Evan has begged me to cook in the kitchen for some time.  You might remember this:

I told him (this note was from about a year ago,) that come his 6th birthday he could have a chance to cook in the kitchen.  A cooking party it would be.

But a cooking party takes a lot of planning.  There were chef hats to buy, utensils, and lots of ingredients.  Not to mention- cookbooks to make!  This was the table the night before, when Evan slowly moved his way into the kitchen to see what I was doing. 

The anticipation was too much.  He started off lying with his pillow at the foot of the bed and listening... then before I knew it he had his comforter and pillow on the floor at the foot of his bed... then in the hall... with a square tub for a bedside table.  (He needed somewhere to put his cup of water, naturally.)

I had to be so "on it" the night before with prepping ingredients and such that I over-organized and found myself with time on my hands... taking pictures of random things.  Like this one, of his presents from us.

He recently watched Superman when it came on tv (a newer one) and was way impressed.  He did, however, remind me that this was a Ratatouille party when he saw the Superman paper.  (Forgive me for diverging from the theme.)

This is Charlie after his bath that night, wondering why I am standing on the kitchen counter taking pictures...

and whether or not he would be able to catch me if I were to fall. (He would not.)

This is proof that the top of my fridge is not getting dusted.  Oh, and these people are the employees at my printing company.  Sigh, we're like family...

These are light bulbs that burn too short and cost too much...

This is why there are light bulbs on the counter.  Part of Shaun's checklist, not mine... so let's move on.

This is the cookbook Evan designed for his party.  He is cooking with his chef hat on at the stove and he tore out notebook paper and taped it on the front to indicate who each book belonged to.

I meant to change the egg amount to more before having him write this, and the cheese, but I didn't.

Did they follow the recipes anyway?  No.  So did it matter?  No.  Can you really mess up cheese and noodles and butter?  No.  Do 6 year olds do major improvising on their recipes?  YES.      

This is the next morning, what Evan came out to when he declared "my party is going to be just perfect!"

Madalyn came out of her room that morning, holding her blankie, and sang, "Good morning, birthday boy."

We always put on their first year or birth video while people are arriving.  Reminds us what we are celebrating.

This is my cake that was tilting like the leaning tower of Pisa. 

This is where they were to decorate their aprons and chef hats while waiting for their masterpieces to cook.

This is Evan's goofy six year old smile.

This is Jacob's. 

This is Ethan's.

This is Corbin's.

This is not a goofy smile.

This is three generations.

These are the aprons my mother-in-law gave us last Christmas.

This is Jennifer and Jacob making the yogurt parfait.

It was a dark, rainy day and actually really nice that way.  It kind of set the mood.  Shaun found French Bistro music for me.  It was cozy and surprisingly peaceful.

Decorating their aprons while...

the food cooked.  They made the macaroni on the bottom shelf there, but the tomato tarts I made ahead of time.  They are super yummy- my mom's recipe.  You just use a Pillsbury, ready-made pie crust and top it with mozzarella, fresh torn basil, fresh sliced tomatoes (I used Plum tomatoes,) and then a touch more basil, drizzle with olive oil, and bake for about 20 minutes at whatever the crust bakes at- or maybe 400, 425.  There's not an exact recipe, I'm sorry.  That's just how it is. 

I'm also sorry I forgot to take any pictures of the bread or macaroni when finished.  Here is the parfait, though.

Then, it was onto the cake decorating. 

That is Jack's chubby arm helping.  Don't think he would miss out, although I'm not sure if he's adding candy, or taking it off.

Did you just throw up a little in your mouth?  Your gag reflux get the best of you?  It's okay.  It's admittedly pretty bad in the way of sugar shock (and color shock.)  And see that dark spot, that is where Jack started eating the cake and the older kids tried to patch it up with M&M's.

I wonder why daddy had to have a root canal this week?

Evan being shy while we sang.

He is outgrowing his baby teeth.  Boo hoo!

They got to take home their aprons and hats and measuring cups/spoons and whisks to play with outside or in the tub.  It was a fun day.  And our bathtub has A LOT of cooking utensils in it now.

