a present from daddy

My husband returned from work late last night, while I was doing dishes in the wee hours.  My only thought was:  I want to get these done before Beth wakes up--again.  I vaguely remember him saying something about catching a bug for Peter.

This morning Beth woke me at 6:30.  I nursed her, with the hope that she'd fall back to sleep.  Instead, she nursed briefly, and then crawled off the end of the bed, telling me in baby talk that I was to follow.

Oh, how I wanted to sleep!  "Mommy is still tired, Beth.  Do you want to lie down and hug Mommy?"

She shook her head, said na, and put out my slippers for me.

I didn't budge.  I put my head back on the pillow, hoping so hard that she'd just crawl back in bed with me.

She got back on the bed alright, but only so she could pull my nightgown toward her.

I didn't budge.

Next, she got up further on the bed and pulled my hair.

Whose the boss around here, anyway?

I guess it's not me, because at that point I got up.

We made our way to the playroom, where we found Peter carefully studying something in a bug container.

Daddy was asleep, as were the others.

"Daddy caught me a beetle!  It's huge!"

Half asleep, I said some mundane thing, like "That was nice of Daddy."

I hadn't remembered, at this point, that he'd told me about a bug when he'd arrived home last night.

My world is way more about bugs than I need it to be.  Many hundreds of creepy crawly things have been shoved in my face in the last seven years.

Did I ever tell you Peter picked up a Black Widow spider in California, when a toddler, necessitating an urgent care visit, where it was determined he'd not been bitten?  My dad had been bitten years before and was very ill for about four days.  Black Widow bites, especially in children and in the elderly, can be dangerous (although fatalities are few).

 I love nature, too.  Really.  But I draw the line, see.  Daddy and Peter?  Not so much.

When we moved to Ohio I considered the absence of poisonous, dangerous creepy crawlies (in our region) a huge, tailor-made perk for our family.

Never mind that I used to own a Chilean Rose tarantula as a first-grade classroom amusement.  The worst thing it did was release hairs from its back, which caused itching.  I also bought a green iguana and a beautiful green snake, at one time.

That all happened in my first five years, when teaching was my. entire. life.

So the bug obsession.

It's rubbing off.  Mary will now pick up any bugs she finds.  She is especially fond of catching Japanese Beetles--any beetle really.  Whereas two months ago bees scared her, she now catches them for sport (then lets them go, at my pleading.)

Peter shoved the container in my sleepy face, giving me a good look at his present from Daddy.

"Oh, my gosh!  That's huge.  Is it a cockroach!?"

"I think it's a beetle",  Peter tells me, smiling.  He must have known I was expecting some smallish, non-distinct bug.

"What does a cockroach look like?", he asks me, going after his insect field guide.

"This is smaller" I tell him, "but it reminds me of the Madagascar cockroach we saw at an animal display in California.  You were three the last time we visited that museum.  But I don't think Daddy would bring you a cockroach.  It must be a beetle."

Peter, a happy soul, sat there watching his beetle, while perusing the beetle section in his insect guide. This went on for a long time.  He kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling me why it wasn't this beetle or that beetle and maybe it was this one.

Beth and I read some board books, while I feigned interest in the beetle pictures he kept showing me--against my will.

As Mary, and then Paul awoke, the beetle remained all the rage.

Daddy, bless his soul, knows how to choose good gifts for his children.   Like Peter, he loves nature--insects, spiders, and birds especially.  Nature relaxes him, too.

The day before, I'd wanted all day to clean my floors.  Interruptions went along non-stop, though.  At night, I was too tired.

Thanks to Daddy's fascinating present, the floor got cleaned today.  The children spent two morning hours outside, walking around all the tiger lilies and the rhododendron bushes and the trellises, looking for creepy crawlies.  I guess they wanted to find something equally fascinating.  They often bug hunt, but not for extended periods like this morning.

They reported back to me later:

Twelve honeybees, two squash-vine moths, and a dragonfly--which was apparently stung by one of the honeybees, if that's even possible.

The dragonfly died shortly thereafter.

Hearts were broken.  Peter, the ringleader, got upset that Paul put honeybees in with the much-coveted dragonfly.

