Two Church Mice: See How They Run

There's something about seeing my kids sitting in my church's pews, walking down its halls, playing in its nursery, and eating pot luck lunches in the fellowship hall. Every step, every bite is, for me, a ceremony. They play on the same playground in the church yard that I played on 25+ years ago, even on some of the very same equipment. I can almost see my childhood self laughing and running along right beside them.

I feel like I'm doing something right when I see them running, playing, just being on my stomping ground, this sacred ground. It's their rite of passage. I want them to have the experiences that I had...of going somewhere regularly where they see people who are not in their family but who care about them and have watched them grow...who care about religion and tradition and community. They may not know it now, but Emma and Ethan are already being affected by the Sundays that we spend participating in church. I am not extremely religious, but I do believe in a Higher Power and I try to be guided by my internal sense of what is right as it pertains to my personal path.

But taking my kids to church isn't only about teaching them about The Bible and God. I also take them because I believe in coming out of the house and meeting the neighbors, so to speak, establishing a sort of public relations, participating in community activities and just keeping an eye on "the greater good," you know?

My church, First Presbyterian Church, has lots of history in our town as well as in our family. It was the very first church founded in Muskogee, OK and has had 5 different locations, the current one since 1978. I have been a member my entire life, and my parents are also members. My mother's parents were members, and her brothers and sister and their families were all members at one point as well. I was baptized there as a baby, confirmed there in adolescence, and married there as an adult. The same goes for my sister. Our kids have all been baptized there as babies. When I think about church, I will probably always picture my church's stain glassed windows, the high ceilings, the scriptures and pictures that are carved into the walls.

Over the years, our congregation has dwindled considerably and lacks representation and support from people in my age group. Our building far exceeds our needs as a small congregation, and it exceeds our checkbooks as well. It seems as though the time has come for location number 6. That is a painful and dreadful inevitability. It's hard to imagine not physically having that loving and quiet space. I'm sure we will learn to love the next location as we make new memories there. But it hurts that Emma and Ethan may not even remember being here, where so much has happened in our family's life. I have been making sure to take pictures in front of the stained glass that I will forever see in my mind and on the tire swing that still swings out front. Their mommy will remember for them.

Their mommy will remember shushing them in the pew, giving them snacks and crayons to occupy their minds and mouths. She will never forget hearing their first attempts at singing church hymns, naming the colors they see in the glass, or how Ethan loudly repeats, "WE GOTTA BE QUIET" during prayer. Who could forget Emma's wailing cries for her Mimi once she's spotted in the choir loft?  Or seeing them walk down the aisle for Children's Time or to decorate the cross with beautiful Easter morning flowers....

 I know our church is more than a building, but the building has in a way taken on our personality as a group, as a family, and has attached itself to all of our significant memories...memories that we'll never forget.

Sneaky Fits

They're not even three yet, but my kids are minor manipulators and deception artists-in-practice for sure if you ask me.

Emma has what I call "silent tantrums" or "sneaky fits." I think most toddlers have full-on kicking and screaming fits. Well, Emma is a little too reserved for that, apparently. Or maybe she just doesn't want to get her hands dirty. If something doesn't go her way, she doesn't kick and scream like a normal toddler. No, she tenses her body and maybe even makes like she's hugging me, but she's really pinching me or pulling my hair. She holds her breath and subtly grunts and puffs her breath about whatever is troubling her. She wants me to feel her discomfort, to act out, but still come off as innocent to the untrained observer. Ha! It can be so frustrating for me in the moment, but it's impressive when I think about it after. She makes me look like the bad guy in public, threatening to spank her after hugging me. She's good.

She even throws her body in the floor on the sly. She says, "Woah!" like she's being pushed or maybe she's just "accidentally" falling. She'll keep saying, "Woah, woah, woah!" as she tosses her body around in frustration. It's maddening to me, but funny later. Woah, woah--she can't help it! LOL! How can I hold her accountable for something so clearly out of her control?

Emma, Mommy is scared if you are really as smart as you seem at not-quite-three. I better step up my game if I'm going to be able to sniff out your teenager schemes.

Sometimes her sneaky fits are seemingly unprovoked. It's a mystery to me as to what has upset her, but clearly, something has. Perhaps it is Jo-Jo, the imaginary friend, who is upsetting her, and then shaking her all around and pushing her down. And mean ol' Mommy is punishing her for his naughtiness.

So, now I'm thinking of excuses that she hasn't even used for her behavior.

See? Deception artist.

 ;)

His Achin' Back!

If I ever accidentally hurt one of the kids, I feel terrible. It kills me to hear them say, "Ouch! You hurt me!"  I know my face shows it, and I drop everything to tell them, "Mommy's so sorry. Kisses and hugs."

Ethan has been milking that for all it's worth. Anytime I take him by the arm and lead him somewhere he doesn't want to go, I hurt him. And it hurts terribly. He cries and cries. I feel like I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. I say, "I'm sorry if I hurt you," but I know I couldn't have. Now, every time it's time to change his diaper, he's hurt.

I do what I can to hold back the laughter.

He's The Boy Who Cried Ouch.

Time to brush your teeth--"I got hurt! Owie! Ouch! Ouch!"

Time to go back inside--"OUCH! MY BACK! YOU HURT MY BACK!!" And he's a good actor. You'd think he's seen a million back injuries. He throws his head back, bends his elbow and holds his little back like an old man. His face looks like he needs to go to the hospital.

The first time he hurt his back by the invisible force, I was alarmed. But it turned out to be another "wolf" story. The second time, I had to laugh. It was just too funny. I think he may be ready to read The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I might have to read it again first.... I can't remember if the boy gets gobbled up by the wolf or if it's just the sheep. I'd hate to put that kind of story into such a creative and dramatic little mind.

"Are you sure your back hurts? Or are your feelings just hurt?"

He stopped and cut his eyes to the side, considering this possibility. "Are your feelings hurt?"

"Yeah." Oh, my heart. What a sweet little, smart little boy.

"Oh, well, I am very sorry that your feelings are hurt. Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do. Mommy's feelings get hurt sometimes too. It's okay. I love you...."

He's been working on naming that feeling.

"I'm upset."

"I'm sad."

"I'm very mad!"

That's okay, baby. You can be very mad or sad or upset. It makes your mommy proud that you can give words to your emotions and ride them out like a little man should.