The fun didn't end with the party.  The next day, daddy took Evan to a Chef Mickey dinner at Disney at the Contemporary Resort with Ethan and Mr. Wattles.  (Even with a major toothache, in need of a triple root canal, daddy took him.)  Now that's love. 

He got to play in the cool pool with the slide, too.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, we went to my cousin's wedding this weekend where one of the family members was a real chef and I introduced them.      

Very fitting that this is what he was doing when I brought her to the table to meet him.  She found it interesting how he was keeping his food sorted by types after he chopped it.  Who would've thought that the kid once scared of the texture of cake and macaroni and cheese would turn chef one day?  Just goes to show life is entirely unpredictable. 

Keep cooking, Little Chef, and if we're all lucky, one day you can cook for us.

Labels: birthdays, Evan, kids, let there be butter and sour cream, mealtime, milestones, pics

Okay, I'm not gonna lie.  Starting Kindergarten has been rough.  Maybe that's because I didn't expect it to be.  I expected it to be like Preschool, and it's not.

Like when Shaun ended up in the middle school drop-off line and a teacher left Evan standing in the POURING RAIN of Fay without any direction... like when Shaun looked in his rearview mirror and saw him chasing the car, crying, with his arms stretched out and running his duck-footed run.  That wasn't like preschool.  Not at all.

Nor was it like preschool when Shaun got out of the car to console him and the pitiful excuse of a teacher manning the car-line led Evan away by the hand, scolding him while he sobbed his way to class.

In preschool, there was no early dismissal day of the week.  It was always the same time.

Which is why when he was in preschool, his pitiful excuse of a mother never forgot what time to pick him up.

He never cried because all the children had been picked up except for him- never felt that moment of panic and isolation, when he couldn't see his white car anywhere.

At preschool there was no such thing as "extended care" with unfamiliar teachers and students.  In preschool, someone he knew would've sat with him till they found me.

But he's a big boy now and preschool is far behind him. 

No more fire drills by manual whistle blows.

He's onto the real thing, with flashing blue lights and screaming sirens. 

The other kids cried.

But not him, because he's a big boy now.  He saves the tears for bigger issues.  Like abandonment.  

Labels: beach, bittersweet, dumbhead parenting, Evan, milestones, pics, summer

Okay, look.  I know this might be the most BORING post you've ever read (or skimmed... or just closed altogether,) but this is for me.  This is me archiving the pieces of paper that have sat in my office for an entire year, collecting dust and fading.  This is only one one-thousandth of the papers that circulate around my car, house, and Evan's desk in one year.  These are my favorites that have now been put into a Tupperware container.  So, if you're a better friend than I deserve, humor me and let's enter the gallery-

This is the cast of The Little Mermaid, by Evan.  (I guess I should preface this by saying ALL of these were completely done on his own without prompting.  He spends much of his quiet times "creating.")

This is the cast of Peter Pan.  These were both done about a year ago, actually. 

This is a beach scene.  His babysitter drew something similar and he copied her really well.  He copied her over and over again, actually, until he had it perfectly matched.

Fruit Salad, by Evan

The United States, by Evan

Evan, Madalyn, and Jack, by Evan

And then it was really weird to start finding papers with writing on them all over the house:

Days of the week.

"Vanilla, Pink Ice Cream, Chocolate"

"Sun, Spider web, Grass, Sky."

Months of the Year.

Shapes of the states of our country.      

Clocks.  When he taught himself how to tell time.  I think he might be bored in K-5 as this is the lesson on page 90 in his math book... he gets this hunger to learn from his father, by the way.  I remember my dad taking the clock off the wall where we lived in Augusta, GA, and I wanted to run and hide under my bed.  I remember thinking, 'okay, I almost get this, I am close, I can feel it... but I ain't there yet...'       

Pictures of him with his siblings and how much they love each other is a favorite topic of his...

He even made a catechism book:

"God loves me.  God loves all of the people."

"Adam and Eve both..."  I can't make out the rest, I think it was something about listening (or not listening) to God.  Then the pink paper: "I love God, do you?"

"God made the whole world."

