongy is sad because he wanted to go to the pumpkin patch!" Poor Buongy-Buongy. You'll be glad to know that Buongy-Buongy was in attendance at the ball held later in the living room with Tinkerbell the ballerina and Cinderella, and he even got to dance with the prince. (What can I say? Tinkerbell the ballerina-fairy waved her wand over me and I turned into one.)

Speaking of Cinderella, she appeared in my room this afternoon wanting to know if quiet time was over, in her blue shimmery dress of course, but also with a scarf around her head in a snarl of hair and knots and a pair of tights -- excuse me, an apron -- tied around her waist. I'm sorry to report that no photograph was taken, so you'll just have to use your imagination, which probably won't do the real thing justice.

Jet Lag

At 10:30 last night, I was sleeping soundly, having been exhausted when I turned out my light at 10:00 since the fatigue of trans-Atlantic travel still hadn't worn off. The previous night, our first at home, all three children had woken several times, generally not coinciding with each other. Once awake, I had a hard time going back to sleep and ended up reading for an hour and a half in the wee hours of the morning. I was hoping the second night would be a sleep-through night.

"Mommy! Mommy? Mommy! Mom-ME!!" I woke slowly, gradually aware that Lilah was crying in the next room, sobbing in fact, yelling for her mother in a voice that was going from pathetic to angry and demanding. I lay awake, cozy under the covers, for a moment. Nope, the wailing was definitely not subsiding. So I padded through the cold house to Lilah's crib, laid my hand on her back, and said, "It's nighttime, Lilah. Time for sleeping. We're all snuggled up in our beds, just like you. Mommy is sleeping too." She lay back down and I covered her up and went to bed. Sleep came harder, but I did go back to sleep before the next alarm.

"I have a poopy diaper. Julie, I have a poopy diaper. Julie, I have a poopy diaper! Ju-LIE!" (angry now, every word a reprimand to the response-less world) "I have a poopy diaPER!!" In a lighter sleep, I woke up at the first call this time, but I guess I hoped the problem would resolve itself, because I still didn't hop right out of bed. Of course the diaper needed to be changed, so I did get out of bed, opened her door to let her know she could stop sobbing and yelling, and hunted for wipes and a diaper in the dark, quiet house. Back in Lilah's room, I turned on the light and popped her out of the  crib and down on the rug. I opened her diaper and there was nothing to see. "Lilah, there is no poopy diaper. You should not have said that; it was a lie, and it was naughty." I sympathized with her confused body clock, but there was nothing about this experience I wanted to encourage, so I scooped her back in the crib, told her to go to sleep, and left.

Back in bed, wide awake. A few minutes after 11:00. I didn't want to read and prolong the adjustment to the Berlin time zone, so I lay still, eyes closed, praying, thinking, looking for sleep. Whimpers came from the next room, but no more outbursts. For a while. "Mommy, I want the door closed a little bit." (Which means open a crack.) Repeated, growing fiercer. How to stop the wailing and keep it from happening again? While I pondered this, Heather got up and went to Lilah. A little conversation, including a statement from Lilah that was probably more true than all of her other excuses: "Mommy, I'm not tired!" Quiet again, aside from whimpers. I think I may have gone back to sleep, but around midnight Lilah thought of something else. It took me a few minutes to decipher it through the sobs. "I have a runny nose, Mommy. Mommy, I have a runny nose." This was not hard for me to believe, but my stock of sympathy was at an alarming low. Surprisingly, the crying stopped after only a few repetitions. Then I heard little footsteps in the hall. Voices, in Heather's room, one so quiet I couldn't make out the words, the other caught between sobs. Lilah must have escaped the crib. Big footsteps back to Lilah's room, then all was quiet.

Did I go back to sleep? I think so. Around 1:00, the next call came. Out of new excuses, Lilah used a repeat: "Mommy, I have a poopy diaper." Louder, adding in sobs and changing from a notification to a demand. I swung my legs out of bed. If this was another false alarm, I was not going to be happy. (Then again, if it was a justified alarm, I wasn't going to be that happy, either.) I went and checked the diaper, found it to be as Lilah had stated, and went on the hunt in Claire's room for another diaper. Lilah perked right up as I worked in her bright bedroom. "Julie, does Cinderella never sleep in her own house?" I did not want this to be a pleasant experience for Lilah, so I answered briskly, "I don't know." As I put her back in the crib, she said, "When will it be morning?" I told her it wouldn't be for a while, and turned off the light. "Goodnight," I said, hoping I wouldn't be saying it again in another twenty-five minutes.

The next disturbance was Claire, but she went to Heather's room and was sent back to her room with minimal crying. I was sound asleep and woke only briefly for her show. Cole apparently wailed for a while, but I never heard it. I woke around 7:00 this morning, happy to see a cold, sunny fall morning, but mostly happy to have been asleep!