Much later in the day, Peter tells me this:

"Mommy, I'm not as excited about catching fireflies anymore.  Did you notice I haven't been begging you?  I think I'll do what Lorrie says--just sit and watch them."

I felt surprisingly sad, hearing this.  Even though it's a maturing, of sorts.  Come next June, will his heart be all aflutter once again?  Will he be watching the windows at 9:00 p.m., begging to go out in his pajamas, bug container in hand?

His boyhood.  I'm not ready to give it up.

Will my boy morph into a preteen, eager to sit with Momma on summer nights, watching fireflies--giving me a steady stream of commentary about this or that?

I will cling to that thought.

grace in progress

It is 11:30 a.m.

The better part of the last two hours have been spent looking for the Heritage Studies 2 student notebook.

There came a time.  I felt it coming.  The Holy Spirit warned.

A pitiful, adult-style meltdown was in my future, if I didn't break hard and put a stop to the downward spiral of frustration.

I felt like crying, and raging at my absent-minded husband--away at school-- who had the notebook last.

And then I remembered.  Pray specifically.  Pray without ceasing.

Nothing is too small for God, just as nothing is too big.

I had prayed that I wouldn't lose patience with the kids while I searched, but it never occurred to me to pray specifically for help in my search.

My already-burdened husband didn't need a drippy-faucet wife heaping more grief on his head, the minute he walked in the door.

So I prayed specifically.

God, where should I look next?

Look in the loose-leaf notebooks section.

Ten minutes later, I had the social studies resource in hand.

Husband had placed it in a notebook marked Science, 2008-09.


Never mind that it's a social studies resource, and never mind that we're in 2009-10.

Is it the inattentive-type ADHD?  Or just a fluke?

Whichever it is, I am practicing bullseye grace.

I will not mention this fiasco, much as I'd like to remind husband to clue me in when he decides to "reorganize".

While I typed this, my son came into the house at least seven times, wanting to relay some "important" tidbit.  He makes a habit of giving me running commentary about his outside adventures.

Every five minutes.

When Beth is sleeping and I'm rushing around trying to get something done, his running commentary wears on me.

But in practicing bullseye grace, I concentrate on the sweetness of it.

He doesn't want me to miss anything.

The last time he came in, he said;

"Last night at VBS I told my teacher that I prayed for cicadas.  And guess what!  I found one already!"

Next, he put the ugliest creature imaginable in my face.  I usually only get cicada carcasses put in my face.  But this was a living, writhing creature, legs moving madly.

All I can think of now is how blessed that teacher will be tonight, when my overly-excited, nature-loving son tells her about his cicada.

Hopefully, she will remember his prayer.  And be reminded, as I am:


Delight thyself also in the LORD: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.


Psalm 37:4

thankful for..

I'm thankful for...

...the sight of my small-boned, petite toddler frolicking in her new swimsuit--gift from Auntie Lorrie, who noticed that it's hard to have a clean swimsuit ready for daily swimming, when there's only one per girl.  I tried so hard to take a freeze frame of Beth running through the grass, exuding joy and abandon, giggles escaping.

...my husband's interview today for a twenty-hour cleaning position, which won't conflict with school or with his second and third-shift cleaning contracts.  No benefits of course, but we apply for everything, not knowing what God's plans are.  Saving the house in any piece-meal way we can is the goal. We prayed leading up to and before, and I prayed during the interview.  We also perused interview tip sites.  Then, we put it all in God's hands.  Interviews are very hard for him, as first impressions aren't his strong point.  Some days it seems like everything is stacked against us.  Is that because when we finally get out of this, God wants it clear that it was HIM, and not us, who did the rescuing?

...my husband, and his reliance on God.  He knows not to pray for a particular job.  God might have something better in mind, no?  Instead, we pray that he will do well, relax, and be quick on his feet.  His resume includes his education, which exposes him as a Christian.  Sometimes having that out there hurts his chances.  Once he saw an interviewer change expressions drastically, upon hearing of husband's Bible education, when the co-interviewer brought it up in a question.  Husband knew it was all over after that, for that particular job anyway.  In some cases the degree makes him look overqualified, but his resume consists of custodial/building maintenance positions, and direct-care (with the mentally challenged) positions.  So the degree is just there, not fitting in anywhere.  To leave it off feels dishonest.  And besides, no one should shy away from claiming a devotion to God.  What would be the point?  God is the author of our biography--our days were decided before we were even born!  It's good to be reminded of that sometimes, when we get caught up in what ifs, or in what-should-I-dos.

