People often inquire as to why I don’t write much about my kids. It’s not that they don’t provide a lot of material, but they are getting to an age where they don’t necessarily want their every moment published for all their friends to see. Teens and pre-teens aren’t quite as willing as hubby is to have their foibles shared with the world. So, the following is written with explicit permission from my son. His only stipulation was that I make sure to mention at least twice how witty, good-looking, and intelligent he really is.
Last week our youngest daughter turned nine-years-old. We celebrated with a trip to Club Libby Lu’s and dinner at her favorite restaurant. If you have a daughter under the age of twelve you must take her to Club Libby Lu’s at Castleton mall. If you don’t have a daughter, borrow someone else’s and treat her to an afternoon out.
This is the girlie girl store of stores. Everything in it is pink and sparkly, and by the time you leave, you will be too. The girls can get makeovers, or make their own glittery perfumes and body lotions. They can also mix up their very own fairy dust potion that can be sprinkled over the entire body, as well as the floor, the counters, mom’s purse, and unwilling, slightly irritated, eleven-year-old brothers.
Brothers aren’t the best thing to take along to Club Libby Lu’s unless you’re in the mood for a lot of eye-rolling and heavy sighing. They think that all things pink and sparkly are insipid and just plain dumb. However, if you slip him five bucks and send him next door for his very own latte, he will kindly wait for you on a bench in the mall while chatting with the elderly men who have taken up residence there.
Since we run in a bluegrass circle most of our acquaintances are well into their senior citizen years, and I’m pleased that our son is becoming pretty good at carrying on conversations with them. It seems no matter where we are, whether it be festivals, jams, or the weekly visit to the funeral home, some gentleman or another is taking son aside and imparting bits of wisdom to him.
I know he doesn’t fully understand or appreciate the significance and value of these times, but we do our best to ingrain in him the knowledge that not only have these men seen history that he will never be a part of, he is headed into a future that they will never see. It is his duty to learn and glean as much as he can and carry that knowledge into the future for them. As hubby once admonished, “I don’t care if they’re telling you how to grow dirt, you pay attention!”
Of course, he is still just a boy and, on occasion, he forgets his manners and his hefty responsibility of carrying dirt-growing techniques into the future.
For example, last Sunday, immediately after the service, he took off running at breakneck speed across the back of the sanctuary. I have never seen anyone sprint through God’s house like that. I was so shocked all I could do was point my finger and let incoherent syllables tumble from my gaping mouth.
Hubby followed my gaze and caught sight of son just in time to see him barrel into an elderly gentleman and keep on running without even pausing to say excuse me. And it was the gum man no less!
Every child in church knows to stop and say hello to the gum man because his pockets are overflowing with sticks of gum that will be placed in your hand faster than you can say Jack Sprat. Whatever would compel our son to run not past him, but actually over him?
Before I could gather my wits, hubby had taken the situation in hand. By the time son got to Sunday School, he was grounded and appropriately apologetic.
We ground a bit differently than most parents. Making a child sit and stare at the walls for a week doesn’t really do much for them, so we take it a step further. We give them writing assignments from the Bible; generally Proverbs. It doesn’t matter how long they take to write the verses, but they are grounded until they’re done.
We can’t claim this brilliant idea as our own. Hubby spent many hours at the kitchen table as a boy, copying Bible verses. As a matter of fact, to this day if you ask him who wrote the book of Proverbs he will reply, “I did!” I suspect that when my father-in-law was a young lad he wrote his share of Proverbs as well, but that hasn’t been confirmed.
I find verses that are applicable to the offense and the child has to write each one ten times. Son had just regained his video game privileges after finishing up ninety verses on anger, wrath, and strife. This after getting mad and kicking his sister during the previous week’s church service. There is something about church that brings out the devil in that boy.
When we got home, he waited patiently and dutifully for his assignment. I looked up “haste” in my Proverbs for Parenting book and gave him ten references pertaining to his speedy exit from the sanctuary. He pulled out his Bible and sighed, “Me and this book are getting to be old friends.”
I gave him a hug and replied, “Let’s hope so, my son. Let’s hope so!”
Truly, he is a great boy. One that is smart, funny, handsome, and generally willing to take his discipline like a mature young man. I admire that in a kid, even if he did run down the gum man. At least he didn’t leave any traces of fairy dust.
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