Short of Perfect

Super preggers--gimme a break

Dear Miss M,

You are my firstborn and I've given you love and given you orders and I've tried and failed and tried again to raise you according to His word in spite of my own sinful state.  

But there is one thing you need to know tonight.  I hear you crying in your room because you are stuck on an algebra problem set that's due tomorrow. You are only 11 and you want it all to be perfect, and I love that you constantly drive yourself to be the best you can be.  I've seen you in the zone, your brain on fire as you imagine things in three dimensions and come up with answers without knowing formulas.  You are an innovative thinker; you can focus and conceptualize and problem solve with a look on your face that makes me step aside and stay silent.

God's gonna use that one day.

We (meaning everyone but me) are a mathy people.

first district math competition--nailed it.

But this evening, dear child, I want to tell you something important:  there is no perfect apart from Christ. You're going to struggle with that fact because I surely have.  You desire perfection and push yourself to it--to the point of your tears--but, sweet child, we are broken people.  Broken. There will be days when you want "perfect" and you will have it right in hand, and you will celebrate.  But there will be other days when you shoot for perfect and fall short by a titch or sometimes by a million miles.  It will make you feel frustrated and you'll flail around trying to make it somehow different--but right now I want you to learn that sometimes you have to call it a day, pack it up, get on your knees, and ask God to bring you peace.

So give yourself a break.  Know that if you can't find the solution now, it will come to you later.  Or not.  But we see you and He sees you and we both know your heart.  Sometimes when you shoot for the best you're gonna hit it dead on and other days will end in disappointment. 

Those times, remember to stop and find rest in the only Perfect I've ever found.  

Mom's orders.

 "Casting all your anxieties on him, 

because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

Running the Big Show

Having five kids reaches the threshold of stopping conversation with a stranger for a silent beat while they absorb that tidbit of information.  I seem like a normal WASPy mama at first glance, a potentially good type for bunco groups and tennis leagues, but the "five kids" part leaves everyone questioning a bit and scratching their heads.  Then the stream of questions and comments and silent murmurings ("Is she Catholic?"  "Don't they know how that happens?") begins to flow. Even the Publix cashier feels entitled to her say on the pros and cons of five kids.  It's okay, though.  I know it's a crowd.

Don't I know it.

A happy crowd of folks all in my tender loving care.

My mom made a fitting comment when leaving from a recent visit: "You're running a big show here."

Truth.

So on Mondays, I thought I'd share a few things that are working or not working in my household.  Because we Roberts are do-it-yourselfers.  There are no Type A's leading this bunch. We are fighting against nature to get 'er done and get 'er done well.

That said, all summer, I've benefited from my in-house labor force to help with the 7 toilets, the everlasting pool cleaning, at least 14 loads a week of laundry, pet care, 2.5 acres of lawn, 147 weekly meals, and over a dozen flower beds. Whew. I'm winded just from typing the to-do list.

But with school and after school activities, I'm bumping up against the workload and am going to have to roll out my card system once again.  I used it every so often last year with good results, and even once with a play date riding home, which was somewhat startling for the poor guy since he was an only child, probably with a housekeeper.

The card system is simple:  I write down what chores are imminent on four index cards, one for each kid. The chores have boxes to check off as they get completed, and then the cards are returned to me when they're finished. Chore charts have not ever worked for me personally.  That's because the needs are ever-changing, the daily schedules vary, and I require on-demand service from my little helpers.  So we're going to give the cards a try.

I suppose I could hire out.  I've thought about it.  A lot. But the more we save, the more we are able to say "yes" to God when he asks us to give.  Our budget stays more flexible.  And how in the world can I develop a work ethic in my kids in this day and age without some good old-fashioned work?  As David aptly put it "If they haul rocks in a wheelbarrow for a while, they'll be overjoyed to be reading a book or doing practically anything else on earth."

AM might need two cards today. Style points for her, though.

I love that man.

Good thing, too, 'cause we've got five kids to raise together.

All Eyes on Coach David {Friday Photo}

First ever flag football practice for Reid.
Two-hundred-and-first flag football practice for his patient papa.

A Tale of Two Birthdays {Part Two}

I'm going to confess something here.  When I was 20 weeks, and the ultrasound tech said the word "boy", I cried silent tears on that table.  David didn't want to know what we were having, but he told me later (20 weeks later) that of course he knew it was a boy by the dazed, weepy expression on my face when I came out.  Boys?  What are those rough, sweaty, rowdy little people all about? Wrestling-near-the-wedding-china, baseballs-on-the-windowpane, rock-dings-in-my-new-car kind of people, I thought.  That's what they are.

  

And sure enough, the first three years were rocky.  That precious son sweat nonstop when he was supposed to smell like Baby Magic.  Even in the bathtub he would sweat, just a small little thing lying there hot and bothered.  He walked at 10 months--no, he RAN--and I chased him frantically across parking lots all over Leon County, a tiny man-child in smocked Jon Jons and sturdy white walkers who would sprint away giggling.  

still sweaty.

Returned by a stranger one morning. Found in our busy street, wet diaper and no clothes, along with our (very naughty) beagle who had snuck out the back gate.  Vaulted over crib rails and guard gates by 16 months.  Cracked a poorly swung PVC baseball bat across my 8-month-pregnant forehead.  Oh, those salty mama tears--they continued to flow as I tied pink bows in the sunny hair of my precious and perfect daughter and watched my toddler son destroy tea party after tea party. 