...a toddler who isn't sleeping through the night, by a long shot.  The more hundreds of times I go in there to nurse her back to sleep, the easier it will be, many years from now, to return to the blessing of cradling and nourishing a sweet-smelling, eager-for-Momma baby.

...my sons, who know how to vacuum well and who happen to love it--same as they do windexing everything in sight.

...the time to sit and write, to create, to reflect, even though it means my house is less than neat.  My husband could take serious issue with the lack of progress on the laundry folding, but he never does.  I'm learning to delegate a bit with the folding, by the way.  The kids process their own socks/underwear and pajamas now.  No, the process is not neat, but the items get put away in a timely manner.

...online friends, who bless me with the gift of friendship.  Your comments and prayers mean so much!  Thank you!

...this post about contentment.

...this post about preparing five essential things from scratch, for the nutritional boost and for economy.  I'm not in a position to prepare all these things myself yet, due to caring for a toddler, but I am still blessed by the education.

Bullseye Grace

What a storm today!

 No, not the weather.  How I wish it were that simple!

Whenever life gets too exciting, ADHD becomes such a beast.  Many days like this, I throw my hands up and tell God I can't take it another second.  "Dear God!  What am I supposed to do?!  This is too hard!"

Auntie Lorrie and James came to visit around the Fourth of July.  The ADHD flare up began before that visit.  Then, during the visit, as always, the symptoms screamed at us all, akin to a fire engine's siren, right as it overtakes.

Auntie Lorrie, for all her sweetness and patience, has trouble accepting Peter.  More and more each visit, I notice her reactions--each irritated sigh, each plea for him to stop, each look of disbelief.  It breaks my heart, even though I'm often just as irritated as my guests are.

Seeing the irritation of visiters reminds me of the uphill battle Peter has in gaining social acceptance.  Paul, his brother, is the most loyal, forgiving, accepting presence in his life.  Paul's tolerance astounds me sometimes.  Truly, he is an amazing example of God's grace.

And he doesn't even know it.  He only knows that he loves his brother and thinks he's fun.

That's not to say that he doesn't notice Peter's unacceptable behavior, or get irritated by it.  He does.  But he doesn't hold it against Peter.  He doesn't shout, complain, exasperate, roll his eyes, or comment.

Will that amazing grace change, I sometimes wonder, as they get older?

Like most ADHD kids, Peter lives in a selfish world.  When impulse control is missing, the sufferer resembles an irate toddler who wants what he wants...right now!  Forget the needs and desires of others.  They are rarely considered until it's too late, when the damage is already done.

At eight years old,  Peter no longer gets on the floor and shouts and pounds.  But he pursues.  With a shocking intensity.

For example, if he wants to go to the ice cream stop to look for monarch caterpillars, he talks about it non-stop, following the decision maker all around the house, pursuing.  Nothing will distract him.  Timeout will not deter him.  It may temporarily stop the pursuit, but once out, the verbal onslaught continues.  His mind focuses on just that one thing.  There is no ability to absorb the disappointment of a "no" answer.  Or a "wait" answer.

Everyone in the house suffers.  All joy deflates.

Lecturing about the extreme selfishness of the behavior does make Peter see his folly.  Then, he feels guilty for having made everyone miserable.  He knows the behaviors are unacceptable.  He feels unloved.  Unworthy.  Frustrated.  Angry, even.

But despite his remorse, he will continue to pursue the household regarding a trip to the ice cream stop.

At times, the behaviors seem evil--leading to hatred in those affected by the turmoil.  That sounds terrible, but if you had to live it, you'd understand.

Of course, we don't give in.  Our nos stand firm.  Our waits stand firm.

One might expect in a normal child that successive experiences like this will lead to greater self-control, over time, since the desired goal is never achieved.

But that's where the ADHD child is so different.  One of the hallmarks of the disorder is that the child ( or adult) does not learn from mistakes.

The very next time the child wants something, the same maddening sequence commences.

Another recurring difficulty involves occasions wherein the child is looking forward to a scheduled event, such as a visit from a relative, or a trip to pick berries, or a trip to the lake, or the arrival of Christmas, or the time for a cooking project to begin, such as the making of applesauce.

