Thursday Thoughts with Theresa: In Which We Nurture Them Into Bloom

Why is it difficult for children to clean their own room or put away the legos they spewed all over the floor? They will pull out every toy on the shelf, but when it’s time to pick up they sit in the middle of the mess paralyzed. I know I, as a new mom, expected my first born to learn responsibility and clean his messes on his own by age five. I don’t know about you, but I needed a reality check!

It is true that our children are capable of small amounts of responsibility at early ages, yet even a seven­year­old can feel defeated in the middle of a mess by herself. So how do we help them succeed? When we lovingly plant a seed in good soil, we give it plenty of sunlight. We water it and even fertilize it. We protect it through the storms. We nurture it. Why? Because we believe that seed will grow into a beautiful blossom.

"Mom, I've got my room clean!" Robby races upstairs to announce before I even have the dishes done from our Saturday morning breakfast.

"Robby, you are on top of it. I’m impressed!" I respond.

He has done this three weeks in a row now and I think I'm beginning to see a little blossom.

He comes toward me with open arms, "Ya." he chuckles, "Remember when I would have so much to clean up that I would just sit in the middle of it and do nothing?"

Yup. Pretty much just a few weeks ago.

"Do you think we expected a little too much of you when we required you to clean your whole room by yourself when you were just four and five years old (my cheek to his)?"

"Yah," he chuckles again.

He's eight and I'm beginning to think around age eight is that season where our children blossom into more independent individuals because, developmentally, they can reason through things much more maturely.

"Well we have the pleasure of learning through you, our first born. Otherwise we just don't know sometimes."

It's like God built him specifically for that.

We head downstairs to inspect his work. I enter the spacious room with tracked taupe carpet. "Your room looks great, Robby! Now it just needs to be vacuumed."

"I don't want to vacuum it," his sinful nature chimes in, "I don't like to. You do it."

"Well, you know, I don't really like to vacuum either," I gently retaliate.

"You're right. You have to vacuum the whole house. I'll do it."

I’m proud of his mature and capable response.

The truth is, in the past, we have helped him through cleaning his room on a number of occasions. We've seen that, otherwise, it would not get done in spite of our expectation and strategic tactics for compliance–yet, not without frustration along the way. But we've learned that at four and five, even six and seven, they are not quite capable of all that we may expect them to do on their own–like we’re rushing the seasons.

And if we’re really honest, we expect this because we get overwhelmed and we have our own tasks that take priority and we’re impatient. We've planted the seed and now we want results. Yet, the seed still needs attending to.

Over time, we’ve come to see that emotionally and even socially, the confidence and ability to succeed is built upon loving, on­going, side­by­side nurturing and training throughout these formative years.

We do things a little differently with the younger three. We don't just show them how to take on a responsibility and expect them to have it mastered by the second or third try. In the same way we can't plant a seed, water it a few random times and expect it to thrive. We walk with them through their tasks, their struggles, and their triumphs and give them more and more responsibility and independence as they succeed–naturally, pushing past resistance along the way. We understand they are not perfect and are in continual training while under our roof.

They don't have to have it all mastered by five. really.

So, how do we help them succeed? We walk along side and nurture them through the formative years.

Like a bud, which opens in time with good soil, the right amount of sunlight, and plenty of moisture, we nurture our children continually into each season of bloom.

“You can’t just throw a handful of seeds over the deck and expect a beautiful garden to grow.”

–Sally Clarkson (paraphrased) 

- Theresa Miller, MOPS Mom

Theresa is a wife and mother of four children (3, 5, 7, and 9), who are embarking on their first year of homeschooling. Theresa has been involved in Sheridan MOPS for the last 9 ½ years, serving in multiple leadership positions, including Day MOPS Coordinator in 2007-2008. She took one year off, then started the Sheridan Evening MOPS group in September 2009. Theresa has published an article with MOPS International MOMSnext Ezine, in addition to other on-line publications. You can find Theresa encouraging mothers on her blog, Heavenly Glimpses.