There was a part of me deep down inside where I, in my immature and exhausted state, resented the huge sum of energy I lost to keeping that child alive.

Blessed--truly blessed--with not one son, but three.

Flash forward all these years. If you met this child, I would wager that you wouldn't see an ounce of the boy I have described.  For as he grew older, there was a refining of his soul and my soul as I began to understand Paul's words: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully, just as I am fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12)  What was once unpredictability, aggravation, and frustration has been transformed into trustworthiness, admiration, and joy.  I only wish I knew then that the mirror was dim, trusting more and holding fast to the vision of the young man he would become.  The first one up every morning.  The coffee-maker, lunch packer, silent helper.  The tender babysitter, fun-loving big brother, diligent scholar, quiet Christ-follower.

The kindnesses he has shown me are too many to list.  

He is a servant leader, a trustworthy friend, a fierce competitor, a disciplined heart, and a most fine example of brotherhood and son.

The tears, they have turned to tears of joy. So on his 10th birthday, a party felt in order--a celebration of God's perfect plan kept in the dark and dim and made brighter and brighter still with each passing year of this life I feel privileged to share.

Remembered the custom cake, forgot to pick up candles. Ah well.

Every boy's dream: the win.

Much loved by brothers and sisters,
AM even gave him nine bucks (she kept the tenth so she could buy a Coke...not surprising)

When they say "I like how it feels to go uphill",
you indulge in the road bike.

So this is how Collin finished up his special day--with a little brother love.

Happy birthday, my beloved son.

Role Reversal {Friday Photo}

 

So this happened in the wee hours of the morning....

 

First tie ever. Lookin' good, little man. Now off to work!

 

My Reply to Ms. Hall

Today started off sort of strange. In the pseudo-world of Facebook, I'm seeing well over a dozen repostings of this blog by well-meaning mom Kim Hall on my news feed from friends all over the country.  To summarize, Ms. Hall is annoyed by a girl posting a provocative photo that her teenage sons can see on their social media.  She is both encouraging clean posts by teenagers and drawing a line in the sand for what her family will permit their sons to see.

I have a radical suggestion for her that may not go over well, even with my closest friends: get your kids off social media, period.

Trying to sneak my iPhone, are ya?

I know, it's crazy.

This is a modern world.  Am I just not "with it?"

Listen, I see lots of positive uses for social media.  But is it a realm that I want my two oldest tween children engaged in?  Is it thoroughly uplifting, wholesome, positive, and honorable?  Is there any real way to monitor what's being posted and said and videoed and shared?  No, no, and no.

And here's the thing: even though I feel they are on the mature side for their age, there are many times that my older kids act immature.  They're KIDS.  And although I haven't parented full-on teens, from what I have seen, sometimes the maturity issue slides downhill with the ramping up of hormones.  Yes, they have imperfect judgment skills and their friends also have imperfect judgment skills.  Am I really going to put them in a "digital room" where they can all expose each other to their evolving and whimsical thoughts, words, and actions?  

It's sort of like giving knives to a room full of kindergarteners.  They will seize the chance to have access to something novel and adult-like and, by golly, they will use it.  At first it might be smooth sailing and everyone following Mom's instructions, but eventually, with time, somebody will get hurt. It evolves into something that I, as the parent, never intended for it to be--a time consuming distraction that gives others influence and access to my child.

Even by policing my kids, I know I can't go back and change the damage when it occurs.  As my dad said many a time when I was learning to drive: "It's not you I'm worried about. It's the other guy."

A real live book!

When I look at my kids' lives, they are missing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING by not being on social media.  Their days are brimming from start to finish with life-building, spirit-affirming endeavors.  They are focused on schoolwork, running, swimming, chores, teams, piano, afterschool clubs, homework, and family time until they flop in their beds tired and satisfied after a full day.  

In an age of instant communication (which takes little to no skill), their lack of access to texting and social media (although they have plenty of access to technology as needed--cue the family newsletter that is desktop published each week by my eldest) is about us helping them engage others in an authentic manner and keeping them focused on what's important--knowing God, learning to be a servant-leader, and developing trusting in-person relationships with their friends.

They have complete freedom from the distraction of posts, photos, status updates, their number of likes, must-see videos, and push notifications.

Freedom to just be kids.

This seems like common sense to me.  Not to you?  It's okay--I know I'm in the minority here. I have many friends who have supplied their kids with iphones, itouches, Instagram accounts, Facebook pages, Snapchat (!), and more.  I know they are well-meaning parents trying their best, just like me.

But for now, this mama is going to keep her kids as focused as possible on the things that we deem worthy of their time--those treasured, finite years of childhood--and I'm unafraid to say that social media is out.

A Tale of Two Birthdays {Part One}

I've been thinking for a long time about getting back to the blog.  I know, 2 years is a long time to think. I'm easing into it with a (very) little writing and a bunch of photos from the past week, when we celebrated the birthdays of two boys born exactly nine years and three days apart.  This is what it's like to turn one in a big family....lots of familiar faces trying to blow out your candles, open your packages for you, and generally share the love.

  

I can spot Mamaw's giftwrapping job a mile away. He loved it.

Josh's favorite food is pizza crust--hence the Momo's XL.

Told ya.

This kid loves anything with wheels.
He was almost airborne while pushing his new dump truck fast, fast, fast.

When the sprinkles were all swept up and the masses of extra pizza put in the freezer, 

we started to plan for the next round of fun....