When we got back from Universal Studios last December, I found the following papers in his room.  Let's play a game, try to guess what they say.  I'll give you a hint- they are activities or rides we did at Universal, we'll start with the easier ones:

1 2 

3     4

5 6 

7 8

9

1) Shrek4D 2)ET 3)Lunch 4)Cat in the Hat 5)Barney and Evan (character sighting) 6) Carousel 7) Sponge Bob 8) Water Ride 9) Dinner

This explained to me why he pronounced things the way he did.

Now the papers I find around the house look more like this:

"Please, I really, really, really can cook!  Just trust me!"

And the drawings I find are lately of Spongebob characters like Patrick here:

And he draws a mean Sponge Bob, I can't believe I forgot to take a Sponge Bob picture.

He also makes lots of charts and maps and such (I'm not always sure what they are):

My best guess on this would be a map.  To church or school?  Or maybe Jerusalem... from the temple to the cross...

This is definitely a recipe.  Although I'm not sure what the color code is about, I will have to ask him.

This is most likely a board game.

This is a sequence of events of how he wants his day to unfold after school, he wants friends to get in the car and come over.

Okay, I know, you need an intermission if you're still with me... we're winding down now... I'm to the end of the year papers...

This is what Madalyn brought home the last day of Mom's Morning Out last year.

Evan's teachers made him a whole year book... these are the teachers from the post below.

Yep... somebody needed a haircut.  What?  It grows REALLY fast, don't look at me like that.

His teacher made that quilt and prayed over her students while she worked on it.  :(  So sweet.

All the kids had fun signing their autographs in each other's books. :)

This is a sample of what his homework assignments looked like.

This is what they looked like when we lost the official paper and I made my own lines for him.  I got an N in handwriting in first grade and thought I was going to die.  I haven't improved much since then, so why on earth would you think I could draw a straight line?

See how he wrote "bumblebee?"  I'm not sure if this means he's Dyslexic or just really bright?  Don't answer that.

His teacher gave his picture a caption after asking him what the dots were on this assignment.

He liked to make notes for all his classmates.  They all did this and left notes in cubbies.  They thought they were sooooo cool.

On the first day of school last year he told me about a boy who has lots of dots on his face.  I told him those were freckles.  You can imagine that I nearly died when I walked into his room after his quiet time and found pictures of every classmate... and Brett.  Complete with freckles.

We were also all forced to comply to a behavior chart at home, just as he was at school.  He made this completely by himself.

I had no idea he had become a redhead by the end of last school year.  He changes completely... goes from dark hair and light skin to light hair and dark skin every summer.  Don't worry, I didn't pay MONEY for these.  I just stole the proofs.  Wow, that is SO unethical of a photographer.  But, they didn't ask me for them, so whatever.  I'm KEEPING THEM.

And hers.

Her coloring has come a REALLY long way... even further this summer but I didn't take any pics of her recent stuff.  She is very into the details, and using many colors, and staying inside the lines now.  I LOVE watching her color, and her patience that has come with it.

Evan's coloring has come a long way, too.  But Madalyn about has him beat out now with staying inside the lines.  I'm just happy they can do that at all considering I am so fine-motor-challenged.

Madalyn would come home with a paper like this,

or this...

or this...

Or this.  And I would be all 'you know how to do this??'  Because she SO wouldn't act able if I were the one showing her.  That's why it's good someone else is.  Then we can just play and be silly together.  It's better that way.  (Don't you like her mini-pattern on the pattern... I was amused by that.)

This was my favorite thing she brought home all year.  I don't know why.  Maybe because she doesn't know any Joshua's and I have no idea where she got that name.  Or maybe it's her drawing of the giraffe.  Or that she said a giraffe was most decidedly her favorite animal.  I don't know.  I just like it.

She brought home this cross she had made during free coloring time.  I thought the sticker choice was very appropriate to the picture.

And she has her name down pretty well.  Sometimes she writes it perfectly, sometimes she leaves out the "l".  Why she leaves the easiest letter out, I have no idea.  I think it's cute she started writing it by herself next to the one she was asked to trace... she decided to go above and beyond, take the extra mile.  That's encouraging... considering a year ago she spent all of clean-up time in time-out for not cleaning.

But almost better than the actual work they brought home, were the cards and handmade gifts:

It kind of surprised me about myself to find out that I could tear up over something the teacher printed out that my child never actually thought or said... what in the ??? 