Prayer While Doing Laundry

I don't know about you, but I struggle with laundry. I think, for me, it's in the details: so many steps, so many items, always a mess until the entire job is through. I ran across this prayer, however, and it helped me. When I stop thinking about my frustration, and begin focusing upon the reason I have so much laundry to do, I remember the blessing and I remember my thanksgiving. May you, too, find blessing and prayer in the most mundane of motherly tasks. - Bethany

Christa Tietjen Photography

Prayer While Doing Laundry

I find you so close to me right here, dear Lord. Surrounded by the dirt and scattered clothing of my family, I find this an ideal spot to pray with you. No one comes near here so it is quiet, and it gives me a chance to reflect on the many blessings of my life.As I pick up their clothing and sort it, I ask you to give each of them what is needed most in their lives.

I fill the washer with my husband's shirts and socks, and ask that you bless him as he wears them to work each day. Give him the grace to see that his work is holy and open his eyes to see the sacredness of each moment of life.

As I sort the tiny socks or the overalls of the children, I smile and remember how blessed I am to have them in my life.

I sort the larger teenage clothing and wonder at how fast these clothes have become larger sizes - and how quickly children grow up. I ask your help as I guide them through each new phase of their lives.

Give me a love that is endless, a heart that forgives them and the humility to ask for their forgiveness when that is right. Help me keep them from danger, and help me to let go and trust you when it is time to do that.

I try so hard to be perfect but lead me to remember that it is here in the smudged, disorganized and disheveled part of life that I find you the nearest.

Thank you, dearest Lord, for so much grace in my life!

 (Thanks to Creighton University for this prayer! http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/Mothers/#Laundry)

Messy Moment: "I'm Shopping For A New Bedroom Rug Online These Days"

My husband and I have two sons: a thirteen-year-old and a one-and-a-half-year-old. This means that we get the joys of parenting a fresh teenager and a toddler, at the exact same time.

We buy our bottles of Excedrin at Costco.

Our older son, Nolan, has developed a passion for writing with a quill, exactly like Benjamin Franklin used to do. Never mind the luxury that is a good gel pen; those are entirely too new-age for our boy, regardless of the nerdy joy they bring to his mama. As far as heʼs concerned, America started to decline when the fountain pen and whittled turkey feather became old fashioned. Nolan has begun to collect old pens. He can talk about a fountain pen collection exactly like an old man, wearing a cardigan sweater that smells of mothballs. And still, we are head over our heels in love with that boy.

As every Gatherer Of Ye Olde Pens knows, if youʼre going to put your collection to good use, you need pots of ink. Black ink... red ink... or dark berries that have been run through the electric, Ninja mixer, exactly as Lewis and Clark used to do before writing in their journals... it doesnʼt matter. You just canʼt fancy-up your scrollwork without a pot of ink to accompany your quill.

The most commonly-spoken phrase at our house, other than, “Whatʼs for dinner?” is, “Did you put the lid on your ink?” Because a bottle of India ink WITHOUT the lid is more dangerous in a household with boys than a flamethrower.

Two weeks ago, I forgot to ask this question.

It was a Thursday morning. I was in the shower, because Iʼd already determined that I had errands to run that day that would require something a little fancier than the standard mom outfit of black yoga pants and unwashed hair. When you have a toddler who climbs more things than Spider-Man does, you come to cherish your alone time in the hot shower.

I may have taken longer to shave that Thursday. I probably stood in the shower with my eyes closed and my forehead resting on the fiberglass wall while the hot water just ran down. I may even have considered finally following the instructions on the bottle of shampoo: Wash, rinse, repeat. Because the repeating? Well, it allows for extra alone time, before you have to get out, dry off, and pull Spider-Man off of the kitchen counters and feed him a breakfast of steel-cut oats and homemade yogurt.

Or SʼMores flavored Pop Tarts. Whichever.

