Sometimes I feel like it’s impossible to divide my little brain into as many categories as I need for everything going on in our lives. There’s the preschool category, the school-age category, the adolescent/teenager category, and the young adult category. At one given moment one little person might be throwing a tantrum because she can’t wear her bathing suit out into the frigid temperatures, while someone else needs note clarification at the piano, and yet someone else is melting down because he/she can’t find his/her car keys. Someday when my kids come to visit me in the rest home, they’re going to find me sitting in my wheelchair, muttering to myself, “Take a deep breath, Vonnie; count to ten…”
Then again; sometimes they all just blend together nicely and it makes me smile. Sunday night, after church, the youth group came over for a sing-along. As our guests began driving up the driveway, Livy started barking and running from window to window. Sam and Kate followed her yelling, “Customers, Mom, we’ve got customers!” Julia quietly took her book and hid in the playroom. While everyone was waiting for the pigs-in-the-blankets to come out of the oven, I noticed Naomi darting in and out between kids; different ones picking her up, asking her questions, tossing her in the air. It’s fun to watch, some of the kids aren’t used to little ones.
Once everyone had eaten, the kids opened with prayer and began to sing. As soon as Kate heard the first familiar tune, she ran to get her own music folder and brought it to me. I set my plate aside, and we joined in from the back corner. Julia fell in behind my other shoulder. Sam and Naomi took this opportunity to bring every pillow in the house into the living room. Then they started bringing in sleeping bags. A slumber party?! I discreetly removed the sleeping bags, but decided to just let them build their pillow fort.
Back in my corner, I couldn’t see much of what was happening, but I knew there was reason for concern every time Ellynne turned around; mid-song, and raised her eyebrows at me. Dwight tried to put Naomi to bed, but she showed up at the food table a few minutes later. I held my breath as she dipped her pig-in-the-blanket in mustard, inches from the back of someone’s Sunday shirt. I was forced to leave my corner a second time, when she let out a blood curdling scream over territorial rights in the fort. Most of our guests seemed amused.
The kids wrapped up their singing and were planning a discussion, I tried again to tuck the younger crowd into bed. They went eventually, but were relucant to leave the main floor activity. It was a teaching opportunity for everyone. While I think my older kids were embarrassed of their younger siblings, some of them adapted to tolerance better than others. The younger kids could use more politeness, manners, obedience. And, of course, that’s where I come in. “Take a deep breath, Vonnie; count to ten…”