But even better than the ones that come home from school, are the ones that come from their bedroom, without prompting:

Evan drew this of Jack and wrote the words.  I found it later and said, "who is this a picture of?" 

"Jack."

A placemat Evan made me, all on his own.  He made one for everyone in the family.

Shew!  If you got this far, you are SOME kind of wonderful.  Thanks for hanging in there with me, doing life with me.  Thanks for visiting the McDonnell Art Gallery.  Now, take a few deep breaths and move along to another blog... and I assure you, you don't have to do the art work again for another year.

Labels: bittersweet, Evan, kids art, Madalyn, milestones, nostalgia, phases, pics, school, school work

It has been an emotional few days.  To say the least.  And I feel like I just wrote this yesterday.

It started with a letter from his teacher.  It was sweet and all, but nothing in it made me cry- it was just the sight of it.  The fact that I was opening a letter from his kindergarten teacher.  I had the same experience when I looked at the cafeteria menu.  The tension built on this night when we went to his Open House.  These were taken with my camera phone because I forgot my camera.  Thank goodness for technology or I might've missed these confused scowls and this balding parking lot.  Phew.

But the reason I took these are because of his backpack.  LOOK at that backpack on him.  That is nothing big or fancy, it's a standard sized backpack from Target.

He's the oldest in his class, and the smallest.  This is his fake smile at its best.

We had to clear up that he would not be teaching the class.  Just kidding.  He knew that.  He just liked the teacher's chair.  It gave him an ego trip.

This is his desk, front and center.  Actually, no.  Just center and center.  He is in the middle of the middle row.  Perfect for someone who has trouble paying attention and likes to make his own way.  I'm just saying.  If I knew a certain 5 year old who was like that.

His teacher told him his number should be easy to remember because it rhymed with his name.  He liked that.  He found that to be very thoughtful of her.

These are the frantic parents, desperately trying to figure out how to fit entire packs of pencils, markers, and crayons in one supply box as though they were being timed.

This is Shaun making a weird face and Jack laughing because Shaun's making a weird face.

This is what "Little Shaun" did.  That's a cookie in his hand.  He licked the icing out and handed us the rest- all done.  He did that with about 6 cookies.  What?  Who cares, it kept him quiet.

This is Madalyn on the way to get ice cream afterwards.  She is demonstrating how NOT to wear your seatbelt straps.  

So all was fine and we felt good about things.  Especially Evan.  He spent his weekend counting down the minutes until he would go.  This morning he woke up at about 5:45 and came in our room talking to himself, "today I get to go."  He was so excited reminding us of this that his whole body would clench and his voice would get shaky whenever he got to the name of his school... "today I get to go to..." shake, clench, voice cracks...      

It was funny to look back on my preschool post because he was excited about the playground then, and still excited about yet another new playground this morning.  This is what he looked like at about 7:20 this morning, when the whole family took him to school to walk him in and drop him off...

But let's back up a minute.  To last night, when I had a complete and total nervous breakdown.  And I didn't even see it comin'! 

I had had a nap Sunday afternoon, so I was wide awake when we were trying to fall asleep that night.  I feel sad.  I feel lonely.  I feel nostalgic.  Why can't I shake that feeling?  I said to Shaun.  I can usually pull myself out of the funk or ask Someone else to pull me out, but I can't seem to shake it.

Well, sending your firstborn to kindergarten is a big deal.

It hadn't even occurred to me that perhaps that was the trigger.  As soon as the sentence left his mouth, though, I was bawling.  Not tearing up, not sniffling, BAWLING. 

And that was the way I fell asleep; remembering that scene from Father of the Bride when he replays all his daughters milestones leading up to that day while Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry serenades all his nostalgic emotions.  I mean, talk about NOT helping.  I was picturing his wedding day, I was re-living his birth and his toddlerhood.  I was a WRECK.  A complete and total MESS.  A mell of a hess, and seriously concerned about whether I would ever survive graduation... college... marriage... menopause... 

Because it's all about me.

Actually, that was what snapped me out of it this morning.  When I realized it wasn't about me and I was fixating on my emotions and not his. 

As I watched him in all his excitement, rush to his desk, go through his school supplies again, observe the other students and start following suit... I realized he would be just fine. 