The child is so overwhelmed by his excitement over the event, that he asks repeatedly how long it is until the time comes to go, or to start.  The child knowing how to tell time doesn't help with this; the adults are still pursued to continually answer the "how long" question, despite attempts to ignore, or respond with "how long do you calculate it will be?"

Also, when the child is looking forward to something, it disrupts the normal activities of the day, leading up to the scheduled event.  School assignments are done sloppily, quickly, due to lack of focus.  The same with chores.  As the event gets closer, the child's frustration level grows, leading to recurring behavior problems, and to fatigue in other family members.

When an event finally arrives, and passes, Peter's brain doesn't then rest.  It craves more stimulation, which is why stimulant drugs work (as long as the side effects aren't too overwhelming).

Often, as soon as we're driving home from one event, Peter begins a verbal onslaught about the next one, if there's one scheduled--or he works to get one scheduled.  To his parents and to onlookers, this makes him seem like a bottomless pit of need and want--like the worst kind of spoiled child.  We can't ever satisfy him.

We can't ever truly rest, until he sleeps.

Currently, Peter's flare up is caused by Vacation Bible School, and by the fact that Lorrie's visit and VBS were only separated by one week.  This left no time for a return to equilibrium.

Time and again I conclude that living with an ADHD child means life must be exceedingly boring, and predictable, in order to be tolerable.

And yet, a boring existence isn't what God planned for us.  He gave us four seasons, so that change comes regularly.  He gave us seasons of life, wrought with joys and challenges, so that we are always growing, changing, adapting--so that we always have something to look forward to.  To what extent should we modify the natural course of life?  And how fair is that to our other children?

Now, what I describe here is a particular type of ADHD--the hyperactive/impulsive type, as opposed to the inattentive type, or the combined type.  My husband, in contrast, has the inattentive type, which means he will lose things, forget things, and have trouble organizing and prioritizing.  That is a whole other set of problems, which seems to lead to more workplace-related, or schoolwork-related issues, as opposed to social or behavior issues.

As always when the day has been this hard, I sit and contemplate what I could have done differently...done better.

And the answer is the same, usually.  Nothing...other than possess a super-human patience.

I can't control all aspects of our life.  There are so many variables beyond my control--like when someone has vacation and chooses to visit, or how the church calendar is set up.

My half brother, with whom I grew up, had the combined type of ADHD.  Actually, it's only in retrospect that I know what type he had.  During that time (he is 38 years old), they only had one name for it--ADD.  The three types weren't identified or understood yet.

His symptoms led to a household in regular turmoil.  My mom and step-dad were perpetually stressed.

I haven't seen my brother in seven years, and even then it was only a brief visit at our parents' house.  I only know him now by how my mom describes him.

Professionally, he is successful, having created a unique niche for himself in the computer world--one that seems to complement his ADHD bent, rather than conflict with it.  Personally, however, there are still huge struggles.  He is on anti-anxiety medicine, since his ADHD is combined with anxiety, as is Peter's.

I don't know what Peter's future will hold.  Oftentimes, I worry that his selfishness will persist into adulthood, leading people to label him as a jerk.  I know his heart.  He isn't a jerk, by any means.  There is kindness, tenderness there.  But it is drowned out, so often, by the neurological workings of his brain.

My task (I think God is showing me as I write) is to rise above my own feelings as my needy, verbally-aggressive son follows me down the hall, into the bathroom, into my bedroom, asking, demanding, pursuing.

I need to hone in mentally to the tender, kind-hearted son I know is inside there.  I need to see him, as though he were a bullseye.

The other part of my son--the nerves and synapses and chemical imbalances part, I need to disengage from. In disengaging, I will give up my anger, my frustration, my sometimes-hatred.

Focusing on my bullseye, I will live love.  And Peter will receive love, rather than condemnation.

This will take practice and prayer.  And there will still be failings on my part.  But I will have a focus to return to...always my ever-sweet, ever-sensitive, bullseye Peter.

Bullseye grace, I'll call it.

Tuesday Tidbits

Well, husband isn't sold on the daycare idea.  He mentioned, for one, that he could work at McDonald's for $6.50 an hour for eight hours, making more than we would make watching two children all day long.  And, the entire family wouldn't be impacted--only husband.