When I finally DID get out of the shower that morning, I suddenly realized that there was some busyness and noise going on in our house that would have put the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange to shame.

I pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt (which is ever-so-very-much more fancy than the aforementioned black yoga pants and T-shirt), wrapped a towel around my hair, and opened the bathroom door to complete pandemonium.

Do you know what a mother enjoys hearing on a Thursday morning, just thirty minutes before she has to get the 7th grader to school?

“The baby grabbed an open bottle of India ink off Nolanʼs desk; we have ink EVERYWHERE!”

It was true.

A small bottle of India ink can hold about an ounce. When you turn it upside down onto a bedroom floor, itʼs exactly like a tiny, import car full of clowns at the circus: About thirty-four gallons of ink will spill out.

Our toddler looked like the tar baby from Brer Rabbit. My husband, who had decided to grab that tar baby from the middle of the catastrophe, to prevent further explosions, was stained with the result of his courage. Nolan was scrambling for TOWELS! TOWELS! WE NEED WET TOWELS! And there I stood, taking it all in.

Nash, age one, was covered in ink. His LOANED-TO-US-AS-HAND-ME-DOWNS-

THAT-NEED-TO-BE-RETURNED-BECAUSE-THEYʼRE-HAVING-MORE-BABIES-AT-

THEIR-HOUSE footed pajamas were black. The dinosaurs on those jammies were no longer recognizable. My husband, Jim, was standing at the bathroom sink, furiously trying to scrub ink off of his own face. The area rug in Nolanʼs bedroom looked like a crime scene; it only lacked the yellow tape wrapped around the door and a detective standing nearby with a donut in one hand, as he nodded and said, “It looks like the perpetrator carried the ink from the desk to HERE... and then... just turned it upside down.” Nolan was on his hands and knees, scrubbing OUR BELOVED HARDWOOD FLOORS with a wet bath towel.

Of course, it was one of our better bath towels, because at this house, we have better bath towels, not-so-good-any-more bath towels, and the bath towels that are frayed enough to be relegated to YOU CAN TAKE THIS ONE TO THE LAKE AND WRAP UP ALL THE FROGS YOU CATCH WITH IT. This isnʼt the Ritz-Carlton around here, with all of their Egyptian cotton towels that fluff up to be the size of a Volkswagen bus.

Someone might just have well announced, “Your house is on fire!” that Thursday morning; it would have created the same level of adrenaline explosion inside of me, all before Iʼd had my cup of coffee.

Jim came back from our master bathroom, and his face was relatively clean. I was happy for that, because itʼs kind of hard to explain stuff like that at the office. Of course, he was missing his top layer of epidermis, but he was stain-free.

We all burst into action that morning, which is so much fun, when youʼre driven by the ticking of the clock and the threat of a pink tardy slip for your 7th grader. We scrubbed exactly like Cinderella hopped up on a decent cold medication, while we listened to Nolan chant, “Iʼm so sorry! Iʼm so sorry! I forgot to put the lid on my ink!”

Nash was left to stand there, as black as the sin of dumping out India ink indoors, while we fought to save the floors. The salvation of my hardwoods ranked a bit higher than cleaning up the baby that morning.

Donʼt judge.

Iʼm happy to announce that the local company who installed our floors and chose a nice polyurethane for us knew what they were doing. Apparently, they anticipate a life of REAL LIVING on the floors they lay. The India ink came OFF the floors.

And the angels sang HALLELUJAH.

The ink did not, however, come off of the area rug or the dinosaur-covered, footed pajamas that we were planning to give back to the original owner, once we outgrew them. Both of these, along with two of our better bath towels, went to be with Jesus. Theyʼre resting comfortably in the landfill.