Fake smile and all.

And if he was fine, I could be fine, too.

(Gosh, though.  I still can't look at these right here without tearing up again.) 

It's not that he's in school and I will miss him during the day, per say. 

It's that he's gotten SO BIG.  He is so big.

And he is so kind-hearted.  He is so naive and pure.  Not in a cheesy way, in a wholesome, refreshing way.  I know that sounds biased, but mother or not, I am insisting, he's just a good kid- a good person.  And I am better for knowing him.

So we left him, were the last parents in the room, (yes, my teacher-friends, we were those parents,) and went to a boo hoo brunch.  Then we said bye to daddy.  When we drove away from campus Madalyn said to me, "I'm sad, mommy.  I miss Evan."

"Me, too, baby," I said.

Then we pulled ourselves together and went to Target, where we ran into two other moms we had just seen.  Ahh, Target.  The meeting grounds for moms everywhere.  It's like the modern day choice prairie for hunting and gathering. 

Then we had Madalyn's preschool Open House- this is her in her spot at the table.

I can't believe I have to take her to Kindergarten next year!  AHHH.  One thing at a time.

This is her with Ms. Jan and Mrs. Larra.  Below is Mrs. Christine.  Jan and Christine were Evan's teachers last year and Larra is the director of the preschool.  I have come to really appreciate these people!  They have been true blessings. 

Evan told Madalyn earlier in the weekend, "Madalyn, you're really going to like Ms. Jan, you know why?  Because she has your favorite kind of hair.  It's light white and curly.  Like wavy.  Isn't that your favorite kind of hair?"

Madalyn nodded emphatically like she had certainly shared this preference with him before.

Now, Madalyn had seen them before, nearly every day when we picked up Evan.  She talked Mrs. Christine's EAR OFF.  Mrs. Christine was most charmed by her, and went out of her way to engage her.  She loved Madalyn's view on fashion and why she chose this particular outfit this particular day and all the things she was thinking about in that moment.  I'm sure they will enjoy each other this year, especially seeing as how the class dropped from like 12 students last year when Evan was in it, to FIVE this year, including Madalyn.  Which is awesome because they will get lots of one and one.  There are four girls- she knows them all from last year- and one boy.  Poor boy.

This is not him.  This is her first love (well, after her daddy and Evan and Jack.)  Meet Andrew.

I believe I wrote about him long ago, here.

Madalyn and Andrew have a special thing.  They get downright giddy and flirty around each other.  They dream about each other, actual dreams, yes.  And they have asked to go on dates.  Madalyn asked just this weekend, "Can I go to a restaurant sometime?  At night?  With Andrew?"  You should SEE the eyes she makes at this boy.  I am glad she picked a good one.  Yes, maybe we should be concerned... but his parents are golden, so instead we are taking pictures and planning their wedding slideshow.  Very appropriate of us, I think. 

Don't you just love what his shirt says?  HA!

So after she had a moment with the Big Man on Campus, we headed to Chuck E Cheese with her little girlfriends in her class.  It was really fun for her, and for me to get to know their moms better, even though I saw them all year last year.

Before we knew it we were headed back to get Evan.

When he got in the car he teased me and pretended like he wasn't going to tell me anything about his day.

But I already knew a little because we had arrived early enough to see him not come off the playground when his teacher called and she didn't notice and almost left him!  I bit my lip and waited to try and not interfere.  He finally realized and ran over to the gate and said, "hey!"  And she spun around and I could tell- felt terrible- KNOWING I was watching.  THEN she did a head count.  She won't make that mistake again.

Neither will Goofy Grin.  I hope.

So, when he finally quit teasing me, the first two things he told me- and everyone else who called him to chat about his day later that afternoon- were that his teacher almost left him on the playground, and that there was a girl in his class named, Charlie, and wasn't that ridiculous because that was a boys' name!

And then I tickle-tortured him till he told me more. 

And that was one therapeutic tickle session.  Boy, was I glad to see him.      

It was all pretty anti-climatic, though, as Hurricane Fey has put a big cancellation cloud over tomorrow.  It's like we're on a Monopoly board.  Stop, Go, stop! Can we just get these new changes going, already?  Because I think everyone is going to have a great year.

