I WISH I could be a mommy, Hallelulia!

My friend Emily was over for tea and scones yesterday afternoon, and Claire was restless and contrary. She helped me with the scones before Emily arrived, and she wanted to eat them -- now! Emily finally arrived, and tea was brewed, and we gathered around the table. We each enjoyed a hot orange-chocolate scone, and then Claire wanted more scones. And I said no. She really wanted to play in the garden with the girl next door, but no one answered the door bell, no matter how many times she ran across the hall to check. She fussed in the kitchen; I told her she could sit quietly with us or go and play. I gave many activity suggestions, but soon realized that as soon as I suggested something, it went on her black list just by virtue of being my idea. She wished Lilah would go to the garden with her, but Lilah didn't want to. She was in and out of the kitchen, coming in to fuss and demand attention and things I couldn't or wouldn't give, going out to pester her sister. Melanie and Emily had the opportunity to get acquainted while I was in and out of the room and the conversation.

Eventually, Lilah decided to go out to the garden with Claire; Emily, Melanie, and I moved to the living room with our mugs of tea and snuggly smiley Cole, just up from his nap. With only a few other minor incidents (tickling and laughing fests that had to be moved to another room, lost gloves and coats that needed to be zipped, and a technical difficulty with using the toilet resulting in a puddle and a wet pair of underwear and tights), Emily's time with us went by and we were able to have a bit of connection and conversation. It was almost six when she left, and dinner still needed to be started. Claire was hungry and didn't want to wait. I hoped she would be able to avoid disintegrating into a puddle of fuss. She came to watch me cut up potatoes and dredge the fish in flour, salt, and pepper. "Julie, I wish I could be a mommy!"

I looked at her. I wondered what she would have done with herself that afternoon had she been the mommy. Then I smiled and said, "Me too, Claire. I think it's an important job."

Melanie sliced the carrots and then Joshua needed attention, so she took him to the playroom. Claire and I were alone in the kitchen; there was nothing to do until the potatoes were closer to being done, so I suggested that she bring some books into the kitchen for me to read to her. She thought that was a good idea (apparently my brainstorming powers were improving), and we sat on the bench at the kitchen table together. The potatoes gave us two books' worth of time until the rest of dinner needed to be prepared. It was just what we needed: positive interaction, physical touch, no one else clamoring for our attention.

That night at bedtime, I was tired but Lilah was in a high-flying mood. As she picked up a puzzle in her room, she sang a little song she'd made up: "Hallelulia, hallelulia, hallelulia." "We're in church," she explained to me. "And our pajamas can be our church clothes. And we can sing 'Hallelulia." After the room was clean and she was in her jamies, she skipped up and down the long hall, singing and singing her song. Claire joined her and added to the song: "Hallelulia, God and Jesus Christ!"

At last they were in bed, and I felt like I could have gone there, too. Melanie and I flopped into comfy chairs in the living room and relished the quiet moments. We had just been talking that morning about how child training requires you to see each minute as a fresh start. If you hang on to this morning's grievances, mistakes, and rebellions, or even the disobedience of the previous minute, you cripple your relationship with the child and rob your day of delight. Still, I think it's also okay to appreciate the rest that night brings, the long quiet stretch with no grievances, nothing to mar your relationship.

Melanie and I took our own advice and relished each minute of our last evening together, sharing our hearts and then praying together. When we bowed to pray, for a long time there was silence. A rich, refreshing quiet during which God poured into our hearts. Sometimes it takes a rowdy day to make you appreciate stillness. 

And, not that these have anything to do with this post (other than being taken on the same day that all of this took place), but just as a special bonus to make your day brighter: