This Moment....A Letter to Mommies

My Peter, always having some scheme in his fast-paced mind, taped a notice to the kitchen wall (shown below). Amusing doesn't begin to cover this precious childhood keepsake. 


Earlier, perusing the bookshelf which I'd newly rearranged, he found a Creepy Crawlies thematic unit I used in my teaching days. 


The wheels of that mind began spinning. 


No, he wasn't interested in me teaching it to him. Rather, he saw it as a teaching opportunity for him. Mommy, Mary, Beth and Paul were to be his pupils, along with his homeschooling friend and fellow bug enthusiastic, Elizabeth, if we could swing it. (Turns out she broke her foot).


Remember, he is my challenged speller. The same words that are incorrect here are correct somewhere else in his samples. His mind is always on content, rarely on mechanics. 

Ther is to be held a bug cllas in the dinning room at 9:30 AM. We pray you will come.

He prepared, people. Like a determined, dedicated professor. 


He went through the book painstakingly, deciding what had merit. He kept all his materials on a clipboard and carefully copied any pages he needed for his students. 


I marveled, observed from afar, and then marveled some more. But no, this boy doesn't want to be a teacher or anything. Farming is the life for him, complete with many kids around to help him and delight him. That boy's been looking at Ann's blog, you know.


Did I ever tell you playing school was my favorite thing to do as a child? Many a time I coerced my sister and my mom and any neighbor kids, when they were around (we moved a lot.....military family), into attending my classes.


Anyhow, for Peter's bug class, we were to identify insects by their body parts, sequence six picture frames showing a spider making its orb web, and for the hands-on, he went outside and cleaned out an old aquarium and dressed it up with branches and leaves. He found six live insect samples and put them in the aquarium for us to observe and then write about. He copied graph paper for us to graph our favorite bugs.


And his execution? To die for.

"Welcome to my bug class, students! Thank you for coming. How are you doing today? What are you enjoying about fall?........Well, today we will be learning about the body parts of an insect. Does someone know how many legs an insect has?"

Here is my letter to my mommy self, taped to my brain.

Welcome to the best years of your life. Treasure every notice child-taped to your wall by your amazing-brained, tender-hearted, hyperactive Peter.  

Treasure every paint mess, complete with wildly beautiful painted butterflies, courtesy of Mary, that keep you from hanging that twice-fluffed laundry. 
Treasure every inconvenient time your toddler asks to nurse because you've been crazy-busy and nursing is how she slows you down and claims your adoring eyes.

Treasure every muddied pair of jeans your Paul comes in with, fresh from playing an exuberant game of backyard football, featuring himself as offense, defense, and announcer.

Treasure, treasure, treasure. So you can remember.

Because someday your house will be clean, dusted, organized. Fingerprints will no longer soil your walls. Butterflies, painted, drawn or cut out, will no longer color your world in spring and summer and fall. You won't run out of milk every two days. There won't be a pile of muddy shoes littering your entryway.

Headache-inducing noise won't follow you around. 

It will be quiet. And empty. 

Yes, your Bible can be devoured in peace. Books, too. And prayer time can last two hours, if desired. You might even sleep through the night.

But the best years of your life will be gone. Forever.

Claim this moment as sacred. Relax in it and give thanks.