Labels: bittersweet, boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, Evan, Madalyn, milestones, nostalgia, parenthood, parenting, pics, school, siblings

Dear Jack- I love you, but I am SO TIRED of picking poop out of crib spindles with Clorox wipes and washing your sheets twice a day in Oxi-clean.  The spankings and time-outs haven't worked.  You take that diaper off as fast as I can say trouble.  You are as impulsive as a... a... well, as your father. 

Someone suggested putting your sleepers on backwards but none of them are button-ups. 

Someone else suggested masking tape, and another, positive reinforcement with candy.  Seeing as how we don't have any candy around today, nor a car to go get some (one's in the shop,) and seeing as how things hit an all time high on the mess factor around here, I opted for the masking tape just last nap time. 

By the time I was finished winding it around your middle, you were staring at me with a quizzical expression.  It looked like I was putting you into your crib in a chastity belt. Or a Sumo wrestling diaper. 

Whatever it takes, I shrugged, and stood back to admire my work.

Try to take that diaper off now, buddy boy, I said, and you smiled as if you were up for the challenge.

Weh-heh-hellll........................ naptime is long over and GUESS- WHO- WON, my friend?! I did!  That's who!

I cannot TELL YOU the excitement, the adrenaline that ran through my veins when I found you shirtless, yes, but still all taped up after naptime and- GASP- with DRY sheets.  I praised you, too, (as if you hadn't tried to rip the thing off with your all of 8 teeth) but left it on by choice, gave you a handful of animal crackers to gnaw on while I went to work cutting the thang off with scissors. 

I told myself not to get too excited.  This wouldn't, in fact, solve all of the destructive behaviors going on around here.  Like the one that occurred just yesterday afternoon when you brought me the small silver decorative box with velvet inlay from our sideboard in the dining room. 

Poop, you said. 

I opened the box.  Yesss.  Poop, indeed.  Sitting on dark blue velvet like a delicacy or rare jewel.  However did that get in there and let me see your hands...

Maybe I should just tape a training pot to your tush. 

Well, then I might as well glue a bib to your chest, and the dog food to dog food bowl, and the Doritios to the top shelf of the pantry while I'm at it.  That would minimize the messes by about a third?  Maybe?

But how oh how shall I keep your father from leaving out his half-full  Dr. Pepper cans?  Maybe we could just get something that would feed it to him intravenously, like an IV bag. 

I better go Google that...

Sleep Tight, my Angel- (and I know you will because you're swaddled in masking tape)-

Mommy  

Labels: boys will be boys, dumbhead parenting, here comes trouble, Jack, Katie, letter, milestones, phases, pics

Ahhh, young love.  A tight embrace.  So tight that the boy's head might pop off.

But it wasn't enough-  she felt she must hold on tighter still

He had no complaints

How could he?  She was a delight, swept him off his feet

So swiftly and passionately that his shoe was left behind

She was six months younger than him, but mature for her age

which became blatantly obvious when he tried to reciprocate his love-

only did not yet have the understanding of physics that she had, and grabbing her entirely too high up to lift her well,

took on much more of an endeavor than he had set out to take on

Still, he knew what to do, and pulling her feet off the ground (with her bending her knees to help,) he let out a fierce, Last of the Mohicans roar from deep in his warrior spirit. 

It's all the more instinctual, animalistic, and testosterone-filled when viewed in black and white... hear the lion growl as if in slow-motion.

(Disclaimer: I swear I do not read romance novels, although a friend gave me one in high school to read and about the time I got to the part where the Viking warrior returned, when certain body parts were compared to certain metals, my mom swept in to the rescue and explained that such books were to some women what Playboy was to some men.  That was the end of that.  The above is narrated in the voice of a narrator off of National Geographic, please read accordingly.  Thank you.)

Labels: boys will be boys, Evan, friends, milestones, photography, pics, pictures, summer

Little girls are cute and small only to adults.  To one another they are not cute.  They are life-sized. 

-Margaret Atwood

 

Madalyn was especially bored at soccer practice last night, so when two 8ish year old's appeared, she was greatly encouraged.  She tugged on me, "look mama, two friends are here- I have someone to play with now!" and ran off to introduce herself.

Watching from a short distance, I thought maybe they didn't hear her when she said, "Hi!  My name's Madalyn, what's your name?"  They giggled and whispered with cupped hands, their bodies turned in to each other.  It was like there was a wall between them and Madalyn, like they couldn't hear her, nor knew she existed.  I waited a minute before interfering.  Madalyn spoke up, much louder, thinking, as I had, that perhaps they didn't hear her. 

Still, they giggled and whispered.  I strained to hear what they were saying but couldn't make it out, but what I COULD see, what was absolutely unmistakable, was the expression on Madalyn's sweet baby face.  I still couldn't articulate what I saw there- whether embarrassment, frustration, humiliation- but whatever it was it pained me.  Deep; struck a chord in a place I didn't know existed in me. 

I thought about walking over there and making them answer her, telling them that they were big and she was little and it would mean a lot if they could answer her... but by the time the thought had finished processing, she was off playing by Jack and his two-year-old, little soccer brother side-kick, Jaden.  She almost seemed as if she were trying to act content with their company just to save face because I'd never seen her play with them before.  But enough of it already, I was probably over-analyzing things and being a micro-managing soccer mom once more, so I would let it go... until that night.  When I tucked her into bed.

We sang and prayed and then she said, "Mom, my friends at soccer weren't very nice.  They laughed at me.  They said I talked funny.  They said 'Madalyn, she said Madalyn,' and laughed.  And they wouldn't answer me.  They wouldn't tell me their names.  They said 'she talks funny.'"

Should I just end it there?  I mean you already have an inkling of what ran through my veins- pure hatred, utter wrath, vindictive drive.  First, I wanted to rewind the clock and wring their proud little 8-year-old necks.  I wanted to snap their cupped, whispering fingers into two.  I wanted to yell, "She's THREE!  THREE!!!  Of course she talks funny! But what I want to know, is what kind of 8-year-old gets off on making fun of a baby??"

See, I've been somewhat prepared for this sort of moment with Evan, as sensitive as he is, and as different as he can be, but Madalyn is one tough cookie.  It's kind of like when I throw up.  (Just go with me here.)  I have an iron stomach (or is it stomach of steel- what's the saying?)  Anyway, by the time I feel the pain in my stomach, by the time whatever it is that's wrong inside is enough to make me nauseated- it's gonna be a rough, long night.  A LOUD, aggressive battle, an all-out war. 

That's how Madalyn is- she's tough- so it would take a lot to penetrate, and when it did, it would be painful. 

And it was.  For both of us.    

I kind of want to end this post here, because this is where it ends for me.  (Well, it's that, or me launching into all the stories about my encounters with mean girls... and my mother's... who bit all her charms off her charm bracelet, one by one, for a fat bully girl at her lunch table.)  But I feel that I owe you a happy ending.  A happy ending I don't have.

Of course I said a million things to her to try to sew together the tear they ripped in her sweet little heart- she named all the people who loved her and did think she talked well, she said her daddy and her Evan loved her and Jesus was in her heart and loved her- that He died for her (she said these things all on her own,) then together we talked about how those girls were missing out because she's such a cool kid, how she needed to make sure to never treat anyone that way because doesn't it hurt, and about how Jesus says she is fearfully and wonderfully made- but none of that helped. Me.  

My words sounded, to me, like melted butter.  Nothing of substance, no steel wool stitching to mend the giant gash in both of our hearts.  I felt utterly ill-equipped to protect her from the world in that moment, and also highly aware of the reality that I had no resources for fixing her wounds.  I could only leave it.  I could only pray that God would use that pain to draw her to Himself, and pray that He would use it to make her a better vessel for spreading His love, and then I have to leave it.

I guess in a way that's what this post is; a place to dump it at His feet, an intentional way of saying, "You see it. It matters to You, so You can have it." 

But it still hurts.

She loves pretending to be a bride right now, ever since my cousin's wedding.  She drags me in stores at the mall just to see "white bride shoes like Scottie's."  She will ask things like, "when I grow up I can get married?  And I can marry Evan and be a bee-yoo-tiful bride just like Scottie?"  

Labels: Madalyn, milestones, pictures