Okay, he has a very good point.  If I added in the extra hours of nightly housework, and the groceries that the daycare children would consume, we would actually make quite a bit less than the going rate of $3.15/hr, per child.

He also mentioned that Beth, at nineteen months old, still needs one-on-one supervision, which would make running a daycare very difficult.

Plus, while husband was away at computer school for four hours two mornings a week, I wouldn't have his help until 1 pm.

The verdict is that husband wants us to keep praying and keep applying for everything we can, no matter how low the posted pay is.

On a positive note, we applied for five jobs today.  Rarely are that many available in one day.  Often, not even in one week.
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We have a second car, not running, in our driveway.  It needs a catalytic converter, which is very costly, and a new battery.  Apparently, people have noticed that we haven't used it for months.  Just today, three different strangers, apparently unrelated, came to the door asking if we wanted to sell it.  One offered $275 on the spot, telling us we could keep the new tires we'd put on it.

Later, a friend of the woman across the street came by, asking about the car.  Is this a conspiracy, I asked my husband later?  Who gets three people in one day asking about a car that doesn't even have a for sale sign on it?

Very strange.

Also very strange was my husband's conversation with the last inquirer.  He was a Christian--probably Pentecostal we're guessing--who suggested that maybe the reason God wasn't blessing us was because my husband stopped teaching Sunday School.

Upon hearing that my husband was underemployed, the man went into a long spiritual lecture, of sorts.  I guess husband had casually mentioned, in the course of the conversation, that he'd taught Adult Sunday School in the past.  He didn't mention the Bible College Degree or the interest in the ministry years ago.

While we have thought much about the possibility that sin in our lives could be keeping this crisis afloat, it never occurred to us that one of the sins might include not teaching Sunday School.  I'm not sure why this particular man came to our door--other than to get a good price on the car, which isn't really for sale.  I'm pretty sure God doesn't punish you for not teaching Sunday School.

My husband taught a Singles Bible Study for two years in California, starting a year after we got married.  About thirty people attended, but after many months several of them got married, and the crowd dwindled.  We had a baby and I couldn't stay involved, helping out with the clerical aspects and with event planning. I was also working part-time supervising homeschoolers and teaching three homeschool enrichment classes.

After the initial two years passed, husband thought it was time to pass the singles-group baton.  Singles ministry is very hard--specifically when it involves older singles.  Our group included people aged 25-55, including some who were widowed and a few who were divorced.

Later, in Ohio in 2006, my husband hired on to a Children's Director position at a Baptist Church about thirty minutes away from us.  After a year, the quarter-time position lost funding.  The church had a split and the Pastor moved on to another state.  My husband's ADHD symptoms made excelling at the Director position difficult.  It ended up being a discouragement to him, as it didn't make much use of his teaching gift, and required more organization and multi-tasking than he could manage.  I tried to help with the organizational part, but again, I had a new baby to care for.  Mary was born a few months after he began the position, when the boys were three and five.

Since that time, he hasn't done much ministry--just volunteering at AWANA and VBS.  He is still interested in teaching, but feels like the pace of our home life needs to settle down a bit first.

Back to the sin issue.  We have pinpointed possible areas that God wanted tightened, spiritually speaking.  We made necessary changes.  And we continue to ask God to search our hearts and show us our sin.

Joy, from the Memoria Arts blog, recently made mention of her husband's two-and-a-half year unemployment crisis.  I hadn't known that it went on that long.  My countenance fell, upon reading it.  How does one hang on that long?  It has been sixteen months for us, but my husband found part-time work within the first month, so our crisis has been more of an underemployment one.

So.  Today was a weird day, to say the least.  Not sure what to make of it.
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VBS began this week and the children are overly excited.  The last one fell asleep at 10:00 p.m., which is not unusual for VBS weeks.  It is hard to wait that long for some quiet time around here, but I do love VBS weeks for the growth they encourage!


At closing time tonight, my Paul eagerly raised his hand to answer Pastor's question about why the shepherd forgot about the other ninety-nine sheep and went after just the one.  Matthew 18:12-14

"Because he loved him very much!"

Amen, my little Paul.  Amen!