For Evan
I still can't believe I have a child who comes home from school with paper bag pumpkins, homemade applesauce, and pockets full of acorns. I've been told from mothers in malls, mothers in grocery stores, and mothers everywhere to soak it up and enjoy it because it goes too fast. But the reason everyone says that is because no one has figured out how; how to soak this stuff so deep into the pores that there's enough excess stored up for the years when you're grown and gone. It's impossible, and one day I'll be sitting here posting about you as an adult and wondering where that little person I used to write about went.
But enough moping. Today I'll celebrate the joys of the right now instead of dwelling on how you wiped away my kiss the other day before running into your classroom.
Moving has marked a clear divider on your growth. I can look back at the before and after of moving and see a radical difference. Year three was a hard year for you- for us. It was a year of testing in many ways. You were testing your boundaries, and the Lord was testing mine. Let's just put it this way: we both have authority issues. We also both have anger issues.
Now that I think about it, watching you develop has kind of been like watching myself.
I remember developing the ability to think independently and rationalize on my own about the time middle school rolled around. Suddenly I didn't agree with everything my mom said or did anymore. I thought because I could analyze and rationalize out of my own intelligence, I was as good as grown; that I knew it all, or could figure it out. What I didn't understand was that experience actually is worth it's weight in gold. It counts for something. And experience can't be laid hold of the easy or fast way; it takes time. And that stinks. But that is where the fruit of patience is grown.
Our big problem this past year was that instead of reaching this frustration at age eleven or twelve, you hit it at age three.
The encouraging part is that since your birthday, since moving, I can already tell year four is going to rock. For one, you've started lifting the potty seat and standing. For two, you have started making a huge effort to use manners and speak politely. You say "excuse me, mommy," a lot right now. (I'm trying to teach you it's not a magic word that delivers attention on demand, but a way to be considerate.) You also seem to accept and even appreciate authority now. It is becoming more of a source of security and less of an all-out war for you.
(This sort of appreciation the Lord is instilling in me, too, and trust me- it'd be easier for you to just learn it now.)
But the number three reason this year is going to rock is that the older you get, the more "firsts" there are to come. You are at an age where rides and plays and books and holidays really mean something to you. Where your eyes twinkle at the thought of reindeer pulling a sleigh. You asked 5,000 questions when we read "The Polar Express" for the first time this year.
See, back when it was just the two of us while daddy was at work, the days would start to get long come the five o'clock hour. (A one year old can only provide so much conversation.) You were definitely the baby, and I, the mother. But now there's a new facet to "us." Now I have the joy and privilege of being your friend, and what's more, of having you as mine.
We have quiet times together; me with my coffee cooler and you with your chocolate milk. We read about Bible doctrine and Bible stories and we talk and question and pray. We draw with sidewalk chalk and you can draw anything I can draw. We get excited about things together; decorating the tree, drinking hot chocolate and eggnog, birthday parties, seeing friends and family. (Ok so I don't get as excited about eggnog as you do.)
But what really astounds me is how you compliment and encourage me. It is such a pleasant surprise because it's not expected of you. It probably sounds in my ears similar to how our praises sound in the ears of God. You compliment my chalk drawings, my cooking, my coloring. And you've become very affectionate. When you were a year old it was like pulling teeth to get one indifferent kiss out of you, but now you smother me in them. And not just me- you drip tenderness everywhere.
One place this honey oozes is all over your little brother. I need to be better about writing down the phrases you coo to him. It is so often that you do it, that I take them for granted. The ones that come to mind are "hey, sweet boy, hey!" and "are you so sweet?" and "hey, little hand!" and "belly, belly, belly, belly," (and you kiss and blow on his belly.) Even since I last wrote about how Jack reacts to you, he's grown even more attached. The sound of your voice gets him whapping his hands with excitement and he smiles when you come into view. He LOVES you. Even reaches for you. Those are the moments when I hear that familiar sound of another crack splintering through my heart.
The same sound echoes when I hear you and your sister playing.
You went through a brief phase after being sick where you weren't very nice to her. I'm not sure if you were just getting spoiled from all of the sick care or what, but we had a good talk about it, about how it hurts her, and in your deep sense of compassion you've been caring and loving ever since. You protect her from things and love on her. Yesterday morning when she came out of her room upon waking you said, "Good morning, Madalyn!" She said, "Thank you, Evan," because she so appreciates your attention. And then she climbed on the couch and you tickled her feet affectionately and kissed all of her boo boos. (She has a lot of boo boos right now- that post coming...)
The two of you love playing tag lately. You'll play for a good hour, running around the house pushing each other, running from each other, belly-laughing in fear. I always think it's gonna turn ugly any minute, but it hasn't yet. I can't even tell you the pleasure I get from those giggles drifting through the doorframes and echoing on the walls. I love that sound.
Your sister is not only your friend, but a source of amusement for you. Mostly you treat her as though she's younger and you're the leader, but every now and then I catch a glimpse of admiration in your eyes. You look up to her some, too. She makes you laugh. Sometimes she'll be hamming it up in one way or another and you'll have this dreamy, quiet smile pasted on your face as you watch her. You don't even know you're smiling because you're so "in the moment" of watching her. And every now and then when you have this expression, a giggle creeps up your throat as though even you didn't expect it. What a treasure, the sight of it.
Your tenderness also gives you a high sense of caution and sensitivity that is unusual for your age. You get fixated on things. You've always been this way. You get fixated on a particular idea or concept, on a certain toy, or a particular memory.
Speaking of memory- it's flat out frightening how far back you remember things. The other day we were coloring with chalk in the driveway and a yellow car drove by. "Look, mommy! A yellow car- just like Mike's car!!" I said, "who's Mike?" Then I realized you were talking about our neighbor from back when you were two years old, Mike, who had a bright yellow truck.
My reaction is always the same to these memories that shock me. First, I'm impressed with you. Then secondly, I start shrinking; what else does he remember?? Every time I've ever lost my temper? And the thoughts snowball from there...
Your teachers have told me the only way you struggle at school is when you are working really hard at something and someone else wants to join in and might mess it up. But she said you excel in other ways; that every morning you run up to the letter of the week on the chalk board and she spends some time doing Phonics with you because you're way ready for it.
You play first grade level games on your handheld Leapster; you spell too many words to count. You tell me about the silent e and other principles. The longest you can spell is probably Madalyn. The other day you walked out of the class with a piece of paper that the teacher had written everything you were thankful for on and Madalyn's name was spelled Madeline, with the e in the middle scratched over and made into an a. I could tell just by glancing at it that you had corrected Mrs. Tina while she was writing it, and she probably gave up on interpreting. The first thing you said, right in front of her, as you turned the corner of the room was "Mrs. Tina can't spell Madalyn very good."
The other day I was writing the names of friends down for you and when I wrote Ethan you said, "no mommy, Efan is with an f." You like to use words like actually, amazing, and absolutely. You also say of course a lot. Like when I heard Madalyn ask you to get her water from the fridge water dispenser. You took her cup and as you were walking over there she asked, "are you gonna get me water, Evan?" "Of course I am," you said. You also say amazing and wonderful and delicious. If you and Madalyn are good in a store you'll say, "we were such amazing kids in there!" Or sometimes you'll say, "Actually, you could do it that way, mommy."
You recently came up to daddy with a picture you'd drawn of planets and you'd written plooo, trying to spell Pluto. When he suggested a u you reasoned that that couldn't be right because double oo's say the ew sound.
You know all the planets and the order they are from the sun, and you love to draw them and talk about them. This interest was sparked by the glow-in-the-dark planet and star stickers on the ceiling of your bedroom that were here when we moved in; just one of the many reasons I count as affirmation that this house was hand-picked by God for us.
Whenever someone would visit our home that first month here, you'd pull them into your room, turn off the lights, shut the door, and make them lie on their backs on your floor to view your personal planetarium. You counted the hours until bedtime because you were that anxious to lie and look at them. Whoever created those stickers had no idea the joy they would bring. And now planet-themed gifts are all daddy and I have on our list for you this Christmas.
You're still gifted at entertaining yourself and have a HUGE imagination... wonder where you got that from? You have letters on a magnetic board in your room and you turn them into people and creatures and buildings and robots and move them around, creating whole worlds and civilizations. One time you ran into the kitchen with a "j" turned upside down and said, "Look mommy, it looks like a musical note!"
You have good fine motor skills. You color inside the lines now, and appropriate colors. And when you color, you don't just color, you act out entire movies and events. You color something as it grows and bring in a could of thunder. You change the characters faces from smiling to frowning on what they encounter.
You love "The Little Einsteins" and "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" and "Dora the Explorer" right now. You make Madalyn act out all three. You gave out friendship bracelets like on Dora the other day and we had to lift our arms in the air to make fireworks like in that episode.
You love cooking, playing in the sandbox, and collecting leaves. You're such a mix between me and daddy. You use your imagination and play just like I used to, but the things that interest you are things that would interest daddy. And you're more of an introvert, more cautious than I am.
You have a sense of humor. You know what sarcasm is because of your daddy. He'll say, "well we're gonna brush our teeth, read a story, and then it's time for your spankings."
"Are you just kidding," you'll smile knowingly.
You'll even dish out your own sarcasm or silly phrases now. When you were sick your lips were peeling off. We were leaving the doctor's office and you said, "look mommy, it came off" and you dropped it on the floor. When we got out to the car you said, "Oh no! We left my lip in the doctor's office!"
You sing songs from school and songs from Jack's baby toys. Lately it's been a song about Mary and Joseph on their way to Bethlehem, and "Pop Goes the Weasel" and "Hickory, Hickory Dock." (You insist it's two Hickory's.)
You make boy noises. You can imitate a firecracker to perfection. You squeal in a very high pitch and then smack the palms of your hands together as your squeal tapers to an end. You came up with that yourself.
I can't remember if I recorded it or not; the day you asked Jesus into your heart. I think I scratched the date down somewhere and I'm afraid it's been misplaced in the move. But we were having out quiet time and you asked if Jesus lived in your heart. I asked if you wanted Him to and you said, "yes. I do." And so I told you all you had to do was ask him. You said, "will you help me," and we prayed together. One of my three biggest prayers answered in that moment.
Since then, you have grown and grown on that front. Your favorite Bible story is about Elijah calling down fire from God in front of the false prophets. When Grandpa McDonnell (aka "dadaddy") dedicated you to the Lord three plus years ago, he and grandma gave us a series of books on sound doctrine made into children's stories. We read them almost daily now- which is weird because at the time I couldn't imagine you ever being old enough to understand them. Your favorite one is called "What Happens When We Die." A little morbid, but okay. You understand about the soul being different from the body, and how Jesus' death was different because He came back to life.
I love being able to talk to you about things some adults never talk about. I love that when we were in the jacuzzi the other night for the first time since we moved here, you looked at daddy and me and said, "I want to thank God for our jacuzzi and our pool." I love that for the first time you didn't ask me to pray the prayer for you but were willing to do it yourself; "God thank you for our jacuzzi and pool, amen."
From us you got and will always get a very resolute "AMEN."
Thank You God for this joy named Evan. AMEN.