The moral of this story is that real life happens. No matter how many photos we pin on Pinterest of pristine and clean houses and educational activities for toddlers, things are going to explode around us. No one ever pins those kinds of moments, because we like to create an illusion that we have it all together on Thursday mornings before school. Itʼs pretty much exactly what Jesus does for us. He takes the black-as-the-India-ink sin that weʼve spilled all over ourselves, and He cleans it up. (He probably uses the luxury bath towels, with His monogram on them, too.) He wipes our sins clean, and then He tells us, “But this part? Well, it has to go to the landfill, if you want to continue following Me. We have to get rid of this part completely and forever. But the stuff thatʼs left, I can clean up quite nicely.”

Iʼm thankful for that. Iʼm thankful that Jesus can clean me up, and shows me what needs to go. And Iʼm thankful that He entrusted these two precious boys to me and Jim.

I can say that, because my hardwood floors are still unblemished. Had they not come clean, the boys might have found themselves on eBay.

- Tammy Billings, MOPS Mom

Tammy is a wife and mother of 2 children, ages 13 and 1 1/2. She has recently joined MOPS in support of entering the baby and toddler years once again, blessedly, but somewhat unexpectedly. Her presence at our MOPS meetings is a comfort, her love for Jesus a special and hefty gift, and her sense of humor a brilliant light. She keeps us all laughing at the beauty and difficulty of motherhood through her personal blog Jedi Mama: Life at a Jedi House. We are hoping to hear from her often here on the Morning MOPS Blog!

Homemade Cleaners

Due to illness in our household, I was unable to share with y'all verbally regarding the packet of DIY cleaning supplies we handed out at the last MOPS meeting. Perhaps, in a way, this was a blessing because now you'll get it in written form. And, if you're anything like me these days, written form is always the preferred method. J

There are a few reasons we wanted to share cleaning “recipes.”

1. Our theme is connected with messes. Therefore, cleaning them up seemed like a good topic!

2. Making your own cleaning supplies saves a lot of money.

3. Homemade cleaning supplies are often less toxic than their store-bought alternatives & if your kids are anything like mine, they want to help. So, I’m all for less toxic!

4. The idea was thrown around during our planning meetings, that home-preserved foods are really good, inexpensive Christmas gifts. This idea led to a reminder that homemade cleaners could also be included in a cute, homemade gift basket. (This works especially well in the case of laundry detergent. Just find a cute jar or other container, fill, and decorate as desired.)

Now, I am not an expert in this field, but I do use many homemade cleaners. I have used many that are in your packet. But, not all of them. I am all for environmentally friendly, kid friendly, budget friendly – so I do what I can. But, I also am aware that making yet another item for your household can be overwhelming. There are certainly times when just getting the store-bought variety is all I can handle!

Here’s the encouragement, though: sometimes, it’s simply a change of habit that needs to happen. Sometimes, it’s just a change in our thinking.  And the blessing comes when simple changes bring great benefits.

Another important note: don’t decide all at once to revamp your household cleaning routine and products. Let change happen gradually, over time. Start with one product you’ve wanted to try – when your old cleaner runs out, perhaps. And when you feel ready, add another product.

When I talk about this as a benefit to our budget, this is what I mean:

            Washing soda - $3.24

            Borax - $3.38

            Fels Naptha (3 bars) - $5.97

            Baking Soda - $2.24

TOTAL: $14.83 + some time to grate, grind and mix (super easy, REALLY!) = one giant tub (think half a Homer’s Bucket) & you only use 1Tablespoon per laundry load…

Seriously, I think this has covered our family (4 + 2 pets & my son LOVES mud) for over 6 months. 6 months of laundry for just $15 makes me happy!

The packet you received is full of generic recipes. They are things I’ve found over the years in books, magazines and online. Most of them have been altered (as I’ve used them), and some are generalizations of several similar recipes reduced down to one. It is exciting to me to now have them all formatted similarly and put together in one place. Perhaps I’ll try something new this month, too!

If you were not at the meeting and would like a copy of the packet to which I’m referring, please email me at bethany.tippin@gmail.com.

Happy cleaning to you!

- Bethany Tippin, Publicity